Page 55 of Dream House
In fact, Maisy’s telling everyone about her dream of a blue pony. She has them all smiling, and she’s eating it up.
“His name was Ralphie.” Everyone laughs, and the glint in her eye lets me know she’s making this part up on the spot, relishing the attention.
When Pen sets a mug of tea down in front of Livy, I even notice the young woman’s warm smile.
I’m attempting to serve myself for the third time when I hear heavy footfalls on the stairs.
Lark.
Expecting him to come in and take the last spot at the table, I load a heaping spoonful of eggs onto the plate in my hand before piling on a couple of sausages and biscuits. I’m striding to the table, plate in hand, when he walks in and stops me in my tracks.
Lark Bienvenue stands there, freshly shaven, dark hair darker still from the shower, and wearing a light blue dress shirt and matching tie. His charcoal gray dress pants hug his hips and thighs with breath-halting precision.
Of their own accord, my eyes sweep down and then up the length of his body, landing on his eyes. I’ve never noticed how blue they are. Like the blue of a morpho butterfly. Or a peacock. A blue that nature only saves for a special few. It must be the dress shirt that’s setting them off because I couldn’t have missed something so striking.
I blink and realize those blue eyes are staring at me. Me, dressed in my black lounge pants with the bleach stain on the butt that looks like a maroon lightbulb. Me, with my hair in an orange plastic clip, wearing Nanna’s apron and holding a plate of greasy sausage and biscuits.
“Hungry?” he asks, his gaze flitting from me to the plate in my hand.
I look down. It’s an obscene amount of food. I jolt. “This is for you.”
Lark’s chin inches back. “Me?”
My face grows hot. I think I’ve been standing by the stove for too long. “Yeah, have a seat.” I gesture to the empty spot at the table, wanting him to take this from me so I can head to my room. The wish to splash some cool water on my face, run a brush through my hair, and change clothes is suddenly irresistible.
Cooking for a full house is blistering work.
Lark shakes his head. “Love to, but I can’t.” He glances at the heaping plate again.
“Why can’t you?” I blurt the question before I even know I’ve thought it. “I-I mean, sure. Okay—”
One side of his mouth hikes in a grin. “I’m headed to church.” He wrinkles his nose. “Mass starts in a few minutes.”
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. Yeah, I know next to nothing about him, but the few interactions we’ve had and the three-minute encounter in his room the other night have not given me the impression he’s the churchgoing type. But this explains why he’s so dressed up.
And dressed up is a good look on him.
“Right.” I nod stupidly, aware that everyone at the table is now watching this little exchange.
Lark must be aware of it too because he looks over and raises a hand. “Morning, everybody.”
A couple of nods, muttered greetings, and Maisy’s strident “Morning, Bark!” come his way, and Lark’s smile stretches. He scans the table and then his brow draws together.
“You made all of this?” he asks with a gesture to the plate.
“Yeah, breakfast is on the house, remember?”
His gaze narrows on me. “I thought Pen was making that up.”
“I was not!” Pen defends from her spot at the head of the table.
Frowning, Lark looks over again at the full table lined with once-full plates. His stare jerks back to me. Man, those eyes are blue.
Maybe he’s wearing those fake colored contacts. He has to be.
“I’ve been missing out.” He sounds surprised.
“Yes, you have,” Pen chimes.
