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Awesome. ‘Cause that was notoriously a great time for women’s lib.
Well, Mel, he did spank you.
I stare at the dress for another second, debating with myself. The only other option is to go out with no clothes on at all. And what message would showing up for breakfast in nothing but red lacy lingerie send? Or I could just skip breakfast altogether and stay up here in my room under the covers?
My stomach rumbles with hunger.
I swear the bacon is calling my name. Mellllllll, it calls. I’m deliciousssssss.
I slip the dress over my head. I catch the briefest glimpse of myself in the mirror but turn away before I can see my girly reflection full on. There’s just no need to see the complete effect.
Let’s go get stuffed with some over-salted, fatty meat.
Bacon makes everything better.
I exit my room and hurry down the stairs.
The kitchen is large and must have once served the whole resort. It’s dim with light only filtering in through the heavy drapes. I briefly explored it during my initial wanderings. It feels much more intimate than some of the industrial kitchens I’ve glimpsed when my friends waitressed throughout college.
The floor is a warm, brown, Spanish-type glazed tile, and the grill, stove, and oven take up one wall. Xavier’s set up a small six-person wooden dining room table off to the side that, like his bed, looks handcrafted.
At the moment, however, my attention is stalled out by the man himself. The dim light is still plenty to see Xavier standing in front of the counter, flipping golden pancakes from a griddle onto two plates already loaded with eggs and bacon.
He’s shirtless, wearing nothing except some loose-slung jeans while he does this—not even any socks. It brings back vivid memories of all the things he did to my body yesterday and heat burns my cheeks. I cross my arms over my chest as I enter the kitchen.
The good side of his face is turned to me as he flips the last pancakes on the griddle, and with a shock, I realize that Xavier is actually extremely good looking.
When I first met him, all I could focus on was the ruined half of his face. But from this angle I can see him as he once must have been.
Ruggedly handsome. He has strong, angular features.
“Do you like syrup on your pancakes?” he asks and I immediately look to the floor, hoping he didn’t catch me staring. He transfers the pancakes to the plate.
“Sure,” I say, toeing at the floor nervously before glancing back up at him.
He’s younger than I first thought, too. Maybe in his early thirties, if that. He wears his hair a little too long. Is he self-conscious about the bad part of his face? The one mostly missing ear? What happened to him anyway?
He pours a light dribble of syrup back and forth over the stack of pancakes and then holds out my plate. I’m not sure when I last had pancakes. It’s not a very New York meal.
I take my plate and turn to the table.
And then I realize there’s only one chair.
Xavier doesn’t seem to notice that anything’s amiss, however, as he brushes right past me and sets his plate down in front of the single chair. Then he pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicks a few times and hands it to me. I hold my plate to my waist so I can grab the phone.
There’s Dad, standing by the railing of what looks like a resort right on the water, which is so blue it’s almost turquoise. My breath hitches. “It looks like paradise.”
“Not a bad place to retire,” Xavier agrees.
Dad looks anything but happy, though, as he holds up yet another paper. Daddy.
“Does he know I’m okay?” I look up at Xavier anxiously. “Can I talk to him?”
Xavier’s mouth tightens into a line. “That’s not part of the deal. No contact while you’re here.” He takes the phone back, leaving me holding my plate awkwardly.
I sigh, my stomach churning as I think of Dad going crazy worrying about me. With the way we were taken… which God, was so freaking unnecessary. I grit my teeth, though. Exploding at Xavier isn’t going to get me what I want. “Well can you at least get him pictures of me, too? Showing that I’m okay?”
He studies me for a brief moment, then nods once. I barely have a second to breathe out in relief and utter a quick, “thank you,” before he’s gesturing beside his plate. “You can set yours down here.”
I look around as he sits and, without ceremony or preamble, begins to eat.
“Um, is there another chair or step stool I could use…?”
I mean seriously, I get that these aren’t normal circumstances, but it’s not like he didn’t know I was coming. A modicum of hospitality might be nice. He certainly didn’t forget to stock up on all the other items in his bedside drawer. Remembering to make sure there was an extra chair in the dining room might have gone a long way toward showing me I’m not just an expensive sex toy/baby incubator.
