The woman does not care. She winks. “Of course. I’ll set that extra place.”
“We’re going to eat in the kitchen and make muffins.”
Some manner of slyness lightens Mrs. Yvon’s pale brown eyes. “What an interesting school project.”
Lex nods, almost sagely. “It really is.” Opening an eye, he chastises, “Please behave yourself.”
The woman raises a hand in oath. “Of course.”
I do not believe her as she merrily goes on her way.
With a smile, Lex shakes his head, finding me after the woman has hummed out of the room. “The kitchen is this way. I guess these business muffins are going to have to be a business dinner as well. I hope that’s okay.”
I’m not sure anything is okay. Not right now.
This is entirely too surreal.
And with every one of his smiles, my heart still hasn’t stopped hammering.
Lex
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Calypso is simultaneously in heaven and in hell. She kind of reminds me of a fish, just floating around with a dumbfounded look in her large eyes. Like she’s lost but content but occasionally concerned that she’s lost. After I clear out the kitchen of Giorgio—and all the other nosy staff—I get a plate for her out of the cabinet and tell her to help herself to whatever she wants, whether it’s on the stove or elsewhere.
She serves herself a slab of chicken scallopini, mashed potatoes, and some asparagus before abandoning her plate beside me and wandering through the lanes of silver counters. Drifting across the tile, she takes in all the hanging and stacked equipment, utensils, pots, and pans, then she bobs over to her plate for a bite. The pattern continues until she’s surveyed everything from the shelves of cookbooks to the massive gas stoves to the five ovens. In a house like this, a kitchen fit for entertaining hundreds of guests is almost given.
I sit in my favorite place, on a silver counter by the door, and rest my plate on my lap while I watch her.
“Where’s the army?” she notes when she drifts back for another bite of food.
“Out back in the barracks.”
“Ah.” And she flutters away again, this time finding the walk-in pantry. Her back straightens, and I feel the tangible awe from all the way over here as she disappears into the the room of packed shelves. When she comes out this time, it’s with a bag of flour. She sets it on a center counter, gets another bite of food, and wanders toward the mysterious silver door that leads into our walk-in freezer.
It opens, and she gasps, throwing a look at me. “I found thetorture chamber!” Poking her head in, she shivers. “It’s empty!”
“I cleaned it out just for you,” I call.
A large smile paints across her features, and she finds her way to the fridge door beside it. That one she vanishes into, emerging later with some strawberries.
Clearly, she’s decided on the kind of muffins she wants to make.
I lift a bite of mashed potatoes to my mouth and keep watching her float. Even when Jason came over, he wasn’t this awestruck or invested in exploration. He just kind of whistled and accepted that this was where I lived. Then we went up to my room and watched a movie on my flat screen because I didn’t feel like setting up the theater in the basement.
Is Calypso being nosy or is this how she’s coming to terms with the change in her expectations? Make the unfamiliar familiar. Because familiar things are safe.
Heck, she can explore the whole house if she wants. I’m not going to stop her. And especially not if it means she’s making my home safe for herself.
Guilt niggles in my chest. She was so nervous there wasn’t room for anger when we arrived. I never want to cause her to collapse like she did in the car again. She froze, putting all her energy into trying to maintain function, not show that she was terrified. But she didn’t have the capability.
Helpless. Calypso isn’t ever supposed to be helpless.
She wanders back over to me, this time with one of my muffin cookbooks. She plops it down beside her plate and opens to a page with perfectly pink strawberry muffins. A delicate finger directs my attention to the image. “This one.”
“Just this one?”
Her eyes go huge, and she pauses mid-bite, staring at me, like the possibility of more than one kind hadn’t yet occurred to her. Her head whips down, and she goes directly to another page,pointing at a coffee crumble muffin recipe. “And this one.”
