Page 5 of Valkyrie Confused

Luckily, I’m an expert at dealing with emptiness.

I shut my stinky sneakers outside and pad to the kitchenette. The mini fridge in the corner isn’t empty, but it also holds nothing that would lessen my hunger. I mean,fruit? No, thanks. The wine and chocolate may help with the loneliness, but not on an empty stomach. I’ll have to brave the kitchen.

I slide my feet into the pair of hotel slippers by the bedroom door, then make my way to the front door. Should I grab my jacket? It may be the perfect temperature in here, but Panos said it gets cold outside at night, even though it’s early September.

Nah. I’m just going downstairs.

Key… Where did I leave the key?

On the kitchenette bench, with another note that reads:

You dropped this. Dial 0 if you need me.

P.

Would he cater to all my needs?

The sneaky thought warms my cheeks. He might indulge me if he’s lonely enough, and it could be fun, but that’s not the basic need I need to satiate at the moment.

Using the flashlight on my phone to keep from meeting an untimely death, I climb the stairs all the way down to the door that readsKITCHEN – PERSONNEL ONLYand something—the same thing?—in Greek. The smell of bacon hits my nostrils before I even reach for the doorknob. Is hunger giving me hallucinations?

“Heard you moving around and thought you’d be starving.” Panos throws the door open and motions for me to enter. “Didn’t know what you’d be hungry for, so I made eggs, bacon, and pancakes.American breakfastand all. But there’s also spinach pie from this morning, and I have prepared meatballs for tomorrow’s lunch, so I can make you some of those with a portion of fries.”

“You got up to make me breakfast?” It’s too early for meatballs, isn’t it?

He gives me a half-shrug and a grin that looks shy enough to be practiced. “I was up anyway. I’m a night owl.”

“Still, you did all this for me. Is it too soon to sayI love you?” I’m in serious need of a functional brain-to-mouth filter, but at least I didn’t say,And I didn’t even have to put out, which was ready to jump past my lips.

He chuckles and snaps the kitchen towel he’s holding over one shoulder. “People tend to declare their love after I’ve made them happy—and I’ve madea lotof people happy—so this is par for the course,” he says with a wink.

His tone says he isn’t talking about making people happy with food. And his phrasing…People. Notwomen. Why go with the gender neutral, unless his preference isn’t for the opposite sex?

I wink back. “Gotcha.” Ofcoursethe gorgeous, athletic, considerate guy who can cook is gay. There goes one source of tension, at least.

He holds out his elbow. “M’lady.”

“Kind sir.” I give a little bow and hook my hand on the bend of his arm. Now that I’m not afraid he’ll think I’m hitting on him, I’m much more relaxed around him.

He leads me to the sole table in the spacious, well-lit kitchen. “I thought of setting up in the balcony, but bugs and bats aren’t fazed by the cold.”

“I appreciate that.” I nod hard and lower myself to the chair he pulls out. As I take in the spread on the table, I feel my eyebrow reaching for the hairline. “Wow.This is enough for four. The pancakes alone are what I’d share with my BFF.”Shit.I forgot to text Mia that I got in okay. I haven’t even sent her my Greek number yet. And Mom will be expecting a phone call, but I can’t deal with her right now. She will bring up Dennis and the divorce, and I’m so over hearing how impulsive and thoughtless I am.

The crispy bacon beckons at me.

I’ll text Mia after I eat. Call her, maybe, and she can talk to my mother. It’s afternoon back home.

I stuff a slice of bacon in my mouth using my hand, as Panos says, “Between the two of us, I’m confident we’ll manage it.”

I cover my mouth with my palm, so I can ask, “Did you just call me fat?” It’s a defense mechanism. Call people out, and they’ll either pretend you misunderstood, or—if you’re lucky—watch themselves next time.

Panos sits to my right, at the head of the table. He turns his chair at an angle and studies me, head tilted to one side. “You haven’t eaten in hours, and I know how much I can tuck away,” he says. “But to answer your question, I’d call youcurvy. I’d also call yougorgeous, especially when you blush like this. And I’d point out that you made a logical fallacy by jumping to the conclusion you did, but I won’t hold that against you because you’ve slept the day away, and your brain may be working below capacity.” He softens the last few words with a grin, but I can’t be upset at him anyway.

He thinks I’m gorgeous.

I could tear up.

Because ofcoursethe gorgeous, athletic, considerate guy, who can cookand thinks I’m gorgeousis gay.

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