8. Zela
Sunday
After the fight and being out so late, I actually slept in, waking up after the sun had already risen, thank God.
Even better yet, I get to start my day with a cup of coffee.
The house is quiet as I make my way down to the kitchen.
I regret not putting socks on the second my foot hits the stairs that are cold as ice, but I’m too close to turn around now.
I don’t understand what they have against carpet. The stuff in my room is so soft that if this were my house, I would have it in every damn room. I could literally lie down and take a nap on it.
The kitchen is just as empty and quiet as the rest of the house, and I let out a little sigh of relief, having made it uninterrupted.
Now, let’s see if my luck can hold.
It takes me forever to figure out the fancy coffee maker, and even longer for it to brew a cup. While the black liquid of the gods slowly fills my cup, I make my way to the fridge to see what I can eat.
Holy fucking shit.
There's more food in this fridge than I’ve ever seen in someone’s house before, not that I’ve seen many people's fridges. My dad and I had survived on less than a third of this for the last two years, and damn near nothing before that.
A smile pulls at my lips as I stand staring in awe at everything in front of me.
Eggs, milk, entire blocks of cheese, various flavors of yogurt, juices, and a few flavors of coffee creamer.
I snag the French vanilla creamer with a little squeal of excitement, tucking it close to my chest and doing a little happy dance. It’s my favorite, but something we rarely had because it wasn’t necessary and pretty expensive.
Today just keeps getting better.
Of course, the universe can’t have that, though.
“Do you need a moment alone?”
Isaac’s deep voice rings out around me, startling me enough that I fumble the creamer, barely catching it before it tumbles to the ground. With a huff of annoyance, I shoot a glare at him over my shoulder before turning back to the fridge.
His deep, throaty chuckle is quiet but impossible to miss, especially with only us in the room, and oh God, is it distracting. I stand staring into the fridge without seeing for a moment before I realize I’ve completely zoned out.
Thank fuck my back is to him. All I need is to give any of them more ammunition to use against me.
Isaac is harder to get a read on. He’s always watching, and he doesn’t seem to be one for conversation, but that laugh…damn, it’s dangerous.
Mentally shaking myself, I grab the butter. I’d seen bagels near the coffee machine, and while I might have been in the mood to cook a moment ago, I suddenly crave something simpler. Something that will get me out of this kitchen as soon as possible.
Hell, if I didn’t think he would use it against me, I’d leave, abandon my coffee, and go find a nice corner store or Starbucks, anything that wasn’t here.
No matter how appealing the thought is, I know I can’t. If I run scared every time one of them is around, they’ll think they can control me. That I’ll bend to their whims, and as much as they might scare the shit out of me, that’s the last thing I want.
I straighten to my full height, rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin before I let the fridge fall closed and move back to the counter to my cup of coffee. The toaster, of course, is on the other side of the kitchen, just past the coffeemaker and the bagels, on Isaac’s other side.
Because why wouldn’t it be?
I tell myself it’s not a big deal as I move around him and let out a sigh of relief when he lets me pass without incident, even if I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. Ignoring him, I mix in my creamer and start on my bagel.
Just like so many other things, they have choices.
Blueberry, Everything, Cinnamon Raisin, and Asiago… Shit, they all sound delicious, and upon further inspection, I’m pretty sure these are the expensive, freshly made ones, not the mass-produced ones you get at the grocery store.
My mouth waters at the thought, and I almost jump out of my skin when Isaac picks that very moment to speak.
“Asiago is the best,” he says, but when I look up at him, he’s not even looking my way as he fiddles with the coffee machine with a precision I could only dream of. I purse my lips, turning back to the bagels, and I’m half tempted to pick something else just because he said that.
Why the hell did he have to say the one I was leaning toward?
Whatever. I like cheese; lots of people do. It has nothing to do with him.
The second I open the package, the smell assaults me, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I didn’t eat dinner last night.
“What the hell?” I pull the bagel from the package, and yeah, I thought I was missing it, but apparently, fancy bagels don’t have the cool little pre-cut line.
Ugh.
Why do rich people make things so complicated?
Now I need to find a knife in the millions of drawers in here. Okay, there's like twenty, but still.
