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“How do you know?” I whisper, my heart racing.
“Because nobody else even knows about this place. Plus, I’m expecting something.” He pats my cheek lightly, then leaves me in the kitchen as he disappears to presumably the front door.
For several seconds, I am alone in the kitchen. Free and uncuffed. No one between me and the drawer closest to me. I could open it. Maybe there’d be a knife. I could take it, hide it underneath my thigh, and wait for Adrien to return before making a move.
I press both palms flat against the island.
No. I don’t want to.
Adrien returns with a medium cardboard box tucked under his arm. His eyes drop to my hands, splayed on the countertop, then lift to my face. Something pleased and approving settles in his expression.
He sets the box down with a soft thud. “Good boy. Thank you for staying put.”
Heat blooms low in my stomach. The drawer vanishes from my mind.
“What is it?” I ask, curious about the box and also wanting to distract myself from thoughts that’ll make me need to fan myself.
“Some of your stuff.”
“My stuff?”
“I ordered some things for you last night. Might have gotten carried away.”
He pulls a small folding knife from his pocket, flicks it open, and slices through the packing tape in one smooth motion. Then it’s gone again, back into his jeans before I can even focus on it.
He peels away layers of brown paper until something lavender winks up from inside.
I lean forward. “What’s that?”
He lifts it out. It’s shaped like a cup, but not quite—two rounded handles on either side, a flexible silicone straw poking through a clear lid.
Oh. It’s a baby cup. My ears burn.
Adrien sets it in front of me, and I reach out, brushing my thumb over one of the handles. The silicone gives slightly under my touch.
Suspicious, I turn it over. No cartoons, no babyish lettering. Just soft lavender plastic, a clear lid, a pale straw. It’s… kind of cute.
“Do I have to use it?” I ask quietly, still touching it.
“No.”
“You won’t be disappointed?” I can’t look at him, focusing instead on the way the overhead light catches on the clear lid.
“No.”
I glance up.
Adrien’s expression is serious as he leans against the counter, arms crossed. “I mean that, Kammie. This isn’t a test. Little things are supposed to make you feel comfortable, not make you perform for me. I don’t want you to pretend with these things. If you don’t like them, that’s fine.”
Something relaxes inside me, and I look at the cup again. “What would I put in it?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Juice?”
“Yeah, baby. You could put juice in it.”
He smiles, then reaches back into the box, the packaging paper rustling as he pulls out a thick book.
