This starts off in Kate's pov. Chapter seven is the beginning of Ashley's pov. So if you want to skip Kate's intro and get straight to splashy head to chapter seven.
My alarm chirps at me annoyingly. I roll over to hit the snooze button. My elbow comes down on soft flesh instead of the mattress. There's a sharp grunt fallowed by a moan.
"Sorry," I whisper, suddenly remembering I am not alone.
I carefully position myself over Rachel to shut off the clock. Alarm silenced, I shift to resume my place next to her in bed. Her arms lace themselves gently around the small of my back softly halting my movement.
"Mmmm,"She groans, "Is that the way you wake up all your guests?"
"Did I hurt you?" I reply.
I shift to my elbows to support my weight. I can feel a flame of warmth start to spread through me.
"No, just startled me," Rachel responds. Her dark sparkling eyes meet mine and a sweet smile plays across her lips, reassuring me. Feeling a bit out of sorts due to our close proximity, I make a move to get out of bed. Her hands slide back to the mattress without protest.
"Breakfast?" I ask, as I head to the bathroom. Rachel nods and stretches. I bump into the door frame; my eyes are unwilling to leave the arching form on the bed. 'Beautiful' is my only thought. Rachel must have heard the thud my head made on the frame. Her eyes open and she gives me a knowing smile. Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes from her attractive form.
"There's a robe on the back of the bedroom door, if you want to use it. After breakfast, I can take you to your place, if you are up for it?"
Hearing no reply I enter the bathroom. After quickly doing my mourning routine, I exit the bathroom to find Rachel still laying in my bed, propped up on an elbow, brown eyes on me, and a mischievous smile on her beautiful lips. My eyes travel down her petite frame. I blush when I realize I'm openly ogling her.
" I can lend you some clothes. You'll need something to wear, right?" I ask awkwardly, heading to my closet.
I doubt that anything I have will fit her, but the sight of her lying in my bed was making my insides flutter. I had to escape.
I am an athletic five foot nine, and she is a mere five foot four, so I settle on trying to find her some running shorts. I dress myself in a pair of stressed low riders and a tight tee that shows the tiniest bit of my midriff. Sliding on my favorite Chucks, I pick up the running shorts and slinky tank that I grabbed for Rachel. It was similar to what she had worn to bed last night. Anything of mine without a draw string will fall off her tiny body. Rachel's no longer in bed. The sound of the shower running piques my curiosity. Just beyond the bathroom door is a very naked Rachel. Her head is tipped back as water cascades down her slender form. My body reacts with a shiver, snapping me out of my inappropriate thoughts. I set her change of cloths on the freshly made bed, and head for the kitchen.
Just two days ago, Rachel was my best friend's fiancé. Are Rachel and Ashley even officially done? I know that last night Rachel said it was over, but she was hurt, and when we're hurt, emotions rage making rational thought almost impossible. When people have a chance to calm down and talk, situations can change. I remind myself of that while setting the omelet fixings on the counter next to the stove.
Letting out a deep sigh, I remove my omelet pan from the hanging rack over the kitchen island. Turning back to the stove, I flip the knob to hear the familiar click, click, click and then the whoosh of the pilot igniting the gas.
Cooking has always had a calming effect on me. I can remember as early as age seven, our maid, Patrice, would find me in front of the stove preparing breakfast. I smile at a particularly fond memory of my mother cursing as she tripped over the foot stool I used to have to stand on to cook. Weekend mornings were always a disoriented dash for the coffee maker for my parents. They were almost always nursing hangovers from the previous night's festivities. My parents routinely either held parties or attended them. My father is and executive at Witman and Myers. A leading brokerage firm in New York. His job gave me a comfortable childhood, but it never granted me attentive parents.
I set the flame to low and break the eggs into a bowl. Whisking absent mindedly, I let the memory distract me. My mother's wiry figure cursing in Russian as Patrice quickly tried to remove the stool, only to be cursed at and threatened with termination if she ever allowed it happen again. Looking back, I think perhaps I intentionally left the stool there to remind my parents that they had a child. I shake the thought away. Who knows what goes on in a seven year olds' mind?
Setting a tab of butter in the pan, I turn to chop the mushrooms and onion. I try to process my reaction to Rachel this morning.
