Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
I’m up before Hawk, as I usually am. His grip on me is never tight enough that I need to struggle to escape, so I wriggle out of his grasp and head to the bathroom , slipping on a bathrobe this time around. I’d have preferred one of Hawk’s shirts, but given we’re at what’s pretty much my place, I think he needs that shirt to get dressed in.
Life is so unfair sometimes.
Everything about our time together has been great. He’d even already taken me to meet his family, who are just sweethearts, every single one of them. It’s amazing to me that they actually seem to love and care for one another. And support one another, even if they might not agree with it themselves.
It’s everything my family is not.
And it makes me incredibly jealous.
I head into the kitchen, and start to cook up something. I’m the host here, so I kind of take it as my duty. All the times I’d gone over to Hawk’s cabin, he had treated me to breakfast in bed: eggs, bacon, toast, some pancakes, and generally spoiling me the best he could.
I yearn to be a baker, but baking for breakfast is usually something you do beforehand. Not that I don’t know how to cook otherwise. I crack some eggs and start to make some French toast, a recipe I took from one of our house cooks. I had to beg him to teach me how to do it. Retrospectively, I could see why it’d be annoying to teach his client’s teenage daughter how to cook. That wasn’t part of their job description, after all.
But they did it anyway. And I’m glad I can have this excellent recipe whenever I want, and share it with whomever I want.
I start whisking the eggs and thaw out some sausage, wondering if Hawk is one of those types who’d get ornery if his meat didn’t contain real meat. It’d be a good accompaniment for the meal anyhow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my guest walk into my kitchen, stretching himself out and yawning. “Good morning, love,” he says.
“Good morning, love,” I say right back. I glance over at him. He’s walking around naked as the day he was born, not an ounce of shame inside of him.
I’m not surprised. He didn’t show any when he was walking around his own home, and I guess in this case there’s no reason not to. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and I quite like seeing him in his birthday suit.
“Where are the towels?” he asks. “Bathroom, I’m guessing?”
“Yes. Probably should make doubly sure. These aren’t my chairs, and it’d be rude to rub ourselves all over them.”
He smirks and lets out a little laugh as he goes to retrieve them before coming back and having a seat. “Not your chairs, you said? Are you renting this place? All the furniture included?”
“Yeah. For the summer.”
He takes in the room. All the fancy paintings on the wall, the luxurious leather couch, the seventy-inch TV in front of it. “And you’re renting this place on the pay of an assistant baker?”
“Well, no,” I say, focusing on mixing my batter. “This is basically a vacation for me.”
“A vacation where you go work part-time at a bakery?”
A moment later, I realize where I just slipped up. “Uh... It’s helping pay for this place, combined with all the money I saved?”
Hawk stares at me, not believing much of what I’m saying.
I’m starting to panic a bit. I don’t like lying. I’ve never liked lying. But I’m worried that if I confess to Hawk that I’m a rich little princess, everything between us will change. I feel like he won’t take me seriously anymore, or worse... it will change how he feels about me.
The truth will come out. It always does. How long can I pretend to be something I’m not?
“Forget I asked,” he says, as he spots the pain in my eyes. “How’s the French toast coming along?”
I tremble, and just try to ignore my secret shame.
It will come out. But at least Hawk isn't trying to force it out of me.
The rest of the preparation goes off without any more awkward questions. Soon, Hawk and I are eating breakfast across from one another, like the half-dozen times we’ve done this before.
“Wow. Did you come up with this recipe yourself?” he asks after wolfing down the meal, sausages and toast equally.
I’m barely even halfway done. I hesitate to answer his question, knowing the truth will bring more explaining than I’m willing to do right now. “A friend gave it to me. I really appreciate it because I make it, like, once per week. At least.”
“You got some talent, though. There’s more to cooking than just following the directions directly. You need to know how to work things right.”