Sigh of Relief

Chapter 5

Nila

It seems like summer has decided to arrive in full force but I'm grateful for the excuse to wear sunglasses. I don't have much experience in dealing with hangovers and that's why I'm standing outside my place of work with a banging headache and those painful stomach churns you get when you're about to vomit. I know I shouldn't be hungover on a Monday morning, the second week into my new job, but I've learnt my lesson.

I enter the main corridor and head towards the kitchen to drop off the bags from my grocery shopping, not hearing or seeing any signs of someone being home. Both Mr and Mrs Kingston are working today so no one will have to see the atrocious job I'm about to do today.

Instantly proven wrong. A deep voice coming from the living room startles me and I drop the pack of apples I couldn't quite stuff inside.

"Good morning."

This man stays scaring the shit out of me.

I pop my head in the doorway to see Mr Kingston lounging on the couch with a laptop in his hands, wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he apologises. "Again," he adds meaningfully with a smirk.

"At this point it's more of a me problem," I say, giving him a smile of my own. "Are you not going to work today?"

"Nope, it's my day off. Sorry, I should have put that on the calendar. But I'm going to see my brother later, so you don't need to worry about lunch," he rambles. I just nod because I'm still trying to process the fact that he's going to be around until at least twelve. "Let me help with those."

"Oh. Thanks."

Mr Kingston grabs the shopping that I was struggling to carry and takes them to the kitchen with ease. I drop my head back and close my eyes. Like, the help is appreciated, but I really wanted to be alone.

Like every other part of this house, the kitchen looks like something out of my dreams. All the drawers and cabinets are maple wood, painted in a kind of light sage, don't ask how I know the specifics, and the granite countertops add the perfect touch of modernity. There's an island in the centre, which is actually more like the size of a dining table, but the kitchen is large enough to still be spacious. The splashback is grey tile, the only correct choice, and the up-to-date appliances are to die for. At least I get to use them.

As he sets the bags down, I open the cupboard under the sink to start bringing out some cleaning supplies.

"You look tired," he says leaning forward on the island.

The audacity. As if I don't already know.

"Went partying last night?"

I mull over the possible answers I could give him, all evasive. I settle with, "I guess you could call it that."

You could call it exactly that, but it wouldn't be sensible to give my employer the impression that I'm the kind of person who parties hard every weekend. Especially because of my age.

My subtle attempt to end the conversation doesn't work.

"There doesn't seem to be much nightlife around here."

"No there isn't, not really." I could make the conversation longer by clarifying where I actually went to, but do I really want to do that?

After a few moments of silence, I'm convinced he's given up on trying to talk to me, but then he speaks up again. "Do you want a coffee or something?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," I reply but he's already on his way to the fancy coffee machine. I finally set out all the items I need and stand upright again, catching sight of his eyes trailing over me. I was never given anything like a dress code, so I always threw on what felt comfortable to me and with this weather, I didn't have it in me to try and look professional while sweating my ass off. Today, I went with the top Caia made and a pair of denim shorts, but his expression remains blank and I'm beginning to regret it.

"I'm already getting one for myself," he shrugs, "and I have a feeling you might need it."

I let out a chuckle, partly because it would be awkward to ignore his joke, but mainly because of nerves.

"Isn't it too hot for coffee?" I try, hoping he'll agree and take himself right back to the couch.

"It's just an espresso. You ever had one?" he asks, turning on the machine before glancing over his shoulder.

"No. I never saw the appeal in spending money on a sip of coffee."

He laughs at that. It's deep, warm and I don't even think what I said was funny, but it makes me feel like I just got a gold medal. "This one's more than just a sip of coffee. You'll see."

I decide to humour him anyway – this man is probably bored out of his mind.

My eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he sets two glasses and a bottle of sparkling water on the countertop, then turns around to remove two tiny cups from the machine.

Noah sees my puzzled look and reassures me, "It's to cleanse your palate. Helps you fully taste the flavour."

I open the bottle and pour some water into both glasses, while he gets two teaspoons from a drawer and places them next to the cups. We both take a few mouthfuls of sparkling water before he rounds the island and takes a seat on a stool next to me, gently stirring his espresso. He looks so excited; I feel bad for letting him see my hesitation.

"First, you have to stir away the crema," he says, referring to the light brown foam sitting on top.

"Really? Aren't you supposed to taste it or something? I thought this was the thing coffee aficionados try to perfect."

"True," he says, slightly twisting his mouth to the side, "but it's just for aesthetics. The cream isn't the most important part."

Is that innuendo or am I just dirty-minded?

I focus my eyes on my coffee cup, and he adds, "Then drink it in sips. Swirl it in your mouth a little."

It cannot just be me.

I follow his instructions, still not daring to lift my eyes.

"It's actually quite good," I say, raising my eyebrows in amazement. I look up and instantly regret it. His eyes are fixed on my mouth and he's still holding his cup, but he doesn't make a move to take another sip.

I clear my throat and he averts his gaze, quickly finishing his coffee.

Hoping to clear the tension, I ask, "Is Mrs Kingston out of town? I still haven't met her yet."

"Yeah, she went on a work trip to Milan but she's coming back today. You should meet her this evening."

"That's great." Unexpectedly, I mean it. Maybe with someone else around, he won't feel so listless.

"I'm going to head out now, I'll see you later," he says after a few beats of silence.

"See you later, then."

He gets up, taking both our cups and placing them in the dishwasher before leaving the kitchen.

Now I just need to forget this whole interaction.