AN: SORRY FOR DE DELAY... I HAD TO TRAVEL. I AM BACK. THANKS FOR RR.

D: LAW AND ORDER SVU AND ALL ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.

CHAPTER 57 ARE YOU HELPING ME?

—I guess so.— I answer without taking my eyes off the terrible storm.

—Wait here. I'll bring you some dry clothes.—

—Ok.— I feel that he gets up and once again disappears through a different arch from the one that connects the living room with the dining room. It takes me some seconds to understand the meaning of his words. I look down at my body and I notice how, indeed, I am all wet. The snow has melted leaving its moisture pad all over my clothes. I realize that I am actually very cold, my fingers are numb, my nose is colder than ice, and my ears are not far behind.

—Here, this will be more comfortable.— he says, reappearing at the living room, and offering me the clothes he is holding. It goes through my mind to tell him not to bother, but, for starters, I really need them, and, secondly, I feel that if I deny him anything else he will end up hating me and taking me for an ungrateful bitch.

So I decide to take them and smile at him.

—You can use my bedroom. I'll change in the guest's room.— he says kindly.

—Thank you.—

—I already turn the heating system up. Go up stairs and it is the first door you face.— I nod and stand up, I take a few seconds to make sure I am stable with my balance before walking towards the direction that he indicated. I go through the arch and find the stairs, I climb slowly, holding on to the railing until I reach the first break, it is where I notice that he is walking behind me. I take some air and continue to the top.

—This one.— He says opening the door for me and letting me in. I can feel with relief the already warm atmosphere of the room.

—I'll be right next door if you need anything.— He says, pointing to the door to my right. I watch him disappear behind it, so I walk into the room, close the door carefully, and look inside.

There is a large bed in the back, well centered between two dark wood bureau. A grey sofa in one corner next to a bookshelf made of the same wood tone as the rest of the furniture. The window are decorated by white curtains too, which I appreciate as I really don't like watching storms at all. I walk around a bit and place the dry clothes on a desk that contains a laptop, a small table-lamp and a couple of notebooks. I swallow my curiosity and avoid touching anything. I rather focus on removing my wet clothes quickly. I am afraid that the clothes he has given me will not fit well, but when I stretch the shirt I am surprised to notice that it is quite wide. I put it on quickly to avoid getting cold, in addition to the fact that I do not feel comfortable being in lingerie in an unfamiliar apartment. If I think about it, I don't know how the hell I got here. Normally I wouldn't have followed an almost stranger to their apartment the way I have today. Well, lately, nothing in me is normal now.

I rush to change my pants, also afraid that they won't close, but I have no problem with that either. I gather the rest of my damp clothes and leave the room, to my surprise he is already changed and waiting patiently for me.

—All good?—

—Yes, thank you ... just the right measure.— I express.

—Of course, they are maternity clothes.— He lets me know as he takes my clothes off my hands. —I'll go wash mine, do you mind if I wash yours?—

—No.—I answer automatically as my attention is now on the blue blouse I'm wearing and I can see how, indeed, it is loose only from the belly under a nice ribbon. The doubt invades me; What is a man doing with maternity clothes at his apartment?

—Here, put this on.— He offers me a jacket that I do not hesitate to take and put it on. Then he walks to a closet in the hall, opens the pair of wood doors and gets inside of what seems to be the laundry room. I walk behind him and take a look inside. There are a couple of machines and shelves, he puts the clothes in the washing machine and pour a little soap.

—Well. I'm going to prepare a good dinner, will you help me?—

—Of course.— I really think that it would be better for me to stay out the kitchen. I don't know much about cooking. Well, lately I have cooked more than ever because of my cravings but I really have not prepared more than eggs, chicken or some instant soup. I hope he is not planing on making a big fancy dinner. I follow him back downstairs into the kitchen.

—Do you like Pasta Alfredo?— He asks as he walks towards the kitchen.

—Italian?— I express my surprise

—You don't like it?— He asks with some fear in his expression.

—No... I mean, yes I like it but... it is not necessary that we prepare something special... a sandwich will make it for me.—

—Christmas Eve sandwich?—

—I know what date it is, but it's not necessary.—

—Well, lady-I-always-say-no, I'm going to prepare my pasta, because that was the reason I went to buy my cheese, for starters. If you want to help me go ahead, and if you DO NOT want to, then make yourself comfortable.— He says in a mocking tone walking towards what I think is the kitchen. I just slip behind him and soon face what seems a professional kitchen. My kitchen can't be named a kitchen compared to this. The stove is huge, the refrigerator seems gigantic to me, the double sink right in the middle on an impeccably clean counter, everything is really fancy, there are kitchen utensils everywhere, some I can't name cause I hadn't seen them in my life. Even the blender seemed from another world. I think the only normal thing is a small plate with fruit in the middle of the central counter. This is a kitchen I definitely don't want to put on fire. So I won't even try to help.

I just take a seat on one of the high benches and watch him move with agility throughout the space, taking out containers, ingredients, and artifacts that he places on one of the side bars perfectly in order. He hands me a medium pot and asks me to fill it with water. That I can do. He lit the fire without much work ... I think it's one of those modern stoves I wouldn't even know how to use. He takes out a couple of spaghetti packages and delicately places them in the pot.

—So are you helping me or not?— He says opening the ingredients.

—Yes, but if I spoil everything, it will be your fault for letting me touch your kitchen.— I express. You know, under warning there is no deception.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AN: THANKS FOR READING