Conversation in the lounge ceased immediately as I eyed the woman, stomping on the residual fight or flight whenever I encountered new people. Forcing myself to smile instead of snarl, I nodded. “I am.”

“Great, lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you already.” She gave me a kind grin and passed over a bag of groceries, somehow making me feel part of the family.

Her white hair matched her blouse while her navy skirt clung tight to generous curves. “I’m Mrs Sucre. Mr. Mercer’s chef and kitchen minion.”

“Minion? Where on earth did you learn a word like that, Mrs S?” Tess appeared, bouncing Lino on her hip, giving me a sweet smile. “Morning, Pimlico.” Her smile carried another element too—something that hinted she knew I’d overhead more than I should and didn’t care in the slightest. Her blasé comfortableness when it came to sex made me tense and relax at the same time.

“Morning.” I returned her smile, looking at her son then back to her. I didn’t know why, but Tess made me strong and weak within the same breath.

I wanted her as my friend, not because I was starved of female interaction, but because she came across so self-assured and happy.

I wanted to learn how to be like that. I wanted to be self-assured and happy.

I’d had flashes of self-assurance and definitely tasted happiness, but my past still cast shadows no matter how bright the sun. I still needed to learn, once and for all, how to walk away from that darkness and lock the door forever.

Mrs Sucre answered her, shuffling past and into the lounge with her bag of baguettes. “I learned that delightful word from Despicable Me that maître bought for Lino.” She tutted under her breath. “That child is too young for international thieves and terrorist plots, even if it is wrapped up in a kid’s movie with yellow sausages with glasses.”

Tess chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind and tell Q to buy more baby appropriate films.”

Mrs Sucre shook her head as if she couldn’t believe the youth pretending to be parents these days. “You two will be the death of me. Mark my words…the world is in peril.” Her eyes glowed with love, though. So much love and family joy.

I stood awkwardly with my bag of food, honoured to be a part of such a simple moment but unsure if I was truly invited.

Tess laughed, slinging her free arm around Mrs Sucre’s considerable bulk and ambling with her to the kitchen. “You love us really.”

Mrs Sucre sniffed, fighting a smirk.

Suzette giggled at the two women then came closer toward me, holding out her hand for the remaining grocery bag.

I didn’t want to part with it—almost as if it were a passcode into this wonderful simple world—but I handed it over.

“Thanks.” Suzette made to follow the others, but at the last second, she stepped closer and leaned in.

All the blood in my veins turned to red ice, so unused to nor ready for someone to invade my personal space who wasn’t Elder.

Her eyes narrowed as I stepped back, inhaling quick.

Instinct was what moved my legs, not choice.

Instantly, I chagrined, wishing I hadn’t revealed yet another weakness.

She didn’t let my running away phase her though, acting as if she’d seen it all before—which I guessed she had living in a halfway house for recovering women.

Pretending nothing had happened, she rested one hand on my tense shoulder then kissed each of my cheeks in French hello. “Bonjour, Pim.” With a quick squeeze, she let me go then flounced toward the kitchen, beckoning me to join them. “Come on.”

Brushing past Tess, she whispered something that made Tess laugh and blush at the same time. Something Parisian and most likely dirty just like their last conversation.

Whatever inside joke they’d shared, I wasn’t privy, but Tess looked back at me, laughter still on her face and welcome in her eyes. “Come on, Pimlico. You must be starving. While the men aren’t around, let us women enjoy some naughty conversation over equally naughty cupcakes.”

* * * * *

The morning passed faster than I could’ve imagined.

Instead of being wracked with nerves and fraught with the need to return to Elder, I enjoyed one of the most normal, simplistic times of my life.

Hanging in a kitchen, sitting on a barstool with my legs swinging, I watched Mrs Sucre prepare culinary magic all while Tess and Suzette ribbed her. I laughed with the other women as the cook delivered dry one-liners straight back.

Sometimes, conversation slipped into French, adding a sprinkle of exoticness to the English dominated jokes and enquiries, but most of the time, I could follow the thread, chuckling with them at silly antidotes of life in the countryside and the joys of housing a pack of rescue dogs—dogs who apparently Q hadn’t wanted but now was besotted with.

Tags: Pepper Winters Dollar Erotic
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