Nine Hours

Chapter 8

At the sound of feet shuffling on the tile floor, I turn. Cassie rubs sleepy eyes as she makes her way to the kitchen where I'm frying eggs and sausages.

She's beautiful.

The tank top is once again covered by the hoodie and she's pulled on the same sweat pants she wore last night. Her glorious dark hair is a tangled mess she'd absent-mindedly attempted to stroke into submission with her fingers. The imperfection of her appearance is completely adorable. Real and natural. That's the thing about Cassie. She's real. Even decked out in her Vegas cocktail waitress attire, there was nothing fake about her. Hells. I'm standing here staring at the woman.

"Good morning, sweetness. I trust you slept well?" I carefully study her expression while waiting for her answer. There's a scant possibility she could recall the massively erotic dream I'd sent. One never knew, though. Cassie meets my gaze a bit puzzled by the question, blinking a few times.

"Yes. I suppose I did. I had a rather, um, intense dream."

I freeze at her words, but maintain my calm. Setting down the spatula, I grab a mug and fix her coffee. "Here. Tell me about this dream. Sounds intriguing." Gods, I hope she can't remember anything. I hold my breath.

She sips. "Mmm. Good. That's the thing. I can't remember anything specific." While that should be a relief to hear, her blank stare makes me nervous, so I turn away to tend the eggs and sausage.

"Go on."

"I woke up feeling...I dunno, tired maybe? Which makes no sense at all, because I slept like the dead." Sneaking a glance over my shoulder, I see she's perched on a bar stool, her forehead scrunched in thought. "In fact, I had this odd sense someone was in the room. Watching me."

Hells. I wasn't careful enough. My sloppiness irks me, but I stuff it down as I plate breakfast. No way do I want to let on I have anything to do with the dream. A show of anger would raise more questions than I'm ready to answer. Instead, I bluff.

"What makes you think that?"

She shrugs. "Not sure. It wasn't anything frightening. Probably part of the dream." I set a plate in front of her, studying her face. Perfectly normal. In fact, she actually seems more at ease than yesterday, perhaps a little more accepting of the situation even. "Mmm. Smells yummy. Thank you for cooking again."

"My pleasure." With a little relief coursing through me, I take the stool next to her and eat. For long moments we don't say much, Cassie deep in thought over her dream, and me deep in thought about all things Cassie and winning her over. Soon food is no longer an excuse to avoid conversation.

"You must have been quite hungry. You ate quickly."

Cassie glances down and blushes. "Yeah. Guess I was." Peeking up, she grins. "Must've been the crazy dream that built up my appetite." Silently, she stands and collects the dishes, bringing them into the kitchen, where she begins to wash them.

"You don't need to do that, Cassie."

"Nah. Least I can do. You cooked. Please sit." Although it goes against the grain to let her continue, if she's busy, she might not overthink the dream. Which would make the rest of the day easier.

Other than the clink of dishes and sound of running water, the room is quiet. Until the shrill ringtone of my phone disturbs the silence. I snag the phone from a small desk to the left of the kitchen counter, near the door. Cassie stops her chore and turns off the water.

"Hallo? Ah, Pappa! Hvordan har du det?" Cassie's eyebrows quirk with interest when I greet my father in Norwegian. It's unlikely she understands anything, making it easier to openly discuss things with Pappa.