I've always found Rachel attractive. Even from the first moment when I saw her sitting across the bar. I have to admit I was jealous when Ashley got her attention before I could. If Ashley and Rachel hadn't been dating, I could have pursued her, but they were together. So I humbly settled for being Rachel's friend.
Turning back to the stove, I place the mushrooms and onion I chopped into the pan and turn the heat up too medium. Within seconds, they begin to sizzle.
I thought I was over my attraction to Rachel, but my body's reaction to her this morning is making me doubt my progress. I'll just have to start imagining her making out with Janet Reno again. That pretty much always works.
I turn to the coffee pot, and flip the switch. Soon the alluring smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the kitchen. I place two slices of sour dough bread into the toaster, and press the lever down.
I need to focus. My friendship with Rachel is too important. I can't risk losing it. I choose to leave Ashley out of the equation at the moment. After what she did to Rachel, I'm too angry to factor in my loyalty to Ash. I let out a long sigh. Who am I kidding? Ashley's feelings have, and will always be part of the equation, no matter how angry I am at her.
I turn the burner back on low and pour the eggs over the now properly sautéed mushrooms and onions. I sprinkle on the cheese, and finish with a few leaves of freshly chopped basil.
Rachel enters the kitchen freshly showered and dressed in the clothes I set on my bed. Her dark-brown hair is damp, and curly. I quickly pull a picture of Janet Reno into my mind. Rachel reaches up lovingly to play with Janet's sagging neck. I shiver, adequately repulsed. Inwardly I praise Janet for her ability to help out in situations like these.
"Anything I can help with?" she asks me.
"No, thanks," I respond a little too quickly.
Rachel raises a questioning brow. I wisely ignore it. The toast pops up. I quickly go to butter it. I pull down two plates from the cabinet and I put one peace of toast on each plate. I reach in a second time and pull out two mugs.
"Juice?" I ask her, and Rachel sakes her head no.
I pour us each a cup of coffee, and grab the creamer from the fridge, setting it down next to her. She smiles her thanks. I turn the stove off, and break the omelet in two. I set half of it on her plate and half on mine. Grabbing forks and napkins, I slide our plates to the other side of the island. I quickly take care of my cutting board and pan.
"Smells great," she says while heavily dousing her coffee with creamer.
"That my dear, is because you had absolutely nothing to do with creating it," I state, attempting to cut through the unease I feel. She plays up a hurt expression.
"I can cook, you know," she states indignantly.
I smile, unable to stop the giggle that slips past my lips. Only twice have I allowed myself to be subjected to Rachel's cooking. The first time, I ended up with food poisoning. The second, the roast was so badly over cooked that even a pack of ravenous wolves would have found it inedible.
She shoots me a glare and I can barely stifle my laughter. Averting my eyes, my smile remains as I sip my coffee. I am drawn back to Rachel's features when she releases a low moan. I quietly observe her as she slowly chews her first bite of breakfast. Before she has a chance to ask I say, "smoked Gouda." I place a piece of my omelet on my toast, and take a bite.
"It's so gooda," Rachel states reverently. I snicker at her melodramatics. Just like that, the tension eases. We finish eating in a companionable silence.
"Kate?" she asks as we were cleaning up after. I turn to her. She is standing next to the dishwasher her eyes not meeting mine.
"Thanks for last night. I know it must be awkward with Ashley being your best friend. I'm sorry for putting you in the middle of…" She trails off quietly, insecurely avoiding my eyes.
"You're my friend, Rache. I'm here for you, whenever, wherever, however you need me. Your friendship means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, " I finish softly. The realization of what I said sinks in. I just vocalized that Rachel means a lot to me. It didn't stay hidden in my mind like I usually demand. It slid its way out with my vow of friendship.
Rachel's eyes finally meet mine. A single tear slides down her cheek. She attempts to smile in appreciation. I reach over the open dishwasher and brush it away. My hand lingers on her cheek cupping it. Our eyes stay locked. I feel my stomach tighten. Her eyes travel to my lips, and back up. Suddenly I'm overtaken by guilt as Ashley's, resonates through me. I let my hand drop, backing away. My arms cross protectively over my chest as I lean back against the counter. Did we really almost kiss? I can't help the feelings of shame that engulf me. I almost betrayed my best friend.
Her moaning, "Ash," fills the silence. My eyes wander to the ceiling. I hear the dish washer door shut, and looking back down I find that I'm alone.