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The scent of bacon filled the air.
I glanced at the clock. It was just after seven in the morning. Still early, especially given how late we'd been up the night before. Oliver was already moving around downstairs though, and I worried I might have frozen him out of bed by being a blanket hog.
I reluctantly slipped from the warm, cozy bed and made my way downstairs, rubbing my eyes and yawning as I entered the kitchen. He looked up from the stove and smiled at me, the sight of it filling me with more warmth than even the down comforter had. I looked at the spread he was putting together and was impressed. Not only was there bacon fresh and ready to be eaten, there were biscuits and gravy too.
Even better, there was a strong aroma of a rich, dark brew coffee saturating the air. Yeah, a girl could get used to starting a day just like that.
“Morning, blanket hog,” Oliver said, a chuckle in his voice.
I cringed. “I'm sorry if I—”
He waved my concerns off. “It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway,” he said. “Figured I might as well get a start on the day. Sit, have some coffee. Breakfast is almost ready.”
“I never knew you were a morning person, Ollie,” I said. “Or a gourmet chef. Color me very pleasantly surprised.
He swiped his fork at my hand, a grin on his face, as I stole a piece a bacon and nibbled on it as I took a seat at his kitchen table.
“I'm not technically, but my schedule is all fucked up thanks to my job,” he said. “And I wouldn't call biscuits from a can, gravy from a pouch, and bacon from a package exactly gourmet.”
“It all smells heavenly to me,” I said.
He shrugged. “It'll fill the void and give us some pep,” he said, “because today, we have some work to do.”
I popped the last bit of bacon into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You really think you can jog my memory?”
He shrugged. “It's worth a shot, isn't it?”
“Sure,” I said. “I mean, I guess so.”
He carried two large, heaped plates of food to the table and set one down in front of me, before taking a seat across from me and settling down with his plate. My stomach growled in response to the feast sitting before me. I was hungry, but I knew there was no way in hell I'd be able to finish all that food. Maybe three of me could eat it all, but even then, it wouldn't be easy. Oliver dove right in though, scooping in giant forkfuls of food into his mouth.
Lift. Insert. Chew. Lift. Insert Chew. Oliver was like a machine as he ate, and it was strangely hypnotic to watch.
It was also the difference between a man and a woman, I thought to myself with a laugh. I took a forkful of biscuit into my mouth and mumbled in appreciation. Coming from a can and a pouch or not, it still tasted pretty damned good. It would most definitely fill the void. Very nicely, actually.
“So, what are we going to do?” I asked, and then nibbled on another piece of bacon.
“I thought we'd start by staging a re-enactment of that night,” he said flatly. “I've seen shows where they take a person back to the place where they'd endured their greatest trauma. For you, that's, obviously, the warehouse. My hope is that having you sort of walk through it again may help loosen up some of those memories that are hiding in that big brain of yours.”
The idea of stepping foot near the warehouse – the place I'd almost been murdered – made me drop my fork. It hit the plate with a loud clatter and I looked down, my appetite vanishing as suddenly as a puff of smoke on the wind. My stomach felt as heavy as a brick and the mere idea of eating anymore made my insides turn.
“I can't go back there—”
“I'll be with you, Madison,” he said, reaching across and squeezing my hand. “It'll be okay. You have nothing to worry about. I promise you that.”
“I don't know, Ollie,” I say, my voice trembling. “I may not be ready for this.”
“If we get there and you're not up for it, we'll leave. Simple as that,” he said. “But nothing will happen to you, I swear. I just feel like putting you in that place again is going to jog some memories loose inside of you.”
His smile was warm and his face incredibly trustworthy. Despite the misgivings I so rightly had, I still found myself feeling better as I looked into his eyes. He was right. He'd be there. I wouldn't be alone. It would be okay.
“Okay,” I said after a few minutes. “As long as you'll be there. Let's do it.”
“That's my girl,” he said and returned to shoveling food into his mouth.
My girl, I thought to myself. It was an odd and interesting choice of words. Was there more meaning behind them in his mind? Was he actually staking a claim to me? Maybe subtly voicing his desire for this thing between us to grow once this crisis was in our rearview mirror? Or, was I simply projecting my own desires? Hoping that was the case?
I didn't know and didn't have time to explore all my thoughts and feelings on the matter at that moment in time. Because Oliver was right about one thing – we had a lot of work to do.
