CHAPTER SEVEN

After a warm bath Claire slipped into an old, lavender dress she found laid down on the bed for her. It looked okay, she thought; after all she had no other option. And besides, it wasn't such a discomfort considering the posh design of the dress that had remarkable sewing.

The owner must've been fashionable.

Twirling, Claire watched the swirling umbrella skirt of the dress that made her look younger. It was short and stylish, exposing most of her glorious skin, from the long resplendent legs to her arms that were partially covered by its little sleeves.

"Not bad," she murmured while brushing her hair.

There was a knock at the door and Martha walked in upon Claire's assent. "It looks good on you. Are you ready?" she asked warmly with a small smile, relishing the sight of her.

"Mmm." Claire nodded. Somehow her heart was beating fast thinking of meeting the Stevens. She couldn't help the discomfiture of knowing next to nothing about these people.

Well, they did save her life, and even sheltered her; so it was only polite and courteous to thank them.

"Okay, let's go," Martha instructed, and with one heavy sigh, Claire followed suit.

The house was grand and classic. Claire was awed as they passed through the dim lit corridor. The walls were coated in cream color, and a number of old paintings embellished their sight. They were definitely worth a fortune, she could easily tell as an art lover herself.

Martha led her towards the wooden staircase, and slowly they both descended down where Mr. Stevens and Ryan were having breakfast in the dining room. The gentlemen raised their eyes at her and fleetingly seemed transfixed by the sight of her.

What the heck!

Claire couldn't understand the look of remembrance they both pitched at her, but she could tell that the dress had some effect on them. Now she wondered who owned it. Could it be a dead person? Oh no, she had to stop overthinking about this.

However, she could feel her heart jumping at each step she took, watching the two gentlemen. The old man looked okay, friendly from the smile she gave her. But the young man . . . well, it was hard to fathom a thing about the handsome dude with deep brown eyes.

"Um, good morning," she greeted after getting closer, her breath nerved.

Her eyes glided between Mr. Stevens, who was now staring closely at her, and Ryan, who was holding a gigantic newspaper, peering at her through above it without much interest.

"Good morning, young lady," Mr. Stevens replied cheerily. "How are you feeling?"

Claire answered quickly, "I'm fine, sir. Thank you for letting me stay . . . And for saving my life." She focused on the old man.

"Forget about that. Why don't you take a seat and have breakfast with us?" Mr. Stevens suggested, and Martha was quick to second the idea by pulling a chair for Claire.

The table was utterly inviting. Fresh croissants, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacons made Claire's tummy grumble. Indeed, good food could be her death. She sat down with pleasure but it suddenly slowed down upon seeing Ryan's face closer.

His being like a Greek god was no longer in question, for the blue sweatshirt and jeans made him radiant despite the casualty. Claire somewhat remembered seeing his face before falling into darkness, last night. She wanted to say something to him but decided against it.

"Oh, you should try the pancakes and honey. It's Martha's specialty," Mr. Stevens said sassily, and Claire's smile was ingenuous.

"Okay," she muttered, taking one from the little mountain of pancakes. Oh, they looked yummy! She was so ready to give them her best tryout.

A short silence filled the atmosphere, with Claire trying hard to get comfortable around these beautiful strangers. Well, things could have gotten ugly if it weren't for them . . . or him. Her eyes diverted towards Ryan, who was overly concentrated on the business news, seated across from her.

"So, are you from here?" Mr. Stevens began and it was Claire's chance to explain her predicament.

After a few minutes of utter silence on his part, Ryan poured himself a glass of milk upon casting the newspaper aside. He briefly stared at Claire, as she was talking to his grandfather with shared laughter. Nothing was registered on his face. Ignoring the details, he downed the glass at once and rose up to his feet.

"Your friend called last night," he said curtly, facing Claire. "You should probably call her back."

"Thank you." Claire raised her gaze to find his towering height, and he was already leaving. Sighing, finding him unsettling, she returned the attention towards the grandfather.

Mr. Stevens was way better for a company, she thought, finding his eyes staring curiously at her.

"And why were you in the rain?" he asked over a sip of ginger tea.

Oh no! Claire took a deep breath.

"Well, I was going back home, and the rain suddenly started and I ended up slipping into that state." She found herself absurd to even tell the story. Everything was her own fault.

"No wonder," Mr. Stevens remarked, scratching his grey beard. "This place is terrible during rain, and that's the only horrible thing about it. Thank God we reached there in time."

They kept talking, and evidently they both enjoyed each other's company. Claire liked how funny the old man was, and Stevens saw her like the younger version of his late daughter who loved acting tough.

Soon after breakfast Claire called Gena and explained shortly what had happened.

The call reassured her friend and grandfather who were worried sick about her safety.

She promised them to be back soon, for she was waiting for her clothes to get dry.

She wandered outside and stopped at the swimming pool. It was a marvelous sight, the house in general, surrounded with green trees and garden. With the chilly weather after the rain, the beaming sun rays piercing through the clouds with great zeal, made the air breathtaking.

"Were you trying to commit suicide?" A strong, but familiar voice startled Claire.