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I still want him now.
And he’s here.
It surprises me he stayed.
Leaving him sleeping, I slip out of the room and quickly head down the corridor to my dad’s room. I knock on the door, concerned it’s been hours past when he should’ve taken his pills.
When he calls out for me to come in, I push on the door.
“Scarlet. You were home? I didn’t see you this afternoon and presumed you were out this evening.” My dad is sitting up in his armchair. Much like the one Lance is currently sprawled in.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I crashed pretty hard when I got back from getting your prescriptions. Have you eaten? I’ll go get your pills.”
“I’ve eaten. I had the pasta you left in the oven. It was lovely, thank you. And my pills were on the kitchen island.” His head tilts. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
I frown.Pasta?
“Are you okay, Scarlet? You look pale this evening.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hungry.”
“You didn’t eat this morning. Did you get something from Frank’s bakery?”
I was going to, but then I passed out and had to be collected by the man whose lap I rode Wednesday night and who’s now asleep down the hall…
“No, but I did have a banana.” Not an outright lie. “I’ll leave you to sleep, Dad. Good night.”
“Good night, Scarlet.”
I leave his room and head down to the kitchen, wearing a confused frown. The smell of carbonara makes my mouth water the closer I get.
As I round the kitchen doorway, I find it immaculate. The dishes I’d left on the drainer this morning cleared, and the worktops wiped clean. I open the oven door and find a saucepan. Removing the lid, I take a deep inhale of the creamy pasta and groan. It smells delicious.
I grab a fork from the drawer and take a greedy mouthful.
Did Lance do all of this?
It’s not Frey’s recipe. I know Frey’s cooking. But surely Lance didn’t make this. Dad would have said if he’d seen him.
Unless he didn’t see him?
Why would Lance do that?
Why did he stay?
Taking another mouthful, I leave the pasta and grab my keys to the wine cellar. I find a bottle of my favourite red and make sure I lock the door behind me.
Once I’m back in the kitchen, I fill a bowl with pasta, grab two wine glasses and my phone charger, and then disappear back up the stairs.
Lance
“Cinderella forgot her glass slipper; she wasn’t the type to leave her panties lying around. My favourite food is pasta—but that could change depending on what you feed me next. And you’d make an oddly good stalker considering the nature of these texts.”
My eyes drift open, revealing Scarlet standing at my side. She’s pouring wine into one of two glasses on the dresser. She looks divine in her pale-pink sundress that hugs her every curve.
“Do you want to stay the night?” she asks, looking down at the other glass.
I shouldn’t want to stay the night. I should say no and leave. I should, but…“Do I have to sleep in this chair?”
