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I figure that will give me enough time to eat, clean up after myself, and shower.
I miss Leo like crazy, but I am going to make sure I’m fed and showered before going home to him. The last thing he needs after a night at home with Oma is for me to come home hangry and smelling like a nightclub.
I’ve made this type of omelet several times before, but somehow, it tastes better in this kitchen. Or more likely, I just had more fun making it on such a high-quality stove.
One day, I’m going to have a stove just like this… or maybe an even better one.
My kitchen would be the heart of my home. The layout would be just like this one but instead of the cold, industrial black and white, I’d have something with more color, something more me.
There would definitely be a cozy little breakfast nook too. Leo and I could have breakfast together in the warm morning sun and watch the birds flit about. When he gets older, he’d do his homework there while I experiment with new recipes.
In the summer evenings, I could sit in that little nook and watch him play in the back yard. Then in the winter, we could sit there with cups of cocoa and gingerbread men just watching the snow fall.
Then he’ll grow up and get married, and he and his wife will sit there and we’ll watch his kids play in the yard.
I laugh at myself as I’m wiping the tears from my eyes. I don’t even have a house with a yard, much less a designer kitchen like this, and here I am planning out the entirety of my and Leo’s lives.
As I’m finishing the last bites of my breakfast, I hear the front door open.
Wesley must have found someone to fill in for the rotisseur. Would it be weird if I made him breakfast? Should I make him breakfast?
“Wesley, I swear if you’re sleeping in again, I’m going to drag you out of bed by your hair,” Phillip calls out. “I’m on time for every single one of the food festivals or dessert bacchanalias you insist we all go to. I’m even the one who remembers to bring you dairy pills because you refuse to take your lactose intolerance seriously. And I even make sure to have antacids when you inevitably overdo it. And what happens when I want you to go and watch a chess tournament with me? You’re not even close to being ready.”
My fork clatters onto my plate in shock. I didn’t realize Phillip was even capable of sounding this upset.
He comes storming into the kitchen. “If you’re in your pajamas still, I swear I’m?—”
Phillip stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. His entire body seems to deflate.
“Hi.” I give him an awkward wave.
His eyes rake over my exposed legs, and I realize just how little of me Wesley’s shirt actually covers.
I jump up and scuttle to the other side of the kitchen island. I have no doubt that I’m quickly turning the same shade as the shirt I’ve got on.
Phillip sighs and rubs his temples.
I’ve got this irrational worry that he’s disappointed in me. Does he think less of me because he found me here? Am I going to get a lecture from him about ethics?
The blood freezes in my veins.
My heart drops to my feet as my stomach lodges in my throat.
If he tells the university what he saw here, there’s a good chance I can kiss my scholarship goodbye.
Why, oh why did I go home with Wesley last night? No amount of fun was worth compromising my future over. How could I have let myself be so stupid?
Phillip makes his way over to one of the bar stools at the island where I’d been sitting. He lets out a frustrated sigh and starts rubbing his temples.
I brace myself for the dressing down of a lifetime.
“So glad you honored our agreement, Wesley,” he mutters.
Wait, what?
Had they been talking about me? What kind of agreement could they have possibly made about me?
My skin crawls as disgust creeps around under my skin.
