That was as far as I had gotten when this happened…
I am already in my jammies, typing this in bed. It’s one thing for Mr. Muse to be in the house, but it’s another when he’s in the master suite. The master suite! My hubby would not be amused to see him here. But, alas, he’s working.
I’m also supposed to be working. Instead, I am blogging. Or was about to. Hence the interruption.
I scowl at him. “I’m not dressed for company.”
“I’m not company. I’m your muse.”
Truth be told, he isn’t dressed for visiting. His feet are bare and he has on plaid pajama bottoms and a US Navy tee—more clothes than he usually wears around my house. Still, the outfit seems somehow… intimate.
“What do you want?” As if I don’t know.
“I’m here to keep you on track. When you work…
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