Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 10

That night I made spaghetti with meat sauce—a simple, easy dish—and put the leftovers on a plate in the fridge for Thorne to re-heat when he pleased. Of Thorne himself, I saw nothing, which was fine by me.

After my accidental trip down memory lane that morning, I'd spent the rest of the day carefully focused on the present.

I explored the house, took Dougal for a walk along the river, washed some windows, and aired out several rooms. In the process I'd discovered that Thorne was right: he hadn't been keeping up on the place, and I had my work cut out for me.

To be honest, I don't really mind. It gave me something to do—something physical that demands little thought. By evening, I'm pleasantly exhausted and, after enjoying a rather long bath in an enormous claw-foot tub, take myself to bed.

I rise early from a mercifully dreamless sleep and head downstairs to start a pot of coffee. It's still dark, sunrise an hour off yet, and the house is steeped in a cool, pervasive silence.

Dane might think the house is creepy, but to me it just seems peaceful—restorative, even. As I traverse the hall and then descend the stairs, I notice Thorne's jacket hanging by the door. He must have got home some time in the night, after his late shift at the animal hospital. There was no sign of Dougal, and I wondered if he slept in Thorne's room.

In the kitchen I set the coffee brewing and then examined the contents of the fridge. Thorne had told me I was welcome to whatever he had on hand, at least until I had a chance to do some shopping of my own, and I settled on eggs, bacon, and home-made hash browns. The last two could be reheated easily enough if Thorne wanted some when he woke up.

It seemed he'd enjoyed the spaghetti, at least, judging from the dirty dishes I found in the sink. Frowning, I washed and put them away. It was far too early to be getting annoyed at the habits of my new 'housemate,' I knew; and beside that, I had no right to do so—it was his house, after all.

There's a small dining area attached to the kitchen—a sort of 'breakfast nook,' I suppose, or maybe it's where the servants would be expected to eat—with a simple rectangular table just large enough to seat six with the chairs very close. I wonder if Thorne eats here, or if he prefers the formal dining room, eating alone at the head of the long table.

I've just sat down with a cup of hot coffee and a plate of crispy bacon, browned potatoes, and fried eggs, when Thorne himself appears.

He must be one of those monsters who doesn't need much sleep.

He's dressed in loose cotton pants, a t-shirt, and a tartan robe, and looks very much the lord of the manor: tall, pale, and imposing, with his curling auburn hair spread over his shoulders in artful disarray.

"Good morning," he says, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thanks. Er...yourself?" I return, setting down my fork.

He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug and casts a glance at the food remaining in the pans. "No eggs?"

"Oh...I didn't know you'd be up so soon," I say. No one likes a re-heated egg. He slides the bacon and hash browns onto a plate and pulls out the chair on the side to my left.

"Ah, you have two I see. Share?" he asks, eyeing my eggs.

"O-Of course," I agree automatically, mostly because he's already reached across me and snagged one with his fork, lifting it to his own plate.

"Over easy," he comments. "Just the way I like."

He winks and one side of his mouth lifts in a smile that could just as easily be a smirk.