Still! It was a one-night stand, not love.

And a one-night stand should know when to make his exit.

Emma’s used to conducting her Saturday-morning stumble – from half-remembered winespill to unidentifiable foodsmear, rag and Stain Away in hand – without an audience.

Not that he’s watching. But the beast’s already volunteered to fetch her a coffee and paper despite her continued insistence that no, he won’t go unnoticed at the corner grocer, even if he canters as fast as he can.

She’s starting to worry he won’t be gone come Monday morning, either. The Karnal Khronikle didn’t say anything about these kinds of creatures sticking around once they’d “claimed” the available “territory” one or two (okay, ten) times. But if he won’t go on his own, and there’s no convenient bathtub banishment to look up in the back of her ancient little black book, what is she going to do with him?