I’d adjust to the new lemon-colored and pink accessories, all of which have been hand-painted, a lot easier if she’d just talk to me.
She spins around, hearing me spill the cereal all over the table because I hadn’t been watching what I was doing.
It’s the pastries’ fault. The incredible smell and the golden color make my brightly colored cereal feel like such an inferior breakfast food.
I clean my mess, scooping the brightly colored shapes into my hand, and I take them to the trash before returning to my seat.
“You’re bleeding,” she tells me, her eyes wide.
My fingers hover over the injury, but I don’t touch it. It took me long enough to feel like my hands were clean after touching it last time.
Approaching me with a wet paper towel in hand, she lowers it to the table as if she’s afraid to touch me.
If the paper towel touches the table and you use it, you’ll get an infection.
Quickly, I snap my hand around her wrist.
She tries to yank herself away, her wide eyes lingering on where we’re joined. She moves fast, and everything happens in slow motion for me.
Her scars disappear beneath my fingers, and she pulls away like I’m the thing that burned her.
Lowering my head so she can meet my gaze, I flick my eyes between the table and the paper towel.
“Oh… oh, right. I’m sorry. I thought you were better with germs now.”
A silent laugh lifts my cheeks. I peel my fingers away, holding them out so she can put the towel in my hand.
“Are you not? I saw you playing with the skirting boards when I first learned you were here.”
Wiping the blood from my ear, I cringe, seeing it on the paper towel. A quick glance at my secret door and a thousand thoughts over how to explain all that takes me away from the smell of pastries again.
“You can have one. I’m not that spiteful.” Dollie moves back to the work surface on the other side of the room. She sets down Bubbles’ food, and I smile because never once have I seen this dog try to eat anything that wasn’t placed in her bowl for her.
She’s such a good girl.
I pat her head on my way back to the trash.
Shifting my attention back to Dollie, I sit back at the table and write a message in the flour.
Will you be hoping I choke?
“No, I’m not that hateful, either.”
No, but she’s still terrified and rubbing at her wrist.
Trusting her, I select a pain au chocolat and pause with it at my lips.
The pepper shaker dragging across the table lifts my eyes to Dollie, who pushes it forward.
I give a quick nod of gratitude and sprinkle it on my pastry. take a bite, then push away the cereal.
I fight to stop smiling because she remembers my weird food preferences.
With a harsh dragging noise across the tiles, Dollie pulls up a chair and sits down. The surprise straightens my spine.
“Annabelle says that we shouldn’t be enemies. You know?” Annabelle is an angel, hopefully, one that can guide this woman back on her rightful path.
We don’t.I shrug, finishing off the croissant in two bites.