I start with the two right in front of me. I pull them open, and not only are there no knives, but one is full of seasoning and the other is filled with baking supplies.
I move down to the next one, and while it has silverware, it’s all spoons and forks, not a single knife.
Maybe Starbucks is the right choice after all.
“One back and down,” Isaac says, taking pity on me, and instead of being annoyed, I listen because this is ridiculous.
I pull open the drawer he instructed me to, only to find a drawer full of…stuff.
“I need a knife, not a…” I reach in the drawer and grab something, anything. “A waffle maker.” I snap, annoyed with the turn this morning has taken.
Isaac chuckles, and I swear I feel my eye twitch. It’s the final straw. Starbucks it is. I push the drawer closed hard and huff in annoyance when it still closes slowly and quietly.
UGH!
“Move.” He nudges me out of the way, pulling the drawer open again and reaching in for…
“A tiny guillotine?” I ask, making a face because I can see how that would work, but why?
“Exactly,” he says, setting it on the counter and scooping up my bagel. I watch, unable to look away or protest as he tosses my bagel in and cuts it in half with ease. Not that it looked hard exactly, just… strange.
Isaac stashes the bagel slaughterer back in the drawer before pulling the toaster away from the back of the wall. Now I do open my mouth to protest, but I don’t get a word out before I decide to shut up and let him help.
The toaster has a screen, like my phone, but maybe even nicer if I’m being honest.
“Why must everything be so complicated?” I mumble, scrubbing a hand down my face as I think about what a learning curve living in this house is really going to be.
Maybe it’s not too late to just get my own apartment.
I peek at Isaac as he taps the screen with zero hesitation, as if he’s done this hundreds of times before, and I have no doubt he has. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he glances my way, raising a brow in question, but I look away.
No way will Jace and Kolson let me leave now. I just need to make it through the rest of my degree, and then I’ll be gone.
Isaac gestures to the toaster before he moves away, and I assume that means it’s all good, but what do I know?
“Thanks.” I force the word out, hating that I needed his help but grateful that it was him, not one of his brothers, in here to witness this.
He doesn’t respond, but I’m almost positive I see a hint of a smile on his lips before he turns away, though I can’t be sure.
My bagel pops, and I almost scream. I feel like he just put it in. How is it already done?
Whatever, I just need to eat and leave.
Thankfully, the plates are easier to find, and I already found the silverware.
Isaac makes his way to the fridge, and I watch from the corner of my eye as I butter my bagel.
He grabs a yogurt tub, eggs, milk, and another flavor of creamer, stacking them all in his arms in a way I could never manage without them toppling to the floor.
With his arms full, he simply pushes the doors closed with his foot before making his way toward me, and I quickly avert my gaze back to my food.
“There’s cream cheese in the fridge, you know,” he says as he passes behind me, his words hardly more than a whisper, but no less deep. I suppress the shiver, but I can’t stop the goosebumps that break out along my arms.
He’s going to be your brother, I remind myself.
Step-brother…
Fuck, I need help, like a shrink or something.
Isaac quickly sets everything down on the counter, not far from me, before he bends down, rummages around the lower cabinets, and, a moment later, comes up with a pan.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him.
“You cold?” he asks after a moment, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to deny it.
I’m not really, or at least not as cold as I had been earlier.
No, I’m actually closer to overheating at this point.
His comment seems out of place until I turn to look at him and see that his eyes are currently focused on my arm, where goosebumps still litter my skin.
“I forgot socks, and the floor is like fucking ice,” I tell him with a shrug.
It’s not a lie. The floor really is cold, though I’ve grown used to it now, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Without a word, he’s moving. He comes up behind me, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to pass, silently praying he does so quietly this time.
I’m not sure I can handle him whispering in my ear again before I’ve had caffeine. My brain’s already not firing on all cylinders at the moment, and I would rather he not break it.
He doesn’t move past me, though; instead, stopping behind me, he reaches over me to something on the back of the counter that I hadn’t noticed before. He flips open the little door to reveal a few switches with a tiny screen to the left of them.
What the hell is that?
“It controls the heated floors in here, the main room, and a few other rooms,” he says, answering the question I didn’t realize I’d asked aloud.