Hooked 4 (Hooked #4)(9)

I shook my head. “I’m too young to think of it. I mean, I can hardly remember to feed my cat.”

Drew laughed. “I’d like to meet your cat, officially. He seems like a ragamuffin.”

“That he is,” I nodded. I took another bite, chewing soundlessly. I’d been a lot hungrier than I thought.

“Where’d you get him?”

“I actually got him after I dumped my college boyfriend,” I laughed.

“Ah. That *. The lazy one?”

My eyes widened before I remembered that I had, in fact, told Drew all about Kevin. I nodded. “Indeed. Boomer was supposed to be like—my replacement I guess.”

“Did he get the job done?”

I shrugged. “He was good company. Kept my feet warm.”

“And what more could you want in a man?”

Drew brought himself up from the bed and began dressing quickly. He grabbed a black shirt and began buttoning it professionally, eyeing me. “Stay in bed as long as you want. I know you’ve had a really hard past month or so, and a lot of that’s because of me. I want you to relax as long as possible, okay? Just stay in bed. Watch some television. Maybe they’re on Godfather Part III by now, if you’re lucky.” He leaned down toward me and placed a kiss on my lips, making me feel such passion deep in me. I wanted him. I hadn’t had him in what seemed like so long.

And then, after he pulled on his pants, his tidy shiny shoes, he was gone. It all happened in an instant.

I leaned back in his cozy blankets, in his pillows, and felt like I was in a sort of igloo of comfort. I felt the compassion in his voice, even then, about what had happened the past month or so. I couldn’t care anymore. I was right where I was meant to be.



CHAPTER FIVE

Mid-afternoon, I crawled from the bed and got dressed. I sauntered down the steps and saw the spectacular mess we’d made the evening before with the sledgehammer. Bits of the wall had splattered all over the floor. A single man, dressed as a butler, was sweeping next to the wall. He gave me a cordial hello as I flew past him, embarrassed.

When I arrived downstairs, I smelled the most spectacular scents emanating from the kitchen. I stepped toward there, wondering if Drew had come home for lunch without telling me. But on the inside of the kitchen, there were ten or so people, all of them whirling around hot stoves and boiling pots of water. I brought my hands to my face as I realized they were cooking enough food for a king.

At the helm, a stocky Mexican man spoke to them in succinct Spanish. The people before him—some of them Mexican, others Indian, white, black, and every other nationality in between—stared up at him, unblinking. They followed his orders precisely. They slapped hundreds of broad tortillas on the table before them and began creating burritos, stacking them high in the air with beef, vegetables, and cheese. My stomach started to grumble. Why were they making a hundred burritos?

I leaned too close to the swinging door and I felt myself fall forward, into the air of the kitchen. Nobody looked toward me except Hector, the head chef. His eyebrows narrowed at me. I flipped back my blonde hair nervously, knowing I’d just walked in where I didn’t belong.

“What you doing here, Miss? We have very important operations here in the kitchen,” Hector spouted, using his stout legs to carry him toward me.

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

“You are looking for Master Thompson, no?”

“Of course not. No. I just. I know Drew left this morning—“

Hector’s eyes grew wide with the realization. “Ah-HA!” he laughed. He clapped his hand in front of his chest with authority. “I know who you is. Drew told me you’d be here. But I—I completely forgot!” He waved his hand in front of his forehead and rolled his eyes, “You must understand. This is our busiest day. Master Thompson has instructed us to make one hundred burritos for the food drive downtown. We have to make them all by three in the afternoon, and then we have to deliver them.”


I was shocked. “You’re making all of these for the food drive?”

“Oh, yes,” Hector stated, leaning back with pride. “I’ve been with Master Thompson for four years, now. He always gives back. We’ve been doing the one hundred burritos once a week for three years now. And as you know, I am excellent at doing the burritos.” He winked at me. “Although it would be much nicer in a better kitchen, like the one in New York.”

I shook my head, noting the antiquated nature of the kitchen around me. “I’ll have to try one sometime.”

Hector placed his hands over his eyes. “No. We must give you one now. HEY!” He called to the people before him, working hard with fast hands. “ONE MORE BURRITO!”

Suddenly, a man rushed forward with a burrito wrapped in foil. He handed it to me and bowed, showing me a small bald spot on the back of his head.

“Thank you,” I said to him quietly, feeling the warmth of the burrito in my hand. “Wow.” I turned toward Hector. “You do good things, Hector.”

He nodded. “We try our very hardest to do all good things.” He clapped his hands. “Now. Must get back to work. Everyone! Back to work!”

And the people hurried on from food process to food process, working ever toward their three-o-clock deadline. I slipped away from the kitchen in a hurry, ready to dive away from that chaos. I lurched into the beautiful late-October afternoon, feeling the sun on my face as I began to open my burrito. The first bite was wonderful. The tortilla was clearly homemade, and the interior rice and beans rose up with such immense, spicy flavor. I put my hand over my mouth politely, chewing, and smiling at the same time.