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turning down Olga’s offer of giving her the tour. The truth
     was, she was just too terrified of running into him.
    The kitchen was fortunately right behind the wall,
     to what she presumed was the western wing. It was huge, with the big marble island
     and countertops displayed in all the magazine kitchens. It had an open concept
     layout with a spacious dining area in the front. It was dimly lit by spotlights in
     the ceiling. She rejoiced in her small victory and headed to the double-door
     stainless fridge to reap the fruits of her conquest. It was packed full. She didn’t
     want to move too many things and risk waking someone with the noise. Clumsy as she
     was, better safe than sorry. She opted for the first loaf of bread she saw,
     carefully taking out a slice from the package, grabbed a piece of ham, and thanked
     her luck when she found plates in the first cupboard she opened. As silently and
     swiftly as possible, she slapped the piece of ham on the bread and headed out of the
     kitchen, looking back to ensure she left no trace of her nighttime excursion.
    The lights suddenly shone to their full brightness as she found
     herself face-to-face with him . Startled, she let out a scream, dropping the
     plate to the floor. It shattered at her feet, her nerves crumbling along with the
     porcelain plate.
    “I’m so sorry, you startled me. I… I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it
     up.” She bent down to pick up the mess she just created.
    “Leave it.”
    She looked up, terrified for an instant, and obeyed, remaining
     still with her eyes nervously traveling from his face to the floor. His expression
     was hard to read, though he didn’t seem angry. He looked down at the mess, then back
     at her in one slow motion.
    “So… of all the choices, you went for a ham sandwich?” he asked
     her, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.
    “I didn’t want to make noise and disturb anyone…”
    “Relax, have a seat.” He pointed to one of the stools with a tilt
     of his head. “Let’s see if we can fix you a little something.” He walked leisurely
     to the fridge and opened the door to consider the available options.
    She hurried to the stool, sitting with her back straight and her
     hands properly crossed on her lap. Good girls with propermanners
     were always treated better, she recalled her second-grade teacher saying. She was a
     good girl. She would always do what she’s told, always looked to compromise and
     please, hoping her fate would be the better for it.
    “So I see you’re feeling better,” he added without looking at her.
     “Yes. Thank you,” she managed sheepishly.
    He stopped rummaging in the fridge, popping his head up to stare
     her up and down. “Hmm,” he uttered, unconvinced.
    She immediately lowered her eyes. She would have done anything to
     avoid his stare. Her heart was racing. She was terrified she had gotten herself into
     trouble getting caught in the kitchen when supposedly sick in bed. She would pull
     all the thank yous and pleases necessary and remain on her best
     behavior facing his suspicious good mood.
    “How about chicken?”
    “That’s perfect, thank you.”
    He proceeded to pull a few things out, chicken, salad, some rice,
     then heated her meal in the microwave. “What do you want to drink?”
    “I’m okay, thank you.”
    “I have Diet Pepsi… Don’t all girls drink Diet Pepsi?” he tempted
     her, offering her an impish smile. She loved Diet Pepsi. It was, in all truth, the
     only nonalcoholic beverage she drank.
    “Oh… Yes, thank you.”
    “Ice?”
    She was confused by his considerate-host act but knew better than
     to let her guard down. “Hmm… yes, please. Thanks.”
    “Just like Olga. She makes me buy these things by the cases.” He
     shook his head indulgently. He brought her the mouth-watering plate and put the
     glass down next to it.
    “Here, bon appétit.”
    “Thank you.”
    He took a broom from the closet and cleaned her mess