My Fireman's Secret Baby

It dawns on me that I am going to be staying in Kyst’s home for a while. I look around at everything. I’m not trying to be nosy, just curious. Everything looks clean, maybe a little sparse. I sit on the edge of the bed. I still can’t wrap my head around this. Why would a handsome fireman like him be so nice to me? It's amazing! He seems so friendly and caring—different from other men. Though, I’m not one to talk. I have little experience with men. Probably because I’m still an awkward virgin. In fact, I was only kissed once in my entire life before I met Grayson.

I don’t think I’ll ever get married. Why would I? Few men have ever shown any interest in me. I don’t blame them. No one wants a shy mousey girl. Grayson was the only man to ever approach me, but I don’t think I can count him because I don’t think he ever really liked me. He just wants me back because I left him. He likes to own or possess things. I don’t think I ever thought he was attractive—decent looking, maybe.

Kyst, on the other hand, is very cute. Do I dare say handsome? Deep down, I do love all the attention he is giving me while I’m here. I wonder what it would be like to date him? I wish he would ask me out.

I look over at the dog and puppies. They are asleep cutely, in a pile. A knock on the bedroom door startles me. I get up to open it. Kyst is there. “Lunch is ready,” he informs me.

Chapter Seven - Kyst

After getting Mylah from the bedroom, we walk to the kitchen together. I already have everything set up. As we sit at the table across from each other, I can’t help but notice that she looks more refreshed now. She probably washed up. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I keep my eyes on my own plate.

“Wow. This looks and smells delicious!” Mylah compliments the salad I made. We share a smile then start eating. Lunch is a quiet affair.

After we finish eating, we remain sitting there. We just sip our drinks and relax for a while. To be honest, I did make quite a bit of food. I am happy to have someone else to cook for. Usually, it is just me. Once I finish my drink, I get up and start taking the dishes to the sink.

“Please let me help you this time?” Mylah insists. She jumps up from her chair.

I look at her eager face. “Uh, sure. Go ahead and start taking the dishes. I’ll put the leftovers away,” I say.

I’m eager to spend this time with her. Hopefully, she is breaking out of her shell a little. I watch Mylah a second. She takes the empty dishes and puts them in the sink, then comes back for more. I start scraping the leftovers into a container which I put in the fridge. I put more dishes on the counter before wiping off the table and then go back into the kitchen. I stand next to Mylah at the sink.

“How about I wash and rinse. You dry and put away?” she asks, looking at me. Her green eyes seem happier than yesterday. I’m hoping being here has something to do with that.

“Sounds good to me,” I say, taking a dish towel and moving to the other side.

Mylah fills up the sink with soapy water. She starts adding dishes in, letting them soak for a few minutes. She picks up the sponge and squeezes more soap on it, then starts scrubbing the dishes. There is something about being together that feels almost natural.

I want to know more about her and her childhood, so I ask, “Animals have always been your friends?” Hoping to pick up our conversation from yesterday.

After a moment, she answers. “Yes. I was the nerdy girl in high school. I had no friends, so I was always alone. My own parents even ignored me. That’s okay because it left me plenty of time to study. That came in handy when I decided to become a vet,” she explains with a bit of a smile.

I keep a smile on my face, but my heart aches for this lonely girl. “Yes, I can see how that would be beneficial,” I reply.

She puts a few dishes in the other sink and rinses them with water. I pick up a plate and dry it. Afterward, I set it on the counter. I pick up another dish and do the same thing.

“You certainly made a lot of food,” Mylah comments. I’m genuinely surprised. She actually wants to have a conversation.

I put the plate down and focus on her. “I love to cook. I always have,” I answer. She looks away from the dishes briefly. It feels nice to have her attention on me. “I like being able to create things and experiment with all these different ingredients,” I explain. I’m all passionate and happy just talking about cooking.