Page 105 of Hidden Fears
All those things I despised.
Then why doesn’t wanting all of them seem so wrong anymore?
“I need to go to the station now.” He softly kisses my shoulder. “But then I’m gonna go to visit Freya and the baby in the hospital. Do you want to come with me?”
I turn slightly to see his face. “I’d love to, but maybe after you. I doubt she wants to see anyone other than family now.”
He chuckles softly. “You are funny, Josie,” he says vaguely. “I’ll pick you up around eleven so we can go and get your things and then drive to the hospital.”
With that, he gives me a quick peck on my lips, pushes away from the bed, and heads toward the bathroom in the primary bedroom. In black boxers. While he still has his morning wood.
My hungry eyes follow his butt until it disappears behind the closed door. Since when did I become so horny all the damn time?
The water runs for a few minutes, and then Kenneth comes out looking fresh and well-rested while I look like a zombie who’s been dead for a few years, I’m sure.
“The house phone works if you need to call someone. I can’t leave you my phone because people keep calling me with their issues. Otherwise, I’d just give it to you until you get yours back.”
He proceeds to put his uniform on without a care in the world like he just hasn’t offered me the moon, pretty much. Did this man just voluntarily want to hand me his phone for like half a day? What if his booty call called him? Or someone else. I don’t know, anyone. Doesn’t he have any secrets?
“If Mrs. Roberts comes knocking on the door, you have free rein to send her on her merry way.”
My ears perk up, and I sit straighter. “Really?”
“Yes,” he chuckles. “Have fun.” He buckles his belt, the same one he dropped on the floor when he was striding toward me like a predator. “Just remember she might start another rumor.”
“I’m okay with that.” I watch him expectantly.
He walks up to me. “I am too,” he says and leans toward my face. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.” After a quick kiss on my lips, he walks out of the room, leaving me speechless.
I lie in his bed for some time before I peel myself away from the coziness and take another shower because I can’t wake up without water pouring down on my body. Then I make a full carafe of coffee, grab a couple of cookies from a cabinet, and take a seat at the island.
A knock on the window startles me, making me spill my coffee all over the table.
“What on earth?” I turn toward the sound and find a big, gray bird sitting on the sill. He taps his beak on the glass again. I rush toward it and carefully open the window. “Look at this beautiful bird. How did you get in here?”
The moment the window is fully open, he takes off and flies right inside, grazing my face with the tip of his wing.
“Alright, then.” I close the window and walk to the kitchen because this is where my morning guest took his stance. Right next to my uneaten cookie.
“You can eat that,” I point my finger at it, “but then you have to leave, or Kenneth will kill me.”
The bird, who looks like a big-ass gray parrot, blinks at me with his beady eyes and starts eating the cookie.
“Such a good boy.” I take a slow step toward him. “I am Josie. And what’s your name?”
He lets out a throaty squeak. I don’t know why I expected him to answer, but after all the stories about the magical moose and actually meeting him, I half expect every animal here to talk because Frank sure looked like he understood every single word I said.
In the meantime, he finishes the cookie and looks up at me.
“Do you want another one?” I ask, knowing he’s not going to reply. And when he doesn’t—no surprise there—I walk to the cabinet and pull more cookies. Crumbling a few of them, I put them in front of him. Probably, sugar is not the healthiest option for a bird, but I didn’t have a chance to think. He pecks on a few crumbles before he turns around. And if I’m not mistaken, he looks damn offended.
“Fine! I’ll look for something else.”
Ravaging through the fridge, I keep one eye on my guest, who’s watching me with an unhealthy interest. When I pull an apple out, the bird pads his clicky feet toward the edge of the island table. I wash the apple and cut it into pieces. Then I take one and offer it to him with an outstretched hand. He slowly approaches the apple, therefore my hand. I hope I’m not making a mistake, and by the time our meeting is done, I’ll still have all my fingers attached.
He grabs the apple piece from my hand with his beak, places it under his toes, and starts eating. Hmm, handy and smart. I slowly return to my coffee, and we finish our food in silence, where the only sounds are the clicking of his beak when he’s eating and my mug when it meets the table surface. I hate to say it, but he’s a better companion than some people are.
By the time he’s done with the apple, I feel so comfortable I forget he’s a bird. Maybe I remember, and that’s why I start talking.
