I follow him as he walks toward the cafeteria, leaving his spade leaning against the wall at the side of the building.
The guard eyes him suspiciously as we walk by.
Whatever he did to convince Lana, clearly it wasn’t enough to erase all her doubts.
Falcon holds the door open for me, and I step inside.
We’re alone, aside from the server behind the counter, again.
He looks at his hands and clears his throat.
“I should go wash up. I’ll be right back.”
He glances around and heads to the bathroom once he sees the door to the right.
I move toward the counter slowly, not recognizing the woman who’s serving the food.
She’s middle-aged, maybe in her fifties. Gray hair in a short, sleek style. She’s petite and slim, and she moves around with swift efficiency as she lays out the different snacks and meals.
“Hey,” I greet as I stop in front of the counter.
She glances up and gives me an easy smile. “Hey. You’re the new girl, right?”
“Yeah. I’m Robin.”
“Nice to meet you! I’m Pris. I don’t live on site, but when I got in today, Lana told me to look out for you coming out here for lunch since you seem to prefer it to the main kitchen. You’re clearly a woman of good taste.”
“Uh, yeah it’s nicer out here, and the food is great.”
“Well, if you think it’s been great so far, you’re going to love it today. I’ve had twenty years to perfect my tomato soup and trust me it’s beyond perfect.”
“I love tomato soup!”
“Great. I’ll get you a bowl and let’s not forget the crusty bread.”
She hums as she grabs the ladle for the soup pot.
I watch as she scoops it up and smoothly pours it into the bowl.
It looks pretty different to the canned version that was my weekly treat food back when I was living under Ivan Hamilton’s roof, but it smells divine.
“You think your Alpha friend will want a bowl?” she asks.
“Oh, um, probably,” I murmur.
It feels strange that I don’t know what he likes.
“Early days, huh?” she asks, filling a second bowl. “If he’s like most Alphas, he’ll eat anything and everything, and he’ll probably still be hungry. Go sit down. I’ll bring it over.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
I head over to the same table we sat at yesterday, and I’m just sitting down when he comes out of the bathroom. He looks a lot cleaner. It’s obvious he washed his T-shirt, as well as his hands and arms. The damp shirt clings to his sculpted body and makes it hard not to stare.
He walks over and sits down opposite me.
His eyes are still red.
“You’ve been up all night,” I murmur, a little worried.
