Chapter 93: Pep-Talk

Emerald’s POV

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was how comfortable I felt.

I lay still beneath the sheets, gazing at the ceiling, then I remembered I was in Michael’s apartment.

Yesterday came back to me in fragments.

The grocery store. My biological father appearing inside my Jeep and pressing a gun to my side. Being forced to drive.

My chest tightened briefly, but the feeling did not last.

I had seen him. After all these years, I had finally seen Paul Walker again.

I still could not understand why my mother had never told me that he had been released from prison. Maybe she had no idea.

As far as I could remember, she had never mentioned him since the day I was rescued.

The strange part was that I had expected to have nightmares after everything that happened yesterday. But I had actually slept peacefully.

I pushed the thought aside and sat up.

The bed was incredibly comfortable, and the sheets carried a clean, pleasant scent that made me want to remain here for another hour.

Michael’s entire home had the same calming atmosphere. There was nothing excessive about the place, yet it was impossible not to feel relaxed inside it.

I eventually got out of bed and entered the restroom. Everything I needed had been placed there—a new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, fresh towels.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were slightly puffy. Great!

I leaned closer to inspect them, then sighed. How exactly was I supposed to face Michael looking like this?

As the thought crossed my mind, memories of yesterday returned again. I remembered Michael hugging me twice.

The first time he hugged me had been in the woods, and the second time had been here, inside his apartment.

I stared at my reflection. Since when had Michael and I grown close enough for him to comfort me that way?

A quiet part of me tried to examine the question further, but I immediately stopped myself. No. I was not going down that road. Then I pointed at my reflection. "Do not fall for him."

It sounded ridiculous the moment I said it aloud. I lowered my hand and continued staring at myself. "No matter how nice he is."

That sounded even more ridiculous. I shook my head.

I was done trusting men enough to date them, and I certainly had no intention of putting myself in a position where I would ever have to think about marriage again.

Michael was Michael. That was all.

After giving myself that unnecessary speech, I brushed my teeth and took a warm shower. By the time I was finished, I felt considerably better.

I tied the big towel around my body, stepped back into the room for my clothes, and paused. My dress was not where I had left it on the couch.

I looked around the room, but there was no sign of it. My bra was here on the couch, but the dress was gone.

I frowned. Where could it have gone?

There was no point standing here in a towel and trying to solve the mystery, so I put on the clothes Michael had given me last night.

After running my fingers through my hair, I left the guest room.

The delicious smell of food reached me almost immediately. Without thinking twice, I followed the aroma toward the kitchen.

Michael stood with his back to me, busy with something at the counter. Before I could greet him, he spoke.

"Did you sleep well?"

I stopped in my tracks. "How did you know I was here?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

"You’re not particularly quiet."

I smiled despite myself. "Yes. I slept well." Then I greeted him. "Good morning, Michael."

He finally turned. "Good morning." Then I lifted a hand toward my face. "Do you have an ice pack?"

His eyes moved to mine, and a faint smile appeared on his face. "Your eyes?"

"Yeah..." I drawled. "They are slightly puffy."

He opened the refrigerator, took out an ice pack and handed it to me. "Here."

"Thank you," I said, taking it from him.

"Breakfast will be ready in a minute. Go and sit at the table."

I looked at him. "I can help."

"No."

The answer came so quickly that I stared at him. Then he glanced over his shoulder and said, "You are a guest."

"Guests can still help."

"You can help by sitting down and using the ice pack."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. I didn’t want to believe he was indirectly making fun of me, so I gave up. "Fine."

I left the kitchen and went to the dining table. As I pressed the cold pack against my eyes, Michael moved around the kitchen behind me.

A few minutes later, he brought over two plates and set them on the table. He returned to the kitchen and came back with more.

When I finally glanced over the table, I stopped.

There were scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, sausages, whole-grain toast, butter, maple syrup and a bowl of red grapes.

Two cups of hot chocolate had been placed beside two bottles of room-temperature water.

I lifted my gaze to him. "Why did you wake up and cook up a storm?"

Michael sat across from me. "I wanted you to have options."

"You didn’t have to trouble yourself this much."

A small smile appeared on his face. "Then don’t waste my effort."

I looked back at the food. "That is your way of making sure I eat everything?"

He didn’t deny it. "If it works."

I nodded, smiling to myself. "I am hungry anyway, and everything looks delicious." And with that, I picked up my fork and started eating.

The scrambled eggs tasted good. Then I tried the sausages. Those were good too, so I went for the bacon.

At this point, I decided that everything on the table deserved my attention.

A little while later, I suddenly became aware of how seriously I had been eating. I paused and slowly glanced at Michael.

Thankfully, he was focused on his own meal. He seemed to be enjoying it at a much slower pace than I was.

Thank God!

I returned to my food. Not long after, the muffled ringing of my phone reached us from the guest room.

I pushed my chair back slightly. "I should get that."

Michael looked up. "Finish your breakfast."

"But someone is calling me."

"If it is important, they will call again."

I hesitated. Then he added, "Don’t waste my effort, Emerald. The food will go cold, and you won’t like it as much."

I slowly sat back down. "Fine."

I resumed eating. A few bites later, I remembered my missing dress. "Michael?"

"Yes?"

"Did you take my dress?"

"Yes."

I blinked. "You did?"

"I knew you wouldn’t have anything to wear out, so I came into the room while you were sleeping and took it."

I just stared at him. "I didn’t even hear you."

"I made sure of that."

I assumed he meant that he had been careful not to wake me, so I asked, "What did you do with it?"

"I washed and dried it. Then I steamed it."

"You did all that?" My eyes bulged in their sockets. He did my laundry?

He continued eating. "Yes."

"Why?" I asked.

He finally raised his eyes to mine. "You needed clothes to wear."

I wanted to tell him that there was a difference between giving someone clothes and washing and steaming the clothes they had worn the previous day.

But in the end, I simply said, "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." He added, "After breakfast, I will get it for you."

I nodded, then lowered my eyes to my plate. The care Michael had been showing me since yesterday was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Suddenly, my earlier pep talk felt necessary again.