Love Triangle

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was nearing one o'clock when the bus stopped at the corner street I got off of. According to google maps, I had a few turns and steps to make before attaining Cook's house. Luckily the bus ride only took about fifteen minutes. He lived in the richer area. I admired few of the houses as I walked by and oriented myself. I was hoping that he texted me the right address because I was not up for a joke.

I wondered if I should either ring the doorbell or text him when I walked up his wide driveway. I decided on doing both. I was greeted by an older man. His facial composure hinted to me that he must be Cook's father but it was also hinted that he didn't appreciate company.

"Hello," he asked rather than said.

"Hi.. Uh.. I'm Savannah," I introduced, my voice unsure and squeaky. His father had a certain charm in grey trousers and a vest. He didn't have the blue of Cook's eyes. He wasn't moving from the door, blocking my access.

"I'm here to help Cook with his english assignment," I explained, hoping that he won't let me rot on his rich doorstep.

"Right," he said with a tone of sarcasm, cracking the door opening wider until it was wide open, allowing me to enter. He watched me disapprovingly as I entered with my huge backpack. He closed the door behind me and I quickly slipped out of my converse shoes, not wanting to dirty his house more than my presence seemed to be doing. He gave me a weird look as he saw my shows tucked in the corner of the huge Persian carpet.

He cleared his throat loudly, the way all successful and important men do, "Cook will be down in a moment."

And with that he turned on his heels, dismissing me in the large foyer. The house was modern looking with a touch of antique art and artifacts here and there. The floor was white marble but the entrance had two huge pieces of carpet. This house was splendid without being over the top.

But what really caught my eye was the full size wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The picture of the bride and groom - assuming Cook's parents - was splendid. The groom was smiling unrecognizable beyond of the man that had just greeted me, and the bride was beautiful and smiling with her deep blue eyes.

I wasn't aware that I was incredibly drawn in by this photograph. It reminded me so much of the one standing at home of my parents during their marriage. My chest was squeezing at the thought of it.

I turned around as I heard footsteps coming down the regular looking staircase that Mr. Atwood had used. It was weird. Its as if the designers of the house took time into making the foyer majestic but stopped at the staircase. Cook was coming down, a smirk already on his face.

"Sorry love," he said, assuming he was talking about the wait.

I pointed at the wedding frame, "Your parents are stunning."

He laughed, the laugh not reaching his eyes, "Yeah."

"I think your dad doesn't like me." I wanted to say 'hate' me but that was too strong of a word for a first encounter. For some reason I wanted reassurance that Cook's mom would be less hostile and maybe would like me. I hated being disliked by parents even by people I wasn't necessarily friends with.