Look through my eyes

Chapter 17

I open my mouth in surprise, seeing the sacks of flour at the entrance of the kitchen, the cartons of eggs piled up, and some pastry bags with icing pots next to them.

My smile grows but fades slightly as I try to remember when was the last time I walked into a kitchen with this much food. The last time I made cookies or the last time I made something I loved making so much with my mother,.

"Ready?" I turn as I feel Asher's kiss on my cheek as he hugs me from behind.

I turn to look at him, asking him with my eyes if everything is okay at home.

Asher seems to understand; he caresses my cheek with his hand and nods.

I take his hand and walk with him into the huge kitchen.

A few YouTube videos later, everyone gets into what they've been tasked to do.

100 cookies won't be done in no time, but being five, at least the work will be better divided.

I take a sip of the lemonade Luna made between batches of cookies, watching Asher fall asleep in one of the garden chairs. Ian seems very focused on his phone, while Oli and Luna are half lying on the couch, watching the TV in front of them.

I leave the glass on the table, looking at my hands full of coloring.

Barely 1 batch of cookies left, but the ones we had to decorate with icing were already cooling. Putting the edible prints on the last ten cookies would be quick.

"I'll go to the bathroom." I say, to no one in particular.

Oli turns to look at me and smiles before settling his arm over Luna, returning his attention to the television.

I walk to the main bathroom, sighing in relief after taking off my apron that my clothes aren't so dirty. Being food-colored, it won't be hard to wash it off with some water.

I wash my hands, watching as the water mixes with the characteristic colors of Oli's mother's foundation, blue and pink.

I look at my reflection, tilting my head a little.

I leave the bathroom. It's not until I hear the faint murmur of the television and the voices of Luna, Oli and no one else that I decide to walk to the front door of the house.

I turn right before reaching it, following the mental map by instinct.

I look at the white door and don't hesitate before opening it.

I take a breath, not daring to let out the sigh of relief that threatens to come out.

Relief at the sight of a computer on the other side of the long conference table.

The night before I had read and read the governor's schedule, the chances were slim that he had left the computer after his last meeting of the morning. Seeing the computer there only indicates that someone is truly careless.

I walk over to it, sitting down as I open it.

The governor's logo is in the screen, the typical page requesting a password pops up. But without flinching, I put in the password I already knew by heart.

How Grandpa got all this information is beyond me, but I'm not surprised when it works.

I stand still for a few seconds, just to make sure I don't hear any footsteps.

I pull a small usb key out of my bra, inserting it into the side of the computer.

A screen with green letters appears, letters and codes that are in a language unknown to my knowledge, then a bar appears with the percentage.

I sigh, watching as the bar slowly fills up.

I look at my watch, seeing how the time passes slower than it should.

"It shouldn't take more than a minute." I whisper, as low as if it had been something in my mind.

When the bar is at 85%, I hear the front door open.

I stand, sharpening all my senses. I curse as I hear footsteps approaching.

They're not close; they're just at the beginning of the hallway.

I look at the computer, seeing how it's stuck at 90%.

"Fuck." I look for somewhere to hide in desperation, feeling my stomach drop as I see a long table and nothing else.

There are no cabinets, and the windows are sealed.

The footsteps grow closer and closer, and I can only watch, transfixed, as the doors open.

"I'm sure I left it here—" the door opens, letting me see a tall gentleman in a suit. His bald head makes him look more grown up than he really is, but I'm sure he's even a few years younger than the governor.

The latter enters next, wearing jeans and a formal T-shirt.

They both stop when they see me.

I turn, still with my hand on the long curtain that hides the beautiful view of the side garden.

The gentleman in the suit's eyes moved to me and then to the closed computer, in the exact same spot where he expected to find it. Then he looks at me with a seriousness so profound that my intuition about his age may be wrong.

"Who are you—?"

"Sophia?" My heart stops beating for a few seconds as I hear my false name in my father's voice.

"Mr. Governor." I turn away from the window, lowering my hands. Empty hands that do not go unnoticed by the gentleman in the suit. "I'm sorry I came in, I—"I look down, thinking of the most embarrassing thing in the world to force the blush into my cheeks. "Oli talks so much about you and your work; I couldn't help but come in to find out where you worked. I'm really very sorry."

The governor's eyes inspect me for a few seconds, with a look as analytical as I've seen so much of his son in the last few months. But a small smile appeared on his face.

"Don't worry, Sophia," the governor says, patting the chest of the gentleman in the suit, who was already raising his hand, to what I can only assume is his gun. "Oli told me you were coming today." he says, looking sympathetic, his jaw a little tense.

I don't miss the look he gives the computer, but then he sets his eyes on me.

"I'm really sorry. I know how much you trust your son, and by bringing us into your home, I really didn't mean to overstep the boundaries. " I say, my voice a little breathy.

I imagine my eyes are so red that the governor throws up his hands.

"It's really no problem, Sophia. I have no doubt that if you ask Oli to give you a tour of the house, he will be happier to give it to you. I could give it to you myself if we didn't have a meeting right now," he says, looking at the gentleman in the suit who nods, still with his neutral expression, not taking his eyes off me for a second.

The gentleman in the suit walks over to me, grabs the computer and starts walking towards the door again. But he stops. He turns to look at me and walks towards me.

"Your phone." My mouth drops open in surprise. I hear the governor's grumble behind him. "To give you the secretary's number, she could schedule a tour for Mr. Oliver's friends. "

A smirk threatens to break out, but I continue my distressed look as I shake my head.

"We've been baking cookies; my cell phone is in the kitchen cupboard." I said, patting my pockets.

Always under his hawkish gaze. He nods, satisfied, not finding my cell phone on me, as if that's enough to guarantee that I haven't come in here to steal any information.

"We'll ask Mr. Oliver to share them with you then," he says, and I nod, thanking him wholeheartedly.

The gentleman gestures to the door by way of dismissal. I nod, apologizing again to the governor before walking down the hallway, listening as the door closes behind me.

My smile appears, and I feel the warm but cold metal of the usb key on my breasts.