Tina's Naughty Day

I was almost to the kitchen when he called me from the den. “Tina, could you come in here, please. I believe we have some things to discuss. Am I right?” Steve’s words were coaxing. His tone was foreboding.
I turn on leaden feet and drag myself to the door of the den. I can’t quite bring myself to walk in. I see him sitting in his favorite brown leather arm chair. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and quell the butterflies in my stomach. I glance up from the maple hardwood floor for a second, and I accidentally meet his fierce moss green eyes. I was trying to avoid that. Now I’m stuck. Dread is settling over me like a heavy, wool coat.