The Don's Maid [18+]

55

Positivity Corner:

Love like fire and hate like ice.

The next week followed by the chat of ours in Vincent's house passed in a haze.

The work load in the diner and the café increased beyond limit as the new space for the kitchens was on full swing. The followed Thursday night the workers had finished taking down the kitchen and by monday night the café was bigger with the display box pushed to the further end.

More tables added to the room and the space to walk around was available. Moreover the room for the waiters to change shift was enlarged so they have a lounging area too.

But getting the supply for the products were a nightmare, so we used a small closed pick-up van, so it could supply batches of sweets at least twice a day.

And far as the Vincent issue, he has been sending me flowers everyday, with small notes like good morning and have a nice day and stuff attached to them. Calling me every now and then, asking if I have eaten or gotten home safe, so on and so forth. I'd call sometime...just to check.

Today's batch of flowers were bright pink peonies, tired around the stem with a shimmering ribbon and a little bow. No note.

I frowned. All the flowers he sent had notes around the ribbon except this one.

Maybe he ran out of things to say. My inner girl mumbles. She's been making appearance every now and then, since I decided to give Vincent a chance.

A selfish decision of her really.

I put the flowers on the jar after taking out the day before's bunch of tulips.

When I was almost free from the work, if was lunch time. I called Vincent before taking a bite of my zucchini noodle with beef.

He answered with the second ring. "Kitten." He said and I could hear the scratching of pen against paper.

"You're working too much." I said putting some of the food in my mouth.

"So are you." He said back.

"Did you eat, yet?"

"Not yet." He answered. "I have a lunch meeting with your Papa."

"Good thing." I snort.

He laughs. "Did you eat?"

"Eating." I say.

"Good." He says. "I'll talk to you after the meeting. Meet me for dinner?"

"Come over to the house?" I ask.

"Why don't you come over?" He asks.

I groan. "Then I'd have to cook."

"I like your cooking." He says. "Baby, gotta go, almost time. Your pop would kill me for being late."

"You can always tell him the reason." I say cheekily.