Page 19 of Awake in Cheshire Bay
We stepped into the space and a familiar scent of cinnamon, from the fragrance sticks I had set around the place, warmed my soul.
I gave a sweeping gaze over the living room and kitchen. It was as horrible as I’d thought. At least the counter was clutter free.
“Please, help yourself to whatever you’d like. I’ll go and freshen up; it shouldn’t take me too long.”
He pulled out his phone and flashed it in my direction. Countless notifications lit up the screen.
What kind of a developer was he?
“Emails and calls.”
Yeah, have fun with that. Those never ended. I pointed toward the peninsula in the kitchen. “There’s a charger on the kitchen counter if you need.”
“Ja.” He smiled and sat upon my couch, which judging from the look on his face, was not as firm as the bed he’d sleep on tonight. “You go do what you do.”
Stepping away slowly, I gave the area another sweeping glance. We didn’t come back to spend anytime here, just a quick pitstop. “I’ll be quick.”
And with that, I ducked into the bedroom and pulled off my still uncomfortably damp clothes, tossing them all into the hamper. I hopped into the shower and did the fastest clean ever, drying off a mere four minutes later. At least there was no more sand in my hair as it was currently dancing and swirling around the drain. I towel dried my hair, fluffing and scrunching it to help define the curls and brushed some powder over my t-zone to absorb the shine. Satisfied with the way I looked, I scrambled into the closet, searching for something practical and yet a little sexy, however, I spent more time hunting for a matching set of bra and panties. Mission accomplished, I exited my bedroom after quickly smoothing out the duvet on the bed, and fluffing the pillows, just in case.
Antonio was on the phone, his accented voice firm and unyielding to whomever he was speaking with. He turned around and his voice softened as a smile stretched from ear to ear. It sounded like he said weinershen when he hung up, but I may have been wrong. The word made me giggle.
“You are stunning.”
I curtsied. “Thank you. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No.” He bridged the gap between us, pocketing his phone. “Your place is… ahh…” He was waving his hand in circles. “Homey.”
I smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
“Your family?” He pointed to a picture tucked in beside a few self-help books with titles like The Courage to Heal, Toxic Parents, and Healing the Trauma of Abuse
Those books had been untouched in a while, but suddenly, I felt very exposed and vulnerable knowing he probably gave the titles a passing glance and wondered what the hell kind of person he was hanging out with.
Instead of dwelling on it too much, I focused my attention on the lovelies in the frame. “They are my surrogate family. These are my friends, Willow and Arlo.” I pointed to the two older people who could very well be substitute parents, and on many occasions had been. “And this is my best friend Cedar and her fiancé Mitch. This guy is Eric, he’s the pilot that brought you to my pub.”
“Ah, yes. He is different.”
It was an older picture, a couple years old, and due for a retake since Eric was now with Lily and her son, and Cedar was pregnant. Maybe in the summer.
“Maybe if you come back for Thanksgiving, you can join us for our annual bonfire on the beach. It’s a private party, held at Eric’s, and there’s usually thirty of us.”
“Bun-fire?” His perfect eyebrow arched.
“Yeah, you know a bonfire. Big flames, lots of wood. So much fun.” My arms opened wide to demonstrate, and it had me wondering if he was completely unfamiliar with the word. “Don’t they have gatherings where you are from?”
“Ja, but no fire.”
“Ah, you’re missing out. It’s just something we do here.” I shrugged as memories of summer days, warm breezes and lots of laughter floated in my head. “Where are you from anyway? You never mention anything.”
His shoulders sagged. “It is not close.”
“Are you from Europe?”
There was a glint in his eyes. “I can not say.”
“Can’t? Or Won’t?”
“Can not.”