Page 39 of Ruin

“Oh, is that so?” I questioned, looking her in the eyes with a smirk and devilish wink.

Claire proceeded to blush, turning away from me as her eyes began to search the kitchen.

Despite our moments of ferality the prior evening, this is what made her blush? Okay.

“Are you looking for something, love?” I asked as I used tongs to remove the bacon from the grease and onto a lined plate.

“Coffee…” she said in a pensive way, as if she would die soon without it.

“Ah. The always-important, morning jolt. I have you covered,” I said as I sat a white porcelain cup beneath the prepped espresso machine and pressed the button to make her a steaming double espresso. “How do you like it, my love?”

I could feel her heart fluttering. Calling her love really did something to her. Maybe it was the accent? But whatever it was, she melted. Little did she know, I meant it.

“Ideally, in an IV bag,” she said coldly.

Such a dry sense of humor, this one.

“Well, I do not have an IV bag at my disposal. But what I do have is all the necessities to make lattes, cappuccinos, and any other espresso beverage that you probably know by some strange Starbucks translation that makes little sense,” I quipped, returning the dry humor in my own response.

Claire’s eyes analyzed the kitchen, scanning the gleaming stainless steel and marble surfaces. “This kitchen is gorgeous. It’s like, straight from a magazine.”

“Claire. Love. Focus. The espresso. Tell me what I can do to be your new favorite barista,” I questioned, snapping my fingers to pull her back to me.

“Oh.” she said as her shoulders slumped, and lips pursed with thought. “A latte. Caramel, if you have it. And iced!” she said with enthusiasm.

“Ugh. You Americans and your ice.” I laughed, moving my way through the kitchen to concoct her morning addiction.

I sat the glass down in front of her with pride as she quickly grasped the edges and brought it to her lips.

“Mm.” She moaned softly as her eyes closed.

“So, did I do it?” I questioned, moving back to the stove to carefully arrange the breakfast selection I had so lovingly prepared for her highness.

“Did you do what?” she responded, setting down her glass and jumping down from the barstool.

“Become your new favorite barista?” I questioned; the spatula pointed in her direction as if I were asking her a very loaded question.

“Absolutely!” she said with a smile as her body neared mine.

I took the opportunity to pull her in. My lips pressing firmly against hers until I could taste the rich espresso and caramel dancing onto my tongue. I pulled back from her, my eyes locking into hers as I brushed the back of her head gently with my fingers.

“You taste delicious.”

Claire blushed, pulling away from me and turning her attention to the food. “So, what do we have here? I am starving. Absolutely famished.”

“Ah. So here we have just a little spread of morning deliciousness. Eggs Benedict, bacon, eggs, French toast, fruit…a little indulgence. Think of it as a choose-your-own decadence.” I laughed, realizing quickly that I had made enough food to feed a small army.

“Uh. So, I am hungry, but not hungry enough to eat all this,” Claire said, her eyes wide as the pools of honey shot back and forth between the serving trays and pans that scattered across the stove and surrounding countertop.

“Do not worry, dear. I have staff, remember. What we do not eat will just go in the fridge for whoever wants it. Maybe us…in bed…in the wee hours of the night.” I laughed, hoping to cover her round cheeks in pink blush all over again.

“Here, take a plate.”

I slid the plate into her hands and watched as she scooped, speared, ladled, and lifted each item onto her plate until a suitable breakfast appeared before her. The girl has taste; I can give her that. Upon her plate sat Eggs Benedict with extra hollandaise dripping down from the poached egg, alongside bacon, and an assortment of fruit.

Claire stood silently as I filled my plate. I could feel her mind racing. I looked toward her as I ladled hollandaise.

“Something on your mind, love?”