Jason

 

 

 

Her breakfast surpasses whatever I would have been able to whip up by far. It looked so effortless and happened so quickly, too. I watched her whirl around, every move thought out and well-practiced, and she managed to make three things at once. I asked her several times if there was anything I could help with, but we both knew that I would just be in the way. Still, I feel awkward and useless and am painfully reminded of the many days I spent in a very similar situation, in my family's kitchen, idly watching while one of my many nannies prepared food for me. I was strictly forbidden to help, because it wasn't proper for a kid of my standing. It's no wonder I have somewhat of a snobbish attitude considering my upbringing.

"You're really good at this," I praise, as she's adding the finishing touches.

"Well, it's part of my job," she simply says as she places the food in front of me. "Did you forget I work at a diner?"

I shake my head. "Of course not. But I thought you were just..."

I bite my tongue when I see her brows narrowing together.

"I mean, I-"

"You thought I was just a waitress," she finishes brusquely. "No need to explain."

She sounds hurt, and I hate that I'm responsible for that. Especially after the way she reacted when I revealed my name and background last night, this is not the kind of impression I want to leave with her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," I apologize.

She huffs. "I know you didn't. Really, stop worrying about it."

My gaze follows her, arching my eyebrows in surprise when she walks over to the coffee table in the living room area. She produces something from her robe and bends over, lighting one of the four candles on the wreath that’s placed there. I watch as she stands there for a moment, her eyes lingering on the candle flame for a few moments before she turns back to me.

"First Advent Sunday," she says as she sits down next to me. "Gotta light the candle before we eat."

I hesitate, casting her a quizzical look. "Do you want to… pray, too?"

She’s laughing as she shakes her head.

"No, no it’s fine," she assures me. "This is more about tradition than faith. My parents always had a wreath during Advent season. I used to get so excited when the first candle was lit, because it means Christmas is getting close."

She pauses and a nostalgic sigh escapes her lips.

"For me, the wreath belongs to Christmas, just as much as the markets."

"The markets?"

"Christmas markets," she explains. "They’re all over the place in Germany during Christmas. They sell all kinds of yummy treats, handmade decorations, delicious drinks – like the mulled wine we had last night."

"Sounds pretty cool."

"Pretty cool," she repeats, mocking me. "They’re amazing. I miss them a lot. There’s just something about standing in the cold, surrounded by all those pretty lights and enticing smells, warming up with a hot cup of mulled wine."

Her gaze wanders dreamily, before she snaps out of reminiscing with a sudden jerk, as if someone had slapped her to come back to her senses. She picks up her fork and smiles at me, a somber smile, as always. "Let’s eat."

Her accent magnifies her demand, causing me to dig right into the food without further ado. Her breakfast is similar to what’s served at the diner - a two-egg omelet with onions and tomato, bacon and buttered toast. Her coffee is better than what they serve at the diner, though. It's strong and dark, just like I like it.

"Have you checked the weather reports this morning?" she asks, without looking at me.

I nod. "I have, and it looks like it'll be hard for me to get anywhere today."

"Pity," she sighs. "So, you're stuck here for another day?"

I glance over to her, but she refuses to reciprocate my look.

"Yes, I guess so," I say. "Unless you don't want me here, of course. I can find another-"

"I doubt that," she cuts me off, and now she's finally looking at me, but it's a frosty look. "Like Mrs. Lynn told you last night, there aren’t any lodges or hotels here. You'd have to stay with another stranger."

"Another stranger," I repeat, locking her eyes down with mine. "I wouldn't call you that."

Her mouth twists, but she doesn't say a word and turns her focus back to the plate in front of her.

We eat in silence for a while, unspoken questions lingering between us. How are we going to spend the day? Does she no longer want me here? Is she just letting me stay here, because she feels she has to? She didn't say a word about not letting me stay another night, but she also didn't say anything about wanting me here. It was more of a matter-of-fact situation. But I still don't know what to make of her, or what to make of last night and the way she left things.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?" I ask eventually, no longer able to bear the awkward silence between us.

