Frosty

three: trapped

Under the window sits a nice little dresser. To the right is a makeshift couch–its the most perfect little nook. Oh, how I would love to curl up with a book and read in front of that window.

I turn my head to the left to be even more surprised–bookshelves cover the walls. I'm guessing the attic is split off considering the size. It isn't large, but with every wall covered in books, it looks huge.

"Wow," I reply stepping further into the room. "This is so cool."

"It's my secret hideout," Harper walks in and extends his hands out as if to show off the place. "I spend a lot of time up here."

Before I can reply, my stomach grumbles announcing that I'm hungry. My face heats up in embarrassment. I try to hide my face but to no avail, Harper notices.

Looking down at his phone, Harper asks, "Have you eaten lunch?"

"No," I reply refusing to make eye contact. My face is probably as bright as a tomato as I seem to blush easily.

"Well, then let's go eat. I could always go for some food," he jokes before heading back down the stairs. I chuckle quietly before following him.

I'm going to be honest, for just meeting the guy, I feel pretty comfortable around him. I don't feel awkward, well, besides the unfortunate scene that had just happened–I could have gone without it. I know most people would think I'm insane for trusting a guy I just met, but in all honesty, I'd probably think the same but here I am. I don't know what it is, but there's just something about him. Something that's different.

"You coming, Blakley?" Harper's voice breaks my thoughts. I hadn't realized I stopped walking when we had reached the hallway.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," I hurry to catch up with Harper who was at the other end of the hallway. Man, he must walk fast.

We make our way back out into the lobby and head straight for the dining area. Harper heads straight for the kitchen and I stop at the door.

"Harper?"

"Yes?" He turns around and notices me standing at the door. "You're allowed in. You do realize you are with the son of the owner?"

"Right," I remind myself as I step into the kitchen.

When I catch up to Harper once more, he's talking with one of the workers. The guy has on an all black attire–a black button up, very chef-like, shirt, black pants, black shoes, and a black chef's hat. By the looks of it he's a chef.

"Ricky, this is Blakley, my new friend," Harper points to me. Friend? Are we friends? It's been fifteen minutes at the most. "And, Blakley, this is Ricky. My favorite chef," he points to Ricky breaking my thoughts.

"Nice to meet you, Ricky," I smile at the man who looks like he's sporting the salt and pepper hair.

"Nice to meet you, too, Blakley," he smiles back at me. "What would you like to eat," he asks.

I bite my lip unsure of what I want. "Do you have soup and grilled cheese by chance?" That sounds perfect on this cold afternoon.

"Why, yes, we do," he scribbles some words on a paper which I'm assuming is my order. "Harper?"

"I'll take the same. Thanks, Ricky," Harper thanks him before heading back out to the dining area. We find a table away from the other guests who are trapped.