Sweet afternoons

Chapter fourteen

It wasn't unusual for me to wake up early; It was an unfortunate habit I had developed while I was starting out as a baker. No matter how tired I was or how late I had been up, it was very difficult for me to sleep past 8 am.

This particular morning, however, was very different. As my eyes fluttered open, blinded by the sunlight filling the room, I felt unwilling to leave the beds embrace. The bed had trapped me in tranquil bliss and it was incredibly hard to fight against the pleasant feeling.

Eventually, my body could not handle any more sleep and I was forced to blink away the tiredness until I was awake enough to sit up. I stretched my arms, feeling the stiffness from the night sitting in my joints. My eyes scanned the room lazily until I found a clock beside the bed. It was 10 am, a lot later than I would usually wake up.

I was initially surprised and thought that maybe the clock was broken, by the loud chirping sounds and violently bright sunlight coming from the window told me that it was probably right. The sheets covering my legs were soft and light, perfect for the warm temperature of the room and I realized that the sheet comfort of the bed had played a huge role in my deep sleep. I was incredibly jealous of the person who got to sleep in that bed every night.

With that thought, my brain finally clicked into place the events from the previous night. My eyes flew around the room, wide and frantic, searching for a sign of the homeowner. He wasn't in the room, and the silence in the hall indicated that he likely wasn't upstairs at all.

I momentarily relax, feeling somewhat secure that I had a few isolated minutes to collect myself. Stepping out of the bed, I walked to a nearby mirror and took in my appearance. My clothing was askew and my hair seemed to stick up in every possible direction. I grimaced at the redness on my skin from how I slept and prayed that with time it would fade.

Attempting to fix my morning look, I brushed my fingers through my thick strands of hair, smoothing it out as best I could. Then I corrected my clothes, pinching and pulling until they sat back into place and looked somewhat flattering. My skin was a hopeless cause, so I patted my cheeks a few times and left it as it was.

Considering I was in someone else's house, there wasn't much else I could do. I didn't know where anything was and even if I did, it wouldn't feel right using them. Sighing at my predicament, I made the decision to leave the bedroom in search of Andres. Despite the awkward situation, I had to speak to him; Even if only to explain why I had slept in his house.

My determination from the night before had dwindled tremendously, but there was only so far I could run from this. Andres likely wanted to talk to me, even if to yell at me. This was just something I had to face.

Taking a few deep breaths, I stepped out into the hallway, looking for any signs of the tall man. The walk was eerie, the walls were empty of pictures and the wooden floor creaked slightly as I shuffled towards the stairs. Although the house seemed modern and attractive, it lacked a certain level of homeliness.

Not wanting to dwell on less important matters, I stumbled my way down the stairs and tiptoed through the rooms until I found what I was looking for. The silence in the house was finally broken as soft music resonated from the kitchen. I approached the open doorway with a nervous mind but relaxed somewhat as I watched Andres struggle to crack eggs into a bowl.

It was humorous and endearing; I'd never seen someone look so frustrated at the sight of eggs before. I would have laughed, had I not thought it inappropriate, but settled on a small smile instead. The counters were messy, pans and foods sitting randomly around the room with no clear organization. It was a baker's worst nightmare and it suddenly became clear why Andres didn't bake.