Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“Oh, no, I’d never—”
He laughs. “Relax. I’m only trying to get under your skin.” He scoots the bread toward me, and says, “Grab one of these and top it with whatever you want.”
I hesitate for a moment before taking out one of the pieces of sliced bread and smearing some butter on it like he did. I grab the box of sprinkles and shake it a little, pouring some of the chocolates onto my bread along with the plate.
“Oops.”
“Never done this before, have you?” he asks. “It takes a bit of practice not to spill.”
“How can you tell?” I mutter. Am I that easy to read, or do I just look like an idiot foreigner? I probably do.
“You keep staring at the food as if it’s alien food,” he jokes, taking another bite of his round cracker.
Well, that’s true, but I don’t want to rude, so I refrain from saying so. Instead, I take a bite of my sandwich, and the following explosion of sugary chocolate makes my mouth water.
“Wow.”
He laughs out loud. “Good, right?”
I nod. “And you eat this on bread?”
“Bread. Beschuit. Whatever you want.”
I frown. “Beschuit? What?”
He points at his round cracker. “Beschuit. It’s a hard biscuit. Like a rusk.”
“Um …” I mutter.
“Here, take a bite,” he says. Before I know it, he’s shoved the thing in my face, and it’s impossible to refuse. When I take a bite of the dried biscuit, it flakes in my mouth and reminds me of a very crispy cookie but with buttery chocolate on it.
“Do adults eat this?” I ask, raising a brow.
He nods a few times. “Sure. A lot of them do even though they probably won’t admit it.”
“So you eat kid’s food?” I say.
He chuckles again but hides it behind another bite. “You could say that.”
“Nice.”
He grabs a box of colored sprinkles. “You should try this one. Fruit explosion.”
“Hmm … Maybe my next sandwich.” I swallow down the first one with glee.
A satisfied grin appears on his face. “Hungry after all, eh?”
I shrug and bite my lips to keep from turning red in the cheeks. “Just a little.”
We both keep smiling as we eat in silence. I don’t know why because he must have a ton of questions for me, as I do for him, but neither of us wants to ask. It’s as if we’re both enjoying the moment in silence and the calming peace that comes with it. It’s lovely eating here with him. Like a morning brunch on a rainy day with an old friend even though we’ve only just met. I don’t know why, but it feels as though I can trust him. And that’s nice for a change.
“Try this one too,” he says after a while, grabbing the long rectangle stick thing. “Ontbijtkoek. But we sometimes also call it Peperkoek, which literally means peppercookie. But there’s no pepper in it, I promise.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing a piece and smearing it with butter too. People smear butter on everything here; it’s crazy but delicious too. Just like pretty much all the food. Easton never served any of this. I’ve only eaten American food whenever we sat together at his dining table. He probably wanted to make me feel at home, but it did the opposite. I resented him and my desire for the foods of my childhood. But I actually enjoy this, and eating this is my own choice. It’s a taste of true freedom.
“Tastes like ginger spice cookies,” I say, finishing the whole thing in two bites.
“I have no idea what those are,” he jests, “but I’m sure they’re good if they taste like this.”
“Oh, they’re delicious and so is this.” I’d probably run off with the whole stick if I could, but that wouldn’t be ladylike. Plus, I’m a guest in his house. It’s so nice of him to offer all of this to me, but I wonder what he wants in return.
I blow out some air, and ask, “I want to be honest with you since you’ve been so kind to me. I don’t have any money, so I can’t repay you for any of this.”
He looks up from his plate and makes a strange face as though what I’ve said confused him. “Repay me? Why do you think you have to?”
“Well, you gave me food and—”
He holds up his finger. “I don’t wanna hear any more of this repaying stuff.”
I smile when he does. “But I don’t understand. Why help me?” I mutter.
He frowns. “Why not? Everybody should help when they see someone who needs it.”
I can’t believe his kindness. It’s almost unreal. But he’s saying it out loud. Still, my mind can’t wrap around the idea that people who actually want to help others exist without ever getting anything in return. I always thought those people were unicorns and didn’t exist. Yet here he is in the living flesh.