“A souffle," he says with a shrug, popping open his box. “Eggs, cheese, vegetables. Whipped nice and fluffy.”
I note the shift of darkness in his eyes when he says those two words. Whipped. And fluffy.
My cheeks pinken as images I should not be thinking about come to mind and I have to look away.
“I have a feeling you’ll like it.”
“How do you know?” I ask as I stab the fluffy souffle with my fork. It bounces with a spring. “How do you know what I like and what I don’t?”
Sloane carefully spreads some buttery spread on his bread, not looking at me.
“Because I study people," he says apathetically. “I can form a pretty good picture from the things you don’t realize you project.”
“Like what?” I take a bite of my souffle and instantly I groan. It’s sweet but savory, and the heat warms me to my toes.
Sloane lets out a warm chuckle. “I take it you like it.”
“I didn’t say that," I say as I stab another piece.
Sloan chuckles.
“Posture, for one," he says. “Eye contact. The little details like your watch that is too big for your wrist, or your preference for toddler food.”
“Hey!” I bite through my mouth full of food.
Sloane laughs.
“The tension in your shoulders. You carry more than you are aware of. Your resistance to mytaking care of you," he says,his voice smooth, almost detached. “You crave sweetness and softness because your life is devoid of it.”
Suddenly the air changes, and I’m not laughing. Neither is he.
“But that is not a bad thing, Oliver," he says carefully. “We often want the things we don’t have. That is human nature.”
My gaze fixates on his eyes. On the glimmer of interest there.
“What do you crave?” I ask, finally finding my voice. “What is it that you are devoid of?”
Sloane tears into his bread, and it’s almost an eternity until he speaks.
“That is not a conversation for breakfast," he says, his voice solid and firm. Perhaps I’ve hit a nerve.
Interesting…
“Now, eat your souffle.”
And just like that, the flirtatious, suave Sloane disappears, shifting like a werewolf into Mr. Pierce once more.
After breakfast, Sloane leads me to the tailors, at exactly nine am.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“I need a new suit. For the party, of course.”
Ah, the party. Parker’s party.
The party on Friday, which Robbie said he’ll be at…
My shoulders tense.
