Carmen's Caster

II - Lyra Caster

I woke up to the smell of bacon. In a room, I've never seen or been in before. Everything was blurring together, the bar, the heartbroken man. I was a woman attracted to emotional, long-term relationships wanting men. But what led to this? I crawled out of the sheets, which I knew were readjusted to cover me. I was a blanket kicker. The bathroom and the main door were open, but I saw multiple packaged items on the bathroom counter. Curious, I went into the bathroom to at least clean myself up. I flicked on the lights, closed the door, then looked at myself in the mirror. God, I'm a wreck. I looked down at what was on the counter. There was an assortment of feminine products and guest toiletries. A new bottle of shampoo and conditioner was there too. Who would've thought such a man could be so considerate?

I finished my business in the bathroom, putting on my clothes from the bar, figuring I could shower later. My hair was messed up, but I've always looked a little rough without makeup. With my alcohol-smelling clothes, it did not make it any better. 

The curious smell of breakfast was outside the door, so I waddled outside like a penguin out of habit. Occasionally, it would happen when I was excited to come up to someone or something I liked. I walked down the hallway, following the smell of freshly-cooked breakfast. Then, I reached the last room available. I peeked into the room, the kitchen, and saw the tall, well-groomed, and defined man. He was at the counter cutting avocados before he looked up and saw me. I was allergic to avocados.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" He asked me. He sounded so gentle, so sincere.

"I'm okay. But a little lost." I responded, wondering how I ended up here.

"Unfortunately, I'm just as lost as you are. Breakfast?" He smiled. A smile that could make any woman turn bright red. I couldn't speak after that. I just nodded. But then I remembered my allergy as my eyes gravitated toward his hands.

"Wait, I'm allergic to avocados."

"Well, lucky for you, I only put it on the first two. You can have my plate. Are you okay with direct contact?" I was glad he asked that. I couldn't determine why, but it made me happy.

 "I just can't eat it," I responded, trying to avoid eye contact with the Greek God of a man.

He nodded and set whatever he was doing aside. He took the plate with eggs and bacon on it. Putting it where he figured I could sit. I shifted to where the food was, then sat in front of it. He washed his hands thoroughly before handing me two pieces of toast. The smell of his cooking was divine, and the presentation was even better. I looked at him, and he flashed that heartwarming smile again. He then grabbed his plate with avocado toast, eggs, and bacon. But then, he looked like he remembered something. He got up from his chair and grabbed two cups. Then he opened the fridge. He took out a jug of lactose-free milk.

"Lactose intolerant?" I asked, curious.

"No, but cats are."

"You have a cat?" I chucked. "I love cats."

"I do. Her name is Pizza." I tried not to overreact, but for such a man to have a cat with such an adorable name was impossible not to do.

"How cute," I giggled, excited to potentially see a kitty cat.

His stern demeanor turning into something gentle was undeniably attractive. But I can't trust a man I met just last night. Not yet. But a man with a cat, then it changes things.

He poured the both of us a glass of milk, handing one of them to me. Then he called out the cat's name in a cute tone, definitely out of character from what he appeared to be. I heard the little jingle of a bell coming from a nearby room, then closer. The cat was then in the room, staring at its beautiful owner. Well, maybe she owns him. You know how it is with cats. She mewed like a polite kitten, waiting for a treat. She was well cared for. Her fur was long and fluffy, a gray instead of black Siamese with blue eyes and a black nose. She reflected her black-haired owner very well.

The man poured some of the milk into his hand, then came down to a height she could reach. He offered his cupped hand full of milk to her. And I watched her drink so softly. I admired both of them. They were beautiful in their own way. I always considered men with cats to be a good thing. Well, I always found them attractive, at least. I watched Pizza lap up her milk from his hand. She looked so happy with such a genuine man, dressed in a black shirt with sweats. Honestly, I wanted to be as comfortable as he was right now. I felt a little too exposed, yet he assumingly never glanced disrespectfully. Still, I covered my chest when I thought of it.

Pizza finished her milk, drinking every last drop of milk. He smiled and went to sit back down next to me. When he stood up, he noticed I was covering myself.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry for forgetting a change of clothes. I'll grab you a coat for now." Then, he rushed into his shoe rack for a jacket I could wear. I felt comforted, more loved than any man that cared for me.

He gave me a folded-up hoodie, and I unfolded it. It was humongous. I put it on as he sat back down next to me. It was soft and warm. It smelled freshly washed, too.

"Well, our food is getting cold." He chuckled, handing me utensils.

"Oh! Right!" I giggled too, and then we ate.