Snafu

The Talk - Part 1

The next morning, there was an actual chef in the kitchen. He was a tall, broad man in his mid-thirties who looked like he cared enough to eat healthy and go to the gym. There was a white coat over his clothes and a couple of half-unpacked reusable grocery bags surrounding him on the counter. As soon as Cole stumbled in with his borrowed comfy clothes askew and hair still a mess, he whipped up a cup of coffee for him without a single comment about the fact that it was past noon. Cole decided he liked him immediately.

"Cole, right?"

The coffee mug appeared in front of him. He was exhausted, feeling more like a slump about to melt off the stool than a human being. After he finally fell asleep last night, he slept great - soundly and straight through the night. But his entire body ached like he worked a double shift instead of lounging around the house all evening. He was an object that had perpetually been in motion, and now that he had stopped, he was falling apart.

And the mattress was like nothing he had ever felt before. He was too drunk the previous night to appreciate the memory foam top, but last night, he sank into a perfect balance between soft and firm that not even his worries about this morning could ruin. The comfort betrayed him, though, and now his back hurt. It was like something out of The Princess and the Pea.

"I'm Mr. Barta's personal chef, Andre," the chef said.

Cole blinked at him.

"Oh!" he sat up a little straighter, "Sorry, yeah. I'm Cole. Nice to meet you. I'm not so good at mornings." He wrapped his hands around the warm mug in front of him and curled his toes over the rung of the stool. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem." Andre smiled. It was not just a customer service smile because he was being paid by Gideon to cook and make nice with whoever might be in the house. It was a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes like there was nothing more in the world he would rather do than coax Cole into wakefulness with aromatic coffee and home-cooked breakfast. Maybe the guy really loved his job.

"Would you like something to eat?" Andre moved away to continue whatever he had been doing when Cole stumbled in. That turned out to be sorting through the handful of groceries on the counter, including brightly colored peppers, bunchy heads of broccoli, and carrots with their feathery stems still attached.

"I don't want to interrupt," Cole said. "I'll just grab some cereal."

"Nonsense." Andre paused to turn around and face Cole again. "I'm here to cook for Mr. Barta and his guests."

Cole wondered if he was a guest or not. Andre called him one, yet last night, Jessica had insisted he was not. It was all up to Gideon, really, and Cole would find out soon.

"Mr. Barta is in the dining room now. Tell me what you want, then you go join him, and I'll bring it out."

"Oh, um," Cole chewed a bit on the inside of his lower lip, "I can ask for anything?"

"We'll see," Andre said good-naturedly. "Hit me with it."

"Just...um, some sunny-side-up eggs and toast?" Cole asked.

"Coming right up." Andre shooed him out of the kitchen. "Go join Mr. Barta."

Gideon sat at one end of the long wooden table, a half-eaten omelet in front of him, looking as if he had woken up not too long ago himself. Like Cole, he was dressed in a casual pair of joggers and a sweatshirt, although he had at least combed his hair. At his back, the curtains had been thrown open to let light pour into the room. He looked up as Cole came in, taking in the bedhead and rumpled sleep clothes. His eyes lingered where the borrowed shirt gaped around his collarbone.