Counter Lotus

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The day arrived and I still wasn't sure how to feel about this dinner thing. The only thing that was apparent was my dwindling patience. If Peter didn't offer me any answers or explanations tonight, I would raise complete hell. You know, only after dinner and awkward conversation. I wasn't an animal. Hell-raising is reserved for after dessert.

Unlike my sister, I had no hope or desire for a romantic evening. Peter clarified this wasn't a date anyway which made me feel better. He didn't even like me – and I'm sure his absent wife wouldn't either. That's why I wore nothing special. Just a simple blue blouse tucked into my jeans and belt. Despite this, I couldn't help but be conscious of myself. I plucked my brows, tamed my hair until the curls turned into waves, and touched up my make-up. Who knows. Maybe looking decent will make him not such an asshole. Hell, I should probably be more concerned about him poisoning dinner. There had to be some kind of catch, right?

I was still uneasy by the time I knocked on his door. Having dinner with a stalker was not rational. I could hear a lawn-mower a few houses down, which reminded me there were at least other close in proximity. You know, in case I have to bolt out and look for help. My paranoia stayed strong... until I was invited inside. Most of my anxiety vanished – almost unnaturally – the moment he answered the door and I stepped inside.

Peter was dressed casually like me. Jeans, dress shoes, a plain black V-neck. I took note though that he looked more proper and neat though. His darker blonde hair and loose locks were styled away from his face this time, allowing me to see his more lively expression. Wonder how much of it was real.

"I'm glad you still decided to come," he said, closing the door.

Stepping inside, the foyer was wide, with a creamy colored tile under our feet. It dimly reflected the crystal chandelier hanging down from the high ceiling. Like most aspects of the house, it was grand but fitting and modern. Off to the left was a sitting area with a doorway to the kitchen. On the right, there was a small hallway to a few other doors. But in front of us was an entryway to the rest of the house and it was the natural way to go.

He guided me forward down the hall that led towards the living room. I could already feel the awkward tension in the air. Probably just because it was so unusual to not automatically be bickering within five seconds of seeing each other.

"I can't say dinner will be amazing, but you don't seem like the picky-type," he said.

"I'm not picky, but I'm going to try to be today. For someone with such a high-class lifestyle, my expectations are pretty steep," I half joked.

"I didn't realize wealthy men are automatically held up to five-star-dining standards."

"Well, now you know." Ugh, it was so weird just talking, I wanted to cringe!

Since I followed behind him, I was able to see more of his tattoos. With the inked dove on the front of his arm, the wing of it curved around his forearm. It led to the back of his wrist where there were some roman-numerals. I wonder what the significance of those numbers were....

We stepped into the familiar grand living room when the ceiling opened up and rose higher to accommodate exposing part of the second floor. After passing the left staircase, we entered the dining room. There was a dark wooden table that could seat six. The area was less spacious, but had an open layout leading to the glamorous red and gray colored kitchen on the left.

Glamorous under the mess grease that is. Dirty pans and dishes cluttered the stove, but the result looked definitely worth it. Steak, buttered noodles, veggies, and a bowl of salad were displayed on the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room.