SAMANTHA
I have not poisoned many in my career as a chef. Only troublemaking skanks who deserved it. Anyway, there must be some justice in the world, and it’s important we all help to contain aggressive behavior.
I also don’t want her around. Harrison and I, we have unfinished business. I also want him back.
In my pants.
The next morning, the grey heiress leaves before breakfast.
Supposedly, her pretty boy pilot type had to half-carry her from the bed.
After Harry sees her off in the lobby, and she acts like it was as bad as malaria, the two fake double kiss, and she is no longer.
Harry closes the large oak door, slumps against it, and sighs. I walk out from the kitchen, crossing my arms, and smile. “So,” I say, “is the man of the house hungry?”
“He is,” Harry says, full of energy. “In fact, he is famished.”
“Good,” I say, walking into the kitchen.
I go to finish what I’ve been working on when Harry walks in and leans against the door, watching me.
Freshly showered, he smells stunning in one of his fresh white shirts pressed to perfection.
“Will you join me?”
“What?”
“I feel like some company,” he says.
I size him up and then shrug. I am not exactly dressed for fine dining, but my tight yoga pants are comfy. I have also seen him checking my curves out. Why not?
We sitin the sunny hanging fern room, designed for casual meals. We also sit together as humans.
I have laid out a simple mini-buffet-style meal on a side table.
We have dishes of salmon, eggs, coffee, croissants, cooked tomatoes, bacon, and waffles.
The furniture is cast iron and old-fashioned. The cushions are classy, tropical-themed, padded, and soft.
“It’s a gorgeous room,” I say, sipping strong coffee as peacocks walk in the distance.
“It is,” Harry agrees, eating eggs and toast. “It was my mother’s favorite.”
I notice him avoid eye contact, and I start to eat in silence. I have learned Harry appreciates thinking time and silence, and not too much idle talk or so-called small talk.
“So, are you enjoying the property?” he asks, finally wiping his mouth and looking up.
I tell him I think the estate is wonderful. I then decide to tell him what I really think.
I do it nicely, but after being around restaurants all over the world, I tell him I think the home has a few holes.
Like the ancient, noisy plumbing in the kitchen, the poolneeding some retiling to protect it for the next generation, and I also think there are rats in the stables.
Harry looks at me over his coffee and says this:Nothing.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just good to have a fresh eye and someone who is not, let’s say, feeble. It is rare to find someone who speaks their mind.”
