All Bets Are Off

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ella Fordman: The Last Dance

~Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ella Fordman: The Last Dance~

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

            It wasn’t very often I can claim I heard that of a morning, but as I woke up and rolled over to stare out at the beautiful sea and the sunrise, it was totally true. It was like the perfect, heavenly morning you only hear about in fairytales.

            And when you add to it the smell of bacon, eggs and pancakes cooking, it was pretty much a dream come true for anybody.

            I rolled over and stood up, straightening my pajamas: which only consisted of an oversized t-shirt that fell to mid-thigh.

            After the amazing Jacuzzi last night—in which we had, in fact, killed the bottle of champagne—I had quickly retired to my bedroom, because despite the fact nothing had gone down between us that wasn’t anything but friendly, I was getting pretty tipsy, and I didn’t want to make any mistakes I’d regret in the morning.

            I was glad to note that I didn’t have a hangover, and in fact welcomed the scent of bacon and eggs.

            I walked out of the lavish bedroom and into the carpeted hall, before making my way into the kitchen. Phoenix stood at the stove, an egg flip in his hand as he flipped an omelet. He wore a pair of plaid pajama pants but no shirt, and his hair was adorably rumpled from sleep.

            “Morning,” I said, leaning against the beige wall and cupping my elbow with my hand. I crossed my legs at the ankles and watched as he grinded some pepper into the pan. He had two fry pans going at the one time; one cooking pancakes and the other the omelets. A plate of crisp bacon already sat on the table, and I wandered over and grabbed a rasher.

            “Mornin’, Elle,” he replied nonchalantly, flipping the large pancake like a professional. “Sleep well?”

            I nodded and bit into the bacon. “Great, actually.”

            Phoenix turned off the stove and put the pancakes and omelets onto two separate plates, before moving them to the table. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed out a carton of orange juice and a bottle of champagne, before mixing up mimosas for the both of us.

            I sat down at the wooden seat and self-consciously pulled down the t-shirt. Had it always been this short? I swear it had been a few inches longer when I woke up this morning.

            I grabbed an omelet and a few pancakes, and took a sip of the mimosa.

            Phoenix grabbed a rasher of bacon and broke it in half. Phoenix was notoriously known for picking and playing with his food. It used to drive Aunt Annie nuts, but I didn’t mind. I actually found it kinda adorable.