15 | Melina
Melina
I’m not the best cook, but I’m pretty good at breakfast. It’s a lot easier doing it with all this counter space too. Beside me, Vinnie is watching my every move. I shouldn’t have given him that piece of ham. Now he thinks we’re best friends.
“Ah!”
Taylor’s quick shout from the doorway is low and gravelly.
Or at least I think it’s Taylor. This person is wearing athletic pants, a T-shirt, and.
..glasses? No, it is Taylor, just with bedhead.
For once, I’m better dressed than he is, and I’m just wearing jeans, a sweater, and red lipstick, of course.
“Good morning,” I say with a cheerful and caffeinated smile. “I’m making omelets. Are you more of a tea or coffee drinker?” I would assume the latter based on the Starbucks-grade espresso machine sitting on the counter.
He stands there, frozen with his arms crossed in sort of a crucifix formation, looking at me like I’m a ghost. “Who—How did you get in here?”
I point the spatula in the general direction of the entrance I came through. “The door.”
Taylor storms over, rips the spatula out of my hand, and slams it on the counter with a thud. “What the hell has been going on?” he sneers.
I crane my neck to look up at the six-foot-more-than-two-but-definitely-less-than-five man towering over me. He looks good in glasses. The skinny black rectangles complement his angular face shape. I wonder if hasn’t yet put in contacts or if he just uses them to read.
It feels like I’ve been thinking too much about the glas—
“Hey!” Taylor flicks my forehead, and I’m jolted back to reality. “I asked you a question.”
“Sorry.” I point at his bespectacled face. “They distracted me.”
He looks around. “Who the hell are you talking about? You didn’t break and enter, right? I mean, it’s not possible.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” I say slowly to calm him. “Thomas let me in.”
“Yeah, speaking of that, why are yours in my desk drawer in a national fucking monument?”
“They’re still there?”
I guess that makes sense. Where else would he have moved them to? My panties are in the same building as the Queen right now. It feels like I’ve done very little to get to this point.
“Stay on topic,” he says.
“Julien gave me your brother’s number, and I asked him to leave the package on your desk. Apparently, wasting time and messing with you is his specialty.” I bend down to scratch the top of Vinnie’s head because he’s a good boy.
“Tom’s gone. I’m watching his dog.”
“Ha! He told you to watch his dog? That’s commitment.”
Almost in slow motion, Taylor sits down at the kitchen island. “You’ve gone mad.”
I grab the spatula. “What kind of toppings do you li—”
“ Mad. You are.”
“I’m sorry if I took things too far.” I turn to face him again. “I’m usually not a gaslighty person. I just didn’t think you’d be one to scare easily.”
“I’m not scared,” he says, offended.
“Maybe startled?”
“No.”
“Spooked?”
He puts up a hand to stop me from becoming a human thesaurus. “This was way worse than what I’ve ever done.”
“Was it? You’ve never snuck into my home or pointlessly flirted with me? It’s okay, though. I’m making you an apology omelet.” I give him my best this-is-a-metaphor smile. “But I’m no Julia Child reincarnate like you.” I nudge Taylor’s ham and cheese omelet. It sizzles in mediocrity.
“But you understand that with me it’s different.”
“I don’t, actually. How so? It can’t be because you’re prince because you said it yourself, it doesn’t mean anything. ” I mock his low voice.
Taylor stares into Vinnie’s ever-vacant expression. “You’re right, okay? Obviously, it does mean some things sometimes. If I weren’t stupid, I would’ve given that package to security.”
“A risk I was willing to take,” I try to say with confidence. In reality, I hadn’t thought of that.
I transfer the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of him. After a good five seconds of silence pass, I announce the dish like a waiter. “Un omelette jambon-fromage,” I say, probably incorrectly. Though I remember some words from French class, I tend to speak them with a Spanish accent.
“It’s ‘une’,” he corrects. “Omelette’s a feminine noun.”
He’s extra insufferable when defensive.
“Eat your une omelette, then.” I hand him a fork. “It’s good, I promise.”
I bite the nail on my pinky finger as he cuts into my hard work. My plan doesn’t work if he doesn’t like it. This might be the first time I’ve seen him eat.
“Well?” I hedge.
“It’s a ham and cheese omelet, you can’t really mess it up.”
“Does that mean it’s good?”
“Yes, Melina, it’s very good,” he says with a surprising amount of heartwarming genuineness.
I scratch my temple. “So, uh, now that we’re even, I was wondering if we can agree on something?”
He arches a brow.
“No more games, no more pranks, no more lying. Just—” I put out my hand to symbolize a ceasefire. “Friends?” I say quietly. He looks at my hand as if it’s a gesture he’s never encountered before. “I know you’re not a friend person, but we’ve come so fa—”
“You actually believe I want to be your friend after all this?”
I ponder this for a second. Princes are usually pretty inaccessible people. There must be a reason we keep uniting like this.
“I do. You’re obsessed with me.”
He scoffs. “No. You’re a lunatic and a—”
“Shake my hand.”
“Ridiculous woman, and you have officially descended into madness.”
“Just take it, Taylor.”
And he does just that. I’m a bit caught off guard. My hand is so tiny in comparison his fingers could wrap around twice.
“I think this marks a new era between us,” I say.
I try to take my hand back, but Taylor squeezes harder.
“Don’t think we’re going to be painting each other’s nails. If this is a friendship, it’s going to be very one-sided.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I flip our hands horizontally to inspect his fingers. “Your cuticles could use some work, though. My mom could help you with—”
He swipes his hand away. I’ll let him eat.
“I should return your keys,” he says when I turn around.
I’m glad the spares aren’t at the bottom of the ocean.
“Nah. You can keep it. Us peasants give our spare keys to friends in case we ever get locked out. So if I get drunk at a bar and let my bag get lost, you’re the one I’ll be calling up. Isn’t that fun?”
“You make very unwise choices in friends if you think I’ll come to save your ass in the middle of the night.”
“You’d leave me on the streets?”
“Oh, in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t think twice.”
I make the face of a sad puppy.
“I’d sleep so soundly knowing you were out there, cold and alone.”
Yeah sure.
I turn on the sink to start with the dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says damn near automatically. See, he’s way too polite to let me sleep on the streets.
“Nope. We’re not even if I don’t.”
He doesn’t protest, but I appreciate the offer.
“Oh, I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you.”
Taylor rubs his eyes. “Melina, I’m really done with surprises,” he practically whines.
“No, this is a good one. Check your phone.” I text him the web address. “That’s a private link, it’s not actually up yet.”
His brow furrows as he scrolls through the website. “How long did it take you to do this?”
“I had a lot of it done before—” I stop myself from mentioning our original quarrel.
What was it about again? “It wasn’t that hard really, it’s not like you’re going to use it to sell anything.
Right now, it’s just a shell, but at least you have the domain.
You’ll have to find someone to update it every once in a while with pictures of adorable children. ”
“Thank you, Melina, this is, um, it’s—”
He trails off. He’s never trailed off before.
My shoulders droop. “Is something not right?”
“No,” he says, almost cutting me off. “It’s great. And becoming real, finally.” He holds up his phone and takes another bite of my omelet. “It’s not just an idea in my mind, you know?”
Because of my home office, I never see the clients’ live reactions to my work.
Is it normal to feel this horny?