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Something smelled heavenly. Phryne scrunched her nose as she tried to inhale the scent deeper. She let out a surprised sigh. Coffee.

Dot didn't usually wake her with coffee. 

Slowly, she became aware of more unfamiliar sensations. The warmth surrounding her was wool, not her own silk sheets. A slight ache in her neck told her she had fallen asleep in a sitting position. 

Phryne opened her eyes. The sunlight slipping around the edges of the drawn curtains helped her to recognise her surroundings.

It was a living room. Jack's living room, she realised abruptly.

She vaguely remembered going to his house the previous night (or rather, earlier that morning). She'd been out dancing, and she'd had some sort of epiphany about an older case that, for some reason, she had felt the need to share with Jack right away. 

She grimaced slightly. That had probably been the alcohol talking. But, she was in Jack's living room with the pleasant weight of a wool blanket she didn't put there herself over her, and the tantalising smell of coffee in the air. There were mysteries to investigate.

She stood up (swaying slightly), tucked the blanket around her shoulders, and followed the soft clattering of dishes to the kitchen.

Jack was drying a plate with a dishcloth as she entered. He seemed half-ready for work, hair pomaded but still sans waistcoat and jacket. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and Phryne licked her lips at the delicious sight he made. "Morning, Jack!"

"Morning, Miss Fisher." He looked up, a small smile gracing his lips. "How's the head?"

She rolled her eyes, recognising his words. "The head's fine, but I could do with some coffee."

"Of course," he said, reaching for an empty mug that stood next to a toaster and a small plate on the countertop. Phryne saw a scribbled note lying on the plate and leaned closer to read it as Jack made her coffee. 

"Miss Fisher," she read out loud, "help yourself to some toast and coffee. This is the spare key to the front door. I'll get it from you when I see you again. Signed, Jack." She looked at him through her lashes. "Were you planning on leaving me all alone in your house, Jack?"

"Well," he said, adding milk to her coffee, "you didn't get much of a chance to snoop last night, so I thought I'd give you the opportunity to do so undisturbed." He gestured down at the mug. "Sugar?"

"Two." Phryne gingerly lifted herself to sit on the countertop next to where Jack was stirring her coffee. Jack's blanket dropped from her shoulders and pooled around her waist. She reached down and stroked it fondly. "I assume this belongs to you?"

Jack handed her the coffee. "Well, you did fall asleep in my living room."

"And you didn't wake me?" 

His eyes twinkled at her. "You wouldn't have been fit to make your own way home even if I did wake you. Besides, this makes us equal."

Phryne grinned into her mug, remembering the night Jack had unexpectedly spent in her bed, and his acute mortification the following morning. "Ah, but you didn't undress me, Jack. I demand a do-over!"

He smirked and made a show of looking at his watch. "Perhaps another time. I must be getting to work."

"I'll go with you," Phryne declared, downing the remaining coffee and jumping off the counter, nearly losing her balance in the process. "You can drop me off at Wardlow on your way."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Don't you want to look around first?" he teased.

"I'll save that for next time I'm here," she said confidently. "If we hurry, we might still catch Francois at my house." She leaned closer as if to confide a secret to Jack, and he leaned in too. "The milkman," she whispered with a grin.

Jack rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "Better get ready then, Miss Fisher. We leave in ten minutes."