As the night fell, Stephanie felt that her bones ached with dull pain. Mark was in the shower, and she did her nightly reading, one or two chapters maximum of the self-development books.
"Even in year three of the pandemic I still haven't finished these books," she sighed to herself.
After she took her leave at the supply depot earlier that day, Mark sent her a picture, a borderline racy one, of a set of lingerie he found in today's shipment.
"I imagine you're wearing this," the message said.
That single sentence successfully made her flustered at work until she had to hide her phone in the war room, afraid that the other task force members would catch sight of her blushing face and proceed to ask.
