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“I’m going to go shower while you cook. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” she says, a confused frown on her face as she continues to look at me, then down at my abs, and then back up.
Looks like I’m not the only one with wandering eyes.
“Thank you,” I say. “For cooking.”
This is weird. Abort. Get out of here.
“Oh. You’re welcome.”
She smiles, and I make my exit, feeling like a boy with his first crush and not a full-grown man who has flirted before.
The smell of breakfast greets me as soon as I open my bedroom door, showered and fully put together. I dress like I normally do to keep a semblance of normalcy in my life. I’m starting to feel pulled apart at the seams with everything going on and the unbidden thoughts I’m having. I feel out of control right now, and I don’t like it. It’s how she made me feel. My traitorous ex-wife.
I take the stairs two at a time and turn the corner to see Alice pulling bacon from the oven, her ass swaying back and forth to music she has coming from her phone on the counter. She rises and places the bacon on the stove beside a pan of scrambled eggs before turning and grabbing the bread from the toaster and placing them on plates, plopping a square of butter on each.
She’s a well-oiled, dancing breakfast machine, and I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s odd to see a young woman in my kitchen again when it’s been Vicky for so long. Safe, grandmotherly Vicky. Now, I have tempting, beautiful Alice, who cooks what looks like a mean breakfast.
“Smells good,” I say, raising my voice above the music, and she whirls to face me, her body stilling and that flush rising in her cheeks again.
“Just in time,” she says, gesturing to the plates. Then, she finishes loading them down with eggs and bacon beside the toast. She carries them to the table and places one at the head and the other on the side, so we will be kitty-corner from each other.
After setting orange juice in front of each plate, Alice sinks into one chair and gestures for me to take the other. I do so gratefully and dive into the food. We eat in silence, both of us trying not to stare at each other, but I swear we both feel the weirdness.
“Do you know what time the camera crew is supposed to arrive?”
I check my phone and then glance back up at her. “In about thirty minutes, I think.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I’d better go shower.” She hops up from her chair and wraps both hands around her mug as she looks at me.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I say.
She nods, rising on the balls of her feet before settling back down. “You’re welcome.”
I watch her grab her plate and take it to the sink, rinsing it off before depositing it in the dishwasher. She turns, offering me a small smile before making her way up to her room, leaving me alone with breakfast and my thoughts.
I thought this would be easier—having a woman in my house again. An attractive young woman who causes feelings in my body I would rather not have again. If it wasn’t for that damn show, she wouldn’t be here, so I let the anger toward Blindly Ever After take over, freeing me from my own responsibility in this. I’m not sure which part of me thought it was a good idea to move her from being a fake girlfriend to a nanny for my daughter, further embroiling her in my family.
I push the eggs around on my plate, no longer hungry. With a growl, I stand and grab my plate. Then, I stalk toward the sink, cleaning up the remains of my breakfast. I scrub the dish with a force I’m surprised doesn’t break it and then dry it.
I set it back in the cabinet with a clink.
There. Right where it’s supposed to be.
Now, I’m the lost one, feeling like a stranger in my own home.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in a chair beside Alice, facing a camera with an extremely hot light facing us. It causes a sweat to break out on my forehead, forcing the makeup lady to dab my face with a brush every couple of minutes between takes.
“Okay, Simon—can I call you Simon? Or would you prefer Dr. Morrow?” The interviewer, Janet, asks us about two to three questions each time she opens her mouth.
“Simon is fine.”
“Great. Simon, what was your first impression of Alice?”
I can feel Alice tense up in the chair next to me. Her back goes straighter, and the leg she was bouncing up and down goes still. I knew that we would get hard questions to answer, but it makes it worse when the person you are talking about to the camera is sitting right beside you, knowing that whatever comes out of your mouth is probably fake. I don’t know how to tell her that I’m not sure it is fake. From the moment I saw her, I’ve been affected by her. Being in the same room with her has my blood flying to parts of my body that have been astonishingly neglected.
Sure, I’ve had sex since my ex-wife left. But nothing meaningful, only to satisfy urges and forget memories.
