Chapter 6
Callan looked around, curious, as the lass invited him into her home. ’Twas in a tall building made of bricks, and much larger and grander than the small hovel he’d lived in as a wee lad, though it was nothing like the fearsome stones of Blackford Castle.
The building comprised three floors and was called an apartment, as multiple homes shared a single floor, each contained within the extensive building.
“I know. It’s small, but there’s plenty of room for Frankie and I … and now you.”
She hung the leash on a peg beside the door, dropped her shiny keys into a wooden bowl, and took off her shoes, padding barefoot across the scarred wooden floors.
He did the same, wincing at the odor wafting up from his feet after wearing his boots for so long.
“Nay, lass. Yer home is verra grand.” He looked around, seeing an enormous stack of dishes piled in the sink, and through an archway, he noticed the unmade bed. The lass was verra messy with no servants to pick up after her.
She caught him staring and blushed. “I don’t have a housekeeper, and cleaning isn’t high on my list of priorities.”
With a shrug, she took a few steps to the kitchen, took a cup made of fine glass from a cabinet and offered him water so cold it made his teeth ache. The lass filled a bowl with water for the dog, then poured herself water as well.
“It’s a studio.” She gestured around at the space, her rings flashing in the light.
There was one large room with an archway separating the sleeping room from a space where she must have spent most of her time, judging from the piles that were everywhere. Another archway led to a small, bright kitchen.
She opened a door as he cringed, seeing the bathing chamber which was painted the color of a summer meadow.
“I know, it’s bright. Ignore the mess.”
There were all sorts of bottles and potions scattered next to the sink. A pink and white checkered curtain hid what he guessed was the shower. Aye, he was most fond of the shower he’d taken at the church.
“’Tis verra pink.”
There was a sink, also pink, and a pink pot to relieve himself. Nay, ’twas a toilet. That was the correct name.
An older man at the church found Callan staring at the row of pots and gently told him ’twas for relieving himself.
When he pushed a handle and a great flushing noise arose, Callan found himself once again reaching for a dagger that wasn’t there.
When the man left, Callan flushed every toilet twice, watching the water swirl away.
They were verra wasteful with their water here in the future.
The black-and-white floor of the bathing chamber was cool under his feet as he listened to her chattering on about color.
“I like lots of color.” Daisy opened a narrow door to show him shelves.
“This is the linen closet. You can find towels and bedding in here, whatever you need. I’ll make up the pullout sofa for you to sleep on tonight.”
Before he could thank her, she whirled away, leaving him to follow.
Her chamber was painted a light blue that reminded him of an early spring sky. All over her home, there were pictures of the ocean, her dog, and shapes which looked like nothing but color splashed on white.
There were herbs and flowers growing in pots on the windowsills. So many large windows. Glass windows were no longer for the rich, here everyone had them. The living room, as she called it, was painted a bright yellow, and her kitchen, saints be, was a red so bright it made his eyes burn.
The furniture was comfortable and inviting, with a round table next to the sofa. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, and a desk the color of the green apples on the counter made him blink. The room smelled of flowers, herbs, and something clean and sharp.
As he stood in the red kitchen, blinking, Daisy opened a large white metal box, the cold making him take a step back, and pulled out two brightly colored boxes.
“Do you like meatballs and pasta? I hope so, because I forgot to go to the store, so frozen dinners are it tonight.”
He nodded, not sure what to say.
She pulled the box apart and took out another container with something inside that wasn’t moving.
“Do you want one or two?” She looked at him, knife in hand, then gestured to the boxes. “One or two dinners?”
He was still looking at the boxes, trying to read all the words, when she touched his arm.
“Are you hungry?”
“Aye, I could eat an entire deer.”
She nodded. “Two it is.” Daisy went to what she called the freezer and took out another box.
He peered at the box before she threw it away. “This says tis for a banquet.”
“No, it’s the company that makes the food.” She took the box from him. “Banquet Mega Bowls Dynamite Penne and Meatballs.” Then she shrugged. “Sometimes I get busy and forget to shop. Normally, I don’t like frozen dinners, but these are pretty good, you’ll see.”
She opened the door of a small black box, put the containers inside, and pushed several buttons. The box let out a loud beep, making him flinch.
“Six minutes until we eat.”
He frowned. “How does the food cook so fast?”
She laughed, as the dog, now curled up in a purple bed, thumped his tail.
“It’s a microwave. It cooks food really fast. But don’t reheat chicken in it.” She shuddered. “It comes out tasting like rubber. Use the toaster oven for that.” She pointed to another metal box on the counter, this one silver.
He watched, fascinated, as the food turned in circles, the box humming.
“How does it work?”
She pointed to the glass in the door.
“There’s a plate inside that spins around. The microwave heats the food from the inside out.” Then she made a face. “Sorry, that’s all I know. Push a button and it works.”
Callan looked around at her home while they waited for the microwave to cook their food. ’Twas messy and chaotic, and full of brightness, just like her.
“I like your home. ’Tis most colorful.” He blinked. “This kitchen is… ’tis a sight.”
The machine beeped, Daisy opened the door, peeled back the clear cover, stirred the food, and then put it back in the box, punching buttons.
“Thanks. It’s my favorite room in the apartment. The appliances are all new. I love to cook and bake, so I wanted a nice kitchen. You should have seen it when I first moved in, all gray, beige, and boring white everywhere. It was depressing.”
“You have no servants?”
She rolled her eyes as she went to a cabinet and took down brightly colored plates with flowers on them.
“I wish.” She placed a knife and spoon on the table. They were silver, with small animals on the ends. The napkins were cloth, blue and white checkered with a pig on one and some kind of bird embroidered on the other.
“What do you like to bake?” His stomach rumbled at the delicious smell filling the kitchen.
