On the third day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

Jayce heard himself groan before he realized he was awake. The sun streaming through the cabin porthole hurt his eyes, even though they were closed. He pressed a hand over them and rolled over only to fall face down on the floor with a thud that reverberated through his aching head. He groaned again and pressed the side of his face to the cool wood slats, keenly aware of the movements of the ship that made it evident they were at sea.
“One of these days,” Timothy said in a jovial tone that didn’t sit well with Jayce’s mood, “you’re going to realize that getting drunk is not worth the hangover.”
“Stop preaching to me and help me up,” Jayce insisted, attempting to open his eyes.
Timothy stood, then stepped over Jayce, declaring, “Nah, I think I’ll leave you there for a while. I suspect it will be at least an hour before you are tolerable company.” He opened the door and added, “I’ll bring you some coffee.” He then chuckled and slammed the door purposefully loud, provoking another groan from Jayce.