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A second later, a woman stepped through the door.
“That’s me,” I said, giving her a smile.
One she returned, but so quickly that I would have missed it if I had even half blinked.
“I’m Kayla,” she said softly.
She was older than her voice sounded, maybe a few years younger than me, and I was somewhat surprised that she was black like me.
“Um…hi,” I said.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“As ready as I will ever be,” I said with a chuckle.
One that she didn’t acknowledge.
I had been expecting a warden, and Kayla was anything but.
Her dark brown skin was smooth, completely blemish-free, and looked as soft as velvet.
Her expression was guarded, and I noticed there was absolutely nothing about her that was designed to draw attention.
Not that I had any room to talk.
Other than glasses, I was toned down, but Kayla took things to a different level.
Nondescript black loafers, black slacks, white shirt, black overcoat.
Her hair was pulled back and pinned, but I could see she had braids.
Her features were just as nondescript as her clothing, but I noticed she had kind eyes.
She was completely expressionless, but still, I sensed an innate goodness in her.
I wondered if maybe she had found the wrong hotel room.
Then again, she had addressed me by name, so I supposed not.
“Are you done with your breakfast?” she asked.
I realized the voice I thought was a whisper wasn’t at all. She was just incredibly soft-spoken.
“I’m finished. Would you like anything?”
She shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
I heard a faint Southern accent, and found myself smiling. “Please, don’t ever, ever, call me ma’am.”
She smiled quickly, but then dropped the expression, looked away.
This was quite the experience. I pegged Kayla instantly as shy, a little bit awkward, but definitely sweet.
And where I was in an absolute world of shit, I couldn’t help but feel some kinship toward her.
“Well, the men are waiting.”
A clear, though gentle order to leave.
