Sunlight streamed through the crack in the window and over my face. The room scintillated with the reflection, triggering an impending headache. When I sat up on the bed and held my head between my palms, occurrences from yesterday crept back in my mind.

Drunk to the point of no recollection, I leaned over to the warm bedspread, easing my body into a comfortable wake. Dark colored geometric bedspread hurt my eyes every time I looked at them. Mine had pastel colored which soothed me every morning.

With a jerk, I pushed off the bed, scanning the room. None of the things were mine. Heck, it wasn't even my room.

I tossed my body over to the mirror.  I was in a hoodie and joggers. My black gown was neatly placed on the corner of a chair facing the window. Picking it up, I danced around the room in a half knelt position, looking for my phone.

I was in someone else's room. Having no recollection, I was ready to ditch the remainder of my belongings and dash out the door. There was no clock in the place but the scorching sunlight outside indicating mid morning.

I made a run towards the main entrance with my dress and heels clutched in my hands. Before I could toss the door open, a voice emerged from behind.

"Care to have a cuppa before leaving?"

I took all the time in the world to turn. The voice emerged from the kitchen. Information on whose house I was in or what happened yesterday night could all be answered, if I turned. But like a frostbite, I stood stagnant at my earlier position, holding the doorknob in my hand.

"You can leave if you want. No pressure." The voice stated what I wanted to do all along.

Somehow, knowing I had the option to leave gave me the comfort to face my fear. 

Sitting on a chair, cross-legged and watching me with a grin on his face was none other than my arch nemesis - Steve. The instance my vision fell on him, grip over my attire and shoes loosened. My mind went into a state of perplexity and suddenly the entire area felt warmer than usual.

"Did we sleep together?" were the first words out of my mouth. It wasn't well received by Steve who walked over to the borosil pot for a beverage refreshment.

With crinkled forehead and a head tilt, Steve walked back with two cups of coffee in his hand. One, he slid farther away on the counter while the other nested in his palm.

"Why would you ask me that?" After taking a deep long slurp, he closed his eyes and exhaled loud. "I don't sleep with unconscious woman."

"Unconscious!" Kudos to me, I was molding up to be a perfect LA model. "Why was I unconscious?"

"You tell me," he tapped on the extra steaming mug while I squeezed my head between my palms in the wake of a new ache, spiraling with the onset of new information. "Have a seat and drink this first. I tended to you yesterday. Don't make me do it again."

Against my conscience's advice, I dragged up a chair and sat on the opposite side. "Can I ask something?" With his nod, I continued. "If we didn't sleep together then who.." I tugged at my hoodie. 

Transferring his weight from the chair, Steve leaned on the counter and suspired. I braced myself for his next words, hoping he had the decency to close his eyes while changing me. I didn't grasp the reason for being so hard on him even though his good deed provided me with a comfortable stay.

"You," he snickered. "You asked for the clothes and changed in there," he pointed towards the door at the end of the hall. "And then you proceeded to drench yourself in your technicolor barf decorating yourself and my wash in it." With a cold stare at me, Steve continued while I held my head towards my chest. "But I was impressed that after all that, you braved on and cleaned up everything, took a shower and even washed my clothes. You are like a self cleaning oven."

"Really," I was impressed by drunk Daisy. "I'm sorry for all I did or said in the past, Steve. It was all.."

"Because you think I am an arrogant, self absorbed man who only thinks about himself. Right?" he stared at me hard and only a huffed answer escaped from my end. Being crushed under the pressure of judging a man too soon for his work behavior, there wasn't much I could conjure up in my defense.

"Don't think too much about it," Steve refreshed my cup, I had unknowingly guzzled. "We all have a persona we like to show the world. I like what everyone thinks about me."

"Selfish self absorbent asshole?" Again, I needed some sort of mouth chastity belt to ensure there was a check to what I blurted.

But Steve displayed a different emotion from what I expected. He roared at my words and slid back on his chair, sipping his beverage. "You are right. That's what I want everyone to assume and I have everyone dead right where I want."

"But why hide this side of yours?" I gestured my hand at him. "One which takes drunk people and helps them rather than tear them down."

Leaning across the granite counter, Steve stared at me straight. I fell back into my usual self defense mode, coiling my fists. "Relax," he patted my clenched hold and within moments, it relaxed. "Its L.A. sweetheart. I portray what people expect from a sous chef."

"How on earth is being a jerk, a helpful thing?"

"Being a jerk gives you fame and recognition. People might detest you but they are still drawn to you." Moving off the table, I stood across from his as he turned the nobs on his stove. "You want food. I know you would be famished."

"Yes I am," I moved over to help when his hands stood up.

