Page 58 of Luxe

"Like?"

"Things that need ladling. But also good for spanking." He holds it over his head menacingly but with a smile on his face and I duck away. "I'm making you some chicken congee for breakfast."

I look at him through narrowed eyes. "You made congee."

"Yup. Chicken."

"You. Made. It?"

"Yes!! I didn't have any coriander or green onions, though, so we'll have to pretend they're in there."

"But, what you’re saying is, you made it."

He lowers the ladle and peers at it. "I'm starting to think that this ladle really is for spanking."

"I didn’t know you could cook!”

"I'm a great cook. That's what happens when you live to eat." He kisses the top of my head. "There's a toothbrush in there and one of my college T-shirts; it's long enough to cover you down to your knees." He points to a door to the left of the bed. "When you’re dressed, or not, it’s up to you, come downstairs and eat the delicious congee I made for you."

"What do you mean, downstairs?"

He looks confused at my question. Which is fine, considering I’m confused about what he means by “downstairs.”

“Well, we’re upstairs in my bedroom."

“How did I get upstairs?"

"I carried you. Now hurry up. I don't want to overcook the congee."

I roll my eyes and gather the sheet around me as I walk over to the bathroom. "You can't overcook congee."

"Ohhh, so now everyone's a cook."

I guffaw as he leaves. Honestly, I could overcook boiling water, but I have no intention of telling him that.

When I go downstairs, he's nowhere to be seen. There's a pot simmering on the stove and the kitchen bench is laid out for two.

I find my purse on the coffee table; he must’ve retrieved it from the floor in front of the elevator where I'd dropped it. He's so fucking thoughtful.

The elevator dings. He must’ve ducked out to grab some ingredients, which is good because I have no intention of giving him an easy review.

"Did you doubt my ability to imagine little specks of scallions in my congee?" I say at the same time as someone else says, “"Hi, honey. Where the fuck were you last night? I must've called you a hundred times. And the apartment switchboard said that you had set yourself as ‘do not disturb.’ I came to pick up the shirt I left in your bedroom yesterday morning since you were too lazy to bring it to me last night."

The person attached to the voice turns into the kitchen and stares at me standing at the stove. It's a woman, a blonde woman, a blonde woman I've seen before. A face I can never forget that haunts my dreams.

"Oh. Hi. Who the hell are you?" she says in a way that is both combative but confident. Like she knows she'll win whatever fight I want to get in.

"Um… nobody."

"Is Kylian here?"

“Um, yes, somewhere. I think.” Where is he?

I stumble over to where I left my purse and pick it up with my shaking hands.

"Well, where is he then?"

“I don’t know.”

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