W-what…what’s that?
I smell…turkey bacon and…something familiar. Is Boyd here on a Saturday? I head straight into the kitchen through the dining room instead of the living room. She must have sensed my presence or heard the duds of my footsteps nearing because she damn near jumped in my direction. Her eyes drew large and her beautiful lips parted. I’d startled her.
I realize I must be a staggering sight for her to see. Fuck, I’m out of breath and sweating out of control. I brush my face with my clammy hands and let out a forceful exhale. But we don’t speak. I’m not sure about her, but I haven’t a fucking clue as to what to say after the events of yesterday. Last night. This morning. Hell, I fucked my girl into folly—for hours!
Rayna stood there, suspended in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a black, silk robe with colorful flowers dispersed throughout. She was holding a spatula. There was so much so much behind her eyes. Anxiety, exhaustion, wariness. Fear? Was she afraid of me? I wouldn’t hurt her. Had I hurt her? I mean, I was vexed—goddamned livid. Still am. But I would never hurt my girl.
The mixed aromas are flooding my olfactory lobes, bringing my attention to the display of food on the marble counters, stove, and island. There are pancakes, waffles, home fries, biscuits, sausages, gravy, and a fruit salad spread over the counters. On the stove, there is turkey bacon frying. I know it’s turkey because Rayna knows that swine doesn’t make it through my front door; coincidentally, so does my chef. There are two sauce pans on low fire on the stove, too.
What in the hell is all of this? A parting feast?
“Pocket watch,” I muttered, remembering our code word for honesty.
“Old-fashioned oatmeal, grits, and turkey bacon. I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast so I made every breakfast item available in the kitchen.”
Rayna must have seen my eyes travel to the stove and assumed I was asking about the food. That was good information, but I needed something with a little more substance in terms of insight. She remained still, her fearful expression still lingering.
I shook my head. “What are you feeling?”
Her eyes danced. I could tell she was processing my request for her to open up, something she finds difficult. I stood in the same position for what seemed like hours, not finding the ability to even fucking breathe. This was do or die. So much had taken place over the past twelve hours…hell—the past week. My actions with Dawn and my reaction to Thompson could fucking make or break us. I couldn’t handle losing her, but I had to admit to myself the pending reality of our relationship. I so desperately needed to know what was going on in that pretty little incommunicado brain of hers. My mind isn’t yet fresh enough to anticipate her needs. I make my attempt.
Finally, she moves! She pivots and shuts off the burner for the bacon and removes it. I take a hard swallow. Somehow I recall that I’m standing in the middle of my kitchen wearing just my underwear. I didn’t think to put anything on even my damn feet.
Rayna turns back towards me, but her eyes don’t follow. She trains them to the floor or something below and gives a deep exhale. My chest tightens and my body tenses, preparing for a physical blow from her words.