"No. No. No. My kitchen, my rules."

"Fine," I gave up and moved back. "Just an FYI, I like my eggs properly cooked. None of that leaky stuff."

With a confused look, Steve turned around. "How are you a chef, is a question beyond me."

I shrugged. "Hey, don't poke that area. Everyone likes their eggs a certain way."

"Fine, grandma. I will cook them extra well." After a moment of silence, Steve tilted his head. "So. What's up with you and Philip?"

Like the legs of my chair disappeared, I fell off it, steadied by the counter. "Nothing. Nothing with us. What happened? Did I say something yesterday. I mean, we are friends. Nothing more than that. Why are you asking?"

All this occurred while Steve's jaw remained unhinged. Upon placing it back, he let out a soft smile and turned his back to me. "Nothing sweetheart. Seems like you were missing him yesterday. You called me Philip."

"Ahhh. Ya that. Because I was drunk. No I don't have anything for him. You can ask anyone."

"I did," he turned over his shoulder. "Your Lindo called you and I answered. I asked her why you were calling me Philip and she told me."

"Traitor," I yelled out.

"No. she was as drunk as you. And worried. She went out with some clients to another party but was checking to see if you were okay before she left."

"Fuck, I have to call her," I looked around for my phone, finding it happily drinking up its juices from the charging cord.

Before I could reach it, Steve answered. "She is home safe and asleep. Don't call her now. She called me to tell you that."

In a day's time, Steve had metamorphosis from a prick to a caring and supportive colleague. Linda's text on my phone were its confirmation. She had written long and grammatically incorrect sentences about how Steve took me to his place in my drunk state and attended to her call before she left. It was a proof of why a book or a man shouldn't be judged by their cover. Or in this case, his faux exteriors.

I moved into the kitchen, retaining safe distance from the chef's action arena. "Why can't you be like this all the time?" 

He didn't bother looking at me. His focus was solely on the perfect porch he was placing on his pale greenish avocado toast. Upon successful completion, he grabbed my plate and pushed it in my hand.

"Its not a debate we are having and now you," he pointed his fork at me. "Eat before you get sick without food and water."

I dug into the nearly stacked pile of scrambled eggs over my toast and took a big bite. The crunch from the perfect bread and the warmth slid into my mouth before the creaminess engulfed me. An empty stomach was a great taste enhancer for someone and I wasn't new to the knowledge. Gobbling down the remaining pieces from my place, I wiped it clean and moved over to the fruit bowl to peel an orange.

"Baby whale," Steve called me out. "Can I get you anything else?" It seemed he was concerned about the portion size of my breakfast.

I waved my hand and slid back into my chair. "No. I always eat a fruit afterwards."

"Health conscious," he nodded.

"Well, my parents imbibed it. Now its like a muscle memory."

Not long after, Steve cleared our plate. We both sat in the visually enticing window of his, watching the skyscrapers ahead of us, shimmering under the sunlight. The floor at which we were, a higher altitude provided a proper glimpse of the world beneath.

"I like this view," he said. "Its where I try innovating my recipes."

"What's your most recent innovation?" I asked before realizing, he wouldn't divulge it.

Chuckling, Steve leaned back on his futon and glanced outside. "You are a curious person. How do your dates survive this third degree torture?

I motioned a hand wave, refusing to answer. Straightening up on the seating, he tossed his look over me. Unlike all the other time, his stare wasn't intimidating. He looked as a man whose mask slid unknowingly. Pretense play was up. Real Steve was revealed.

"You must be thinking why I cancelled our coffee plan?" The unasked question was back in play. My head bobbed in confirmation.  Steve sighed. "I saw you when I arrived."

"Bullshit." Another foot in the mouth moment and yet another series of chuckle filled up the room.

"I am serious. I saw you with Philip and somehow I didn't want to be the one to disturb the laughter riots you both were having."

"But you..came?" And all this while I accused him of something he never did. He came and saw me with Philip and like a gentleman, left. In the light of my new found discoveries about Steve, my heart went out to him. "I am sorry for my behavior, Steve. I judged-"

He swatted his hands before my words could escape. "You apologize a lot. Stop doing that. And whatever damage you did to my repute, you can pay up now."

"How?" I straightened. Anything to make up for the man who was nothing but kind and helpful to me.

"Tell me how you met Philip?"

In a tacitus turn of events, Steve regained his upper hand. With nothing left to justify my past rudeness, I decided to take him as a groupie in my entourage of Philip's role in my life.

"We met when I was working as a barista back in Roseville..."

And like that, noon turned into night. Breakfast turned to dinner and acquaintances and colleagues turned into friends. Somewhat friends.

~

The best conversations are before, in-between or soon after meals.