The next morning I woke up alone in bed. I automatically smelled pancakes and heard soft acoustic music. I smiled, as I rubbed my eyes and got out of bed.
I walked out of the bedroom to see Charles and his Dad talking on the couch, sipping coffee. His mom was flipping pancakes like a pro in the kitchen.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed myself a cup of coffee.
"Good morning dear!" Patricia chimed.
"Good morning Mrs. Moreau." I replied, cheerily.
"Oh please honey, call me Patricia."
I smiled and walked into the living room with my coffee. I sat in the chair next to the couch.
"Morning, Blake."
"Good morning, Mr. Moreau." He, unlike his wife didn't tell me to call him by his first name. I could tell he was more serious than Charles and Patricia.
Charles got up off the couch and took his fathers empty coffee mug in his hands. He came over to me and kissed me on my forehead.
"Good morning" he whispered.
I smiled as he walked to the kitchen. I looked up at Mr. Moreau. His eyes were cold, unlike Patricia's.
"So Blake, what do you do?" he asked.
"I'm a writer for a magazine." I explained.
"What do you write about?"
"Politics, travel, a bunch of stuff I guess."
I could almost see a look of relief on his face. He must've thought of me as this fashion columnist or something. I didn't take Mr. Moreau as one to read about fashion.
"Could I read some of your work?"
"Sure." I said nervously, as I reached into the drawer of the coffee table and pulled out the magazine I was most proud of. I wanted to impress Mr. Moreau.
I found an article focusing on politics, I was guessing that Mr. Moreau would be interested in that sort of stuff.
I sat there nervously as I watched his eyes scan the page. After a few minutes, he looked back up at me and smiled.
"You're good Blake, really good."
"Thank you, Mr. Moreau."
"I absolutely love your views on the election. Really good work."
I smiled and looked down into the empty bottom of my coffee cup. We sat there in an awkward silence until I heard Patricia yell "Breakfast!" in her contagiously cheery voice.
The Moreau parents and I sat down at the table as Charles brought out maple syrup and orange juice. The pile of pancakes was stacked on a big plate in the centre of the table. The table was set with the light blue placemats I had bought and the silverware was neatly placed over floral napkins.
"Charles set the table for us." Patricia said as Charles sat down in his chair.
"Did he? I'm impressed." I said, looking at Charles from across the table.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Eyes
RomanceI was on the ground. There was fiery pain in my left side. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, and I could barely breathe. My vision went cloudy. I heard a panicked voice getting closer. A man was running to me, on his phone. He leaned over, saying s...
