The Coldest Summer✓

Three

My tummy unfurls at the sight. Me and good food!

"I'm sure I will. I love pastries," I utter greedily, ignoring the noble manners that I don't have to begin with.

They all erupt into laughter, except Liam, whose blue eyes stay unfazed at me.

His seating posture is empirical, bossy even, one leg over the other, back nonchalantly relaxed onto the antique master chair's backrest. Yeah, he got the looks of true lad. A gentleman, too. Well done, Sam.

"Then enjoy, darling," Eleanor returns, her gaze filled with mirth.

"Totally. Thanks." I beam, and at the same time, a young woman in a purple dress emerges, carrying the drinks.

"Thanks, Betty," Eleanor tells her.

Regarding us curtly without a word, Betty places one cup on the table slowly, or too slowly, her long bangs of dark hair guarding her timid face. While at it, the two cups suddenly slip from her tray, and the coffee spills down the seemingly expensive, Turkish carpet.

Woah! I feel a sharp heat on my thighs, but not strong enough to be a burn.

"Are you okay, Kira?" Sam looks startled as she jumps from her seat, dismayed, and at the same moment Eleanor asks, "Are you burnt?"

"No, I'm good." Hopefully. I quickly stand up, trying to fix the stains splattered on the skirt of my dress. "I'm fine, don't worry," I assure them.

"Oh, Betty, how clumsy," Eleanor cries softly. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have let her carry that. She's a bit nervous around new people."

I see Betty fidgeting apologetically, her palms rubbing together nervously. It's as though she wants to speak but she can't. She's most probably a mute. I easily grasp the way she opens her mouth to no avail.

"I'm okay, Betty. Don't worry," I tell her pointedly, reassuring her with a smile that it's not a big deal. She gives me a coy one, nodding. "I think I need to change, though." I collide my gaze with Liam, and for once he looks human; his eyes unguarded.

"Okay, honey. Let me take you to your room," Eleanor offers, placing her perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "Now, Betty, clean up the mess and be careful. Careful, okay?" she tells the young lady condescendingly, as though her clumsiness is too apparent to them all.

Betty nods softly.

I think Eleanor is pretty nice. Although I've met her only shortly, I can feel the natural tenderness in her.

Most women in her position tend to act like Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings; super meticulous and overly controlling, but I don't think Eleanor is like that. I wonder how it's like to have a loving mother like her, and I guess I never will.

Growing up without parents has made me carry a soft spot for elders. Even the people I'm close with at work are mostly old professors. Dr. Snape, my psychiatrist, said that it's natural given that I must be yearning for parental love subconsciously. I think she is right.

Eleanor leads me upstairs. I'm immediately awed to catch a glimpse of a gigantic floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. I'm addicted to books, and I guess it shows right away from my stupid grin.

"Do you read books, Mrs. Eleanor?" I ask, my eyes fixed on my subject of interest.

"Me? No way." She responds quickly and starts laughing. "They belong to Liam. He's the one obsessed with books, and he's a very good collector as well."

Him? I wouldn't have bet even after my reincarnation.

"Oh, I see," I quip, wandering my gaze around the silent hall accented with golden halogen bulbs and small paintings. The walls are coated in milky white, blending perfectly with the wooden furniture that seems to dominate the entire theme of the house.