“You know. Cookies, cakes, pies, and pancakes. Sweet stuff.”
She looked around the kitchen as he followed her gaze.
“What’s that?” There were so many marvels in this kitchen, and yet no hearth with a fire burning day and night.
She pointed to a black box on the counter. “That’s for coffee. I can’t function without coffee in the morning.”
He looked closer. “Where does the fire go to cook it?”
“No fire. It’s electric. I put the coffee in the top, and the water heats and drips through the coffee grounds into the pot.”
He sniffed. “It smells verra good.”
Daisy nodded. “I get my coffee from this little shop a few blocks over. It’s to die for. I’ll show you how it works in the morning and you can taste it for yourself.”
She looked at the numbers on the microwave.
“Almost ready.” Daisy dumped little bits into a large bowl and put it on the floor for Frankie, who had been waiting patiently.
The dog ate, head in his bowl until the bowl slid across the floor.
Then, with what Callan imagined was a sigh of contentment, the dog went back to the bed, turned around three times, and went to sleep.
He looked at the box she called a microwave, then turned as she went to the big white metal box and opened a different door.
“How about a beer with dinner?”
He watched her, looking at all the colorful jars in the lighted box.
“What is that?”
With a shake of her head, she pulled out two bottles. “I’ll tell you all about condiments later. Let’s eat.”
The microwave beeped, and this time he only startled a bit.
“Perfect timing.”
While she gathered the dishes from the microwave, he dutifully carried the cold bottles to the small round table.
“Where’s the bread?”
She pointed to a cabinet door.
“Where is the bread you baked?”
She laughed. “I didn’t bake any. I don’t have time to bake bread, so I buy it at the store.”
He frowned, but distracted by the smell of the food, he kept his mouth shut and his opinions to himself, for as Lucy said, just because you have an opinion doesn’t mean everyone wants to hear it.
She peeled off the covers and dumped the food onto the plates.
“It’s done. We can eat.”
He carried the plates to the table as Daisy opened the refrigerator, taking out a green jar. What an odd name for the box.
“Parmesan for our pasta.”
He watched as she took the bottle of ale and poured it into the clearest glass he’d ever seen. So thin and clear, Callan was afeared he’d crush the delicate vessel.
Daisy picked up an object with points that she used to eat the food. It was like a knife, but had four points. ’Twas a fork. He remembered the word from the meals at the church. He watched how she held her fork and ate her food.
The food ’twas delicious and spicy. Before he knew it, he’d cleaned his plate.
Daisy was watching him, half of her supper still on her plate.
“Here, you can have the rest of mine. I’m not that hungry.” She pushed the plate across the table to him, then slid the cheese over.
He dumped a mound of cheese on the pasta and meatballs, enjoying every bite.
Once they finished eating, she told him to relax while she rinsed off the mountain of dishes in the sink and put them into yet another box, a dishwasher. Once that was done, she turned to him.
“How about a glass of wine?”
He nodded. Callan sometimes liked wine if it had not turned. She poured two cups and handed him one.
The wine smelled of berries as he sniffed it before taking a sip.
“It doesna taste good.”
A laugh escaped as she took a sip, then wrinkled her nose.
“That is disgusting. My ex was a wine snob and left it behind. I don’t know if people actually really like wine or they just pretend they do.”
She poured it down the drain, then poured out the rest of the bottle as well.
“I’ll pick up some bubbly when we go out. It’s sweet and tickles your nose. You’ll like it.”
He wasna sure if he’d like a drink going up his nose but refrained from saying anything.
“Are you feeling better?”
He nodded, grateful the fates had put her in his path.
“I find I am verra weary.”
“It’s late, and also probably the pasta is making you sleepy.”
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Do you want to take a shower before you go to sleep?”
“Nay, I will wait until the morn.”
“Okay. I’ll show you how to pull out the bed. It’s earlier than I normally go to bed, but it’s been a rough week, so I’ll turn in as well. Things always look better in the morning.”
Callan took a step back when she pulled the cushions off the sofa and the next thing he knew, a bed arose out of the sofa. ’Twas magic.
“It’s very comfortable.” She bustled around, making the bed with fine sheets. Once she was done, Daisy stood there watching him. The moments stretched out, then he cleared his throat.
“I bid ye a good night, Daisy.”
She turned with a smile. “Don’t murder me in my sleep.”
“Nay, lass. Ye have nothing to fear from me. I would put my body in harm’s way to keep ye safe.”
He touched the bed. “’Tis so soft. And it smells like flowers and something else.” He sniffed.
“Oranges.”
As she turned to step into her chamber, Callan frowned, feeling a breeze.
“Where is the cold air coming from? The windows are closed.”
Daisy took her hair down, the locks tumbling around her shoulders as he stood there gaping at her like a lad stealing a glance at a beautiful lass.
“It’s air conditioning.” She held up a hand before he could ask. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m tired of talking.” She yawned. “I’ll explain it in the morning.”
She paused in the archway. “If you need anything, just call out.”
He nodded and climbed under the bedding. The bed was so soft, the sheets finer than even those at Blackford.
He looked out the window, unable to see more than a few stars. The noise from the street, along with the cars and motorcycles, mingled with the voices of people outside.
Frankie padded into Daisy’s chamber, jumped on the bed, turned around three times and went to sleep as Daisy floated down the hallway to the bathing chamber.
Sounds of running water, the scent of apples wafted down the hall, and a while later she walked past him, dressed scandalously in a red shirt with no sleeves, just tiny straps.
On the front, it said Baking, because murder is wrong, making him frown.
Her legs were on display. The shorts, he remembered she’d called them shorts at the park, were even smaller than the ones she wore earlier. With a shake of his head, Callan snapped his mouth shut, trying not to gaze upon her form, but failing miserably.