Fire Wall (Book 1: The Fall)

10 | A Sweet Stalker

L could have pulled out a gun when he first saw my assaulter and it would have been the easiest and smartest thing to do. But he didn't. His first reaction was unleashing his wrath, and it was a far better response, one I needed more than a quick save. He reinforced the act to be terrible and deserving of justice while saying I was worth putting himself at risk fighting with his bare hands.

A sudden impulse comes over me to jump out of bed and find him so I can embrace him.

I need to thank him. I need to thank him at least a hundred times.

My eyes land on the bedside table, and my thoughts come to a staggering halt when I see a beautiful breakfast plate waiting for me.

What is this?

I get on my hands and knees and crawl to it, excitement and hunger gnawing at my stomach as I move. Steams roll off the scrambled eggs and a colorful assortment of berries and fruit are stacked next to the toast. Butter and strawberry jam is spread across the toast in mind-blowing, perfect layers. Wings of berries unfold on both sides of the toast, consisting of red and black raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. Vibrant orange slices hem in the berry wings and are positioned around them like rays of sunshine.

It is the most perfect breakfast plate I have ever laid eyes on.

Did L make this for me?

My mouth parts further when I find a light green stem curling around my fork and lavender flowers peaking by its head.

A flower, too...?

I carefully pick up the fork, feeling my heart flutter strangely as I smell the lavender. It's sweet and fresh, carrying faint mint undertones. I flush at the memory of L's warm, gloved hand on my face. I hear his light and dark laughter and can still feel his warm hands in my hair. My mind turns from wandering to wondering.

Was there more to his actions than I realized? It can't be...right? I'm thinking too much about this. He did a kind and thoughtful thing for me by making me this breakfast. It must have taken him a while to make everything look so perfect. I should eat it before it gets cold so his efforts aren't wasted.

Desiring not to crush the flower, I unravel it from the fork and lay it on the table before digging in. The eggs are light and fluffy, full of flavor. The berries burst in my mouth with sweet and sour exclamations. I moan with delight and throw another handful in my mouth. It's so good. Where did he get all of these berries? Were they in the kitchen already or did he go to a market?

I reach for the coffee mug and when I bring it to my lips, I taste the exact balance of coffee and milk I would make for myself. Just to make sure I'm not imagining things, I take another sip.

Not too strong, not too milky. It's just right.

That's weird...I pull the mug away for my lips to inspect the color. It's the same light toffee brown, too. It has to be a coincidence or just dumb luck. How could he know the right balance? He hasn't made my coffee before.

My eyes widen landing on the flower. Isn't lavender my favorite flower? I slowly pick it up and twirl it in my fingers. He wasn't just protecting me those three years, he was watching me...very closely. My heart begins to pick up speed with my thoughts. Why would he pick up on those things?

I've just been his job for these three years. It sounded like he got into danger to protect me. If anything, I'm probably a headache and the source of his troubles. I know I'm responsible for the trouble we're in now. He must have anything but warm feelings for me.

But why else would he know how to make my coffee and know my favorite flower? The laugh, the hands in my hair, the flower...am I taking things out of context?