She looks up from her plate, casting me a somewhat surprised look.

"About what exactly?" she asks.

I clear my throat.

"Let's start with the way you left after I told you my name," I begin. "I still don't get what scared you away like that."

The expression on her face hardens.

"You are a person one can Google," she says, gritting her teeth as she ponders her next words. "You're like... a big deal, while I'm a... nobody. It's just... it's weird!"

I roll my eyes at her. "Lena, I don't know where you're going with this."

"How can you not get this?" she hisses. "It's just weird... you're some kind of mega millionaire, and yet you somehow ended up here, in this dump."

"Why would you call it that?" I probe. "It's your home!"

She sighs. "Yes, but..."

"Do you still think that there's something fishy about my being here? That I followed you here or something?"

The muscles in her jaw are twitching as she contemplates her response.

"No, not really," she says eventually. "I guess it really is just a strange coincidence."

"Or fate," I interpose.

She looks at me, her eyes widening. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that, too."

I take another sip of my coffee, unsure how I feel about my last statement and what it may cause her to think.

Fate? That sounds a little too romantic for my personal taste. But it doesn't seem entirely farfetched. There is something about her, something that I cannot shake off. I'm not done with her, and it's hard to argue that I'm not entirely unhappy about the fact that I will have to stay another day. As pressed as I felt to get back to New York as soon as possible just a couple of days ago, it all seems so minor now, so inconsequential compared to spending another day with her.

"You may not believe me, but what happened here yesterday, Lena, that's not an everyday occurrence for me."

She shakes her head and huffs, casting me a veiled glance from the side. "Yeah, right."

"Believe me, or don't," I say. "I have no reason to lie to you, do I?"

She shrugs and takes a bite from her toast.

"So, you don't want to do it again?" I ask, observing her from the side as I await her reaction.

She tries to look unfazed by my question, but I can tell that it touches her. There's a flicker traveling across her face and a change in her posture, a tensing that tells me more than she likes.

"You don't want to play again? Fuck again? Have that pretty ass spanked again?"

Now, she's actually blushing, and I can tell that swallowing her food has suddenly become that much harder for her.

"I didn't say that," she finally admits.

"So, you do want to do it again?" I probe, leaning closer to her, just to see if my proximity intimidates her as much as I want it to.

She doesn't retreat when I move so close that we're almost touching, leaning in to leave a few words against the shell of her ear.

"Tell me you're not feeling it right now," I whisper, my lips so close that her hair is dancing in my breath. "You may deny it, but your body remembers - and I remember. I remember the way you trembled under my touch, the way it felt when my cock was buried deep inside you, the way your muscles clenched around me, the way your pussy dripped all over-"

"Stop it," she breathes. "Please. Don't."

"Why not?" I ask, withdrawing so I can look her in the eyes. But she avoids my gaze, lowering her head and turning away from me like a shy schoolgirl.

It's so pleasing to see her change like that, within an instant. It's like turning a switch, a switch that only I know how to reach.

She slips me a curious glance from the side, biting her lower lip.

"You're not wrong," she admits.

"That's a roundabout way of saying I'm right," I say, winking at her.

She relaxes visibly when I move away from her and return to my food.

"This really is excellent," I praise her again, gesturing to my almost empty plate. "How can I ever repay you?"

She chuckles. "I'm sure you can think of a way."

Our eyes meet when we both risk a quick glance at the other. A sassy smile is tugging at her lips, telling me that she's back to her usual self, a very different person than the one I just saw a few moments ago.

"I can start by doing the dishes," I offer, causing her to laugh and roll her eyes at me.

"Not exactly what I was thinking, but yeah, you can do that," she says.

"I didn't say I'm going to leave it at that."

Blush flushes her features as she turns back to the plate to finish her food, a smile tugging at her lips.