Chapter 68

… Dickinson POV…

I rolled from side to side on the bed, trying to ignore the persistent beeping sound coming from somewhere nearby. But the sound continued, growing louder and more insistent with every passing moment.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes and blinking in the dim light of the early morning. I searched around for my phone, finally spotting it lying on the nightstand next to me.

I reached out and picked it up, squinting at the screen as I saw the notifications from Emile. My heart skipped a beat as I quickly scanned through the messages, trying to decipher what had happened while I had been asleep.

Just as I was about to type a response, the phone started ringing again. This time, Emile's name popped up on the screen, and I hesitated for a moment before answering the call.

"Hello?" I said tentatively, wondering what Emile might have to say.

"Hey, Dickinson," Emile's voice came through the speaker.

"Hey", I rubbed my eyes as I held the phone in my ears.

"Sleepy head", Emile replied teasingly in a masculine tone.

The hospital called today saying that your wife Emily is back in condition and will be discharged in two days. It had already skipped my head due to all this event that Emily was going to be discharged soon. "They need me to sign the documents and pay off the bills".

"Ok ok we meet today I will text you a restaurant. We will meet there by 10am".

"10am she chuckled". I think you have lost track of time.

"Huh? I turned my head to the wall clock and was surprised. Oh my it's 9:45 am had I slept that long".

"Then it's 11 am then". I said as I ran and threw my hair.

"Ok bye".

*Don't drive, use a cab, bye", I said.

"Wait, what about Henry?"

After my shower, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed about my body. I knew it was silly to worry about such things, but I couldn't shake the feeling of self-consciousness that lingered long after I had dried off and dressed.

As I made my way downstairs, my face felt hot and flustered. I could hear Emile's mother singing in the kitchen, and I hesitated for a moment before making my way in that direction.

When I entered the kitchen, Emile's mother turned to me with a warm smile. "Good morning, Emile," she greeted me cheerfully. "How are you feeling today?"

I tried to return her smile, but I could feel my face growing even redder. "Um, I'm okay," I stammered, feeling awkward and out of place.

The kitchen was warm and inviting, with soft yellow walls and a large window that let in plenty of natural light. The countertops were made of smooth, polished stone, and a row of gleaming stainless steel appliances lined one wall.

A large wooden table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs that looked like they had been collected over many years. The air was filled with the rich aroma of sizzling bacon.

Emile's mother was standing at the stove, wearing a cheerful apron and humming a tune as she flipped the strips of bacon with practiced ease.

I stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment before she noticed me. "Good morning, Dickinson," she said, turning to smile at me. "I'm just making some bacon and eggs for breakfast. Would you like some?"

I nodded eagerly, feeling my stomach grumble in anticipation. As I approached the stove, I could see that Emile's mother had already cracked a few eggs into a bowl and was whisking them together with a fork. She poured the mixture into a pan, which was already sizzling with melted butter, and began to stir the eggs gently as they cooked.

"Emile, could you help me with the eggs, dear?" my mother asked, turning to face me with a warm smile.

But before I could answer, a wave of nausea washed over me, causing me to wince and clutch my stomach. "I'm sorry, Mom," I said, feeling embarrassed. "I don't think I can help you right now. I'm feeling a little sick."

My mother's face fell in disappointment, and I could see the incredulous look in her eyes as I slipped away from the kitchen. As I hurried away, I heard her mutter something under her breath about me being "such a drama queen."

I quickly dashed upstairs to my bedroom, feeling embarrassed and flustered after my awkward encounter with my mother in the kitchen. I knew I needed to get dressed and pull myself together before facing anyone else in the house.

As I entered my room, I headed straight to my wardrobe and flung open the doors, scanning the rows of clothes for something suitable to wear. I needed something comfortable and casual, but also presentable enough to wear around the house.

After a few moments of searching, I spotted a pair of worn-in blue jeans and a soft, faded t-shirt that would do the trick. I quickly pulled them out of the wardrobe and laid them out on my bed, feeling relieved to have found something suitable.

Next, I headed to my dresser and pulled out a pair of clean socks, slipping them onto my feet before grabbing my sneakers from the floor. I quickly laced them up and stood back, surveying my outfit in the mirror.

It wasn't exactly stylish, but it would do. I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I pulled the t-shirt over my head and buttoned up my jeans. With a deep breath, I headed back downstairs.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to the male shoe shop. As we approached the store, I couldn't help but notice the sleek and modern design of the building. The large glass windows allowed me to see inside the shop, which was filled with rows and rows of shoes neatly arranged on shelves.

I walked in and was immediately greeted by a friendly sales assistant. The shop was brightly lit and spacious, with a clean and minimalist decor that allowed the shoes to be the main focus. The shoes were arranged by brand and style, and I made my way towards the Nike section.

I browsed through the selection of sneakers, taking my time to find the perfect pair. I finally settled on a unisex pair of black and white Nike shoes. I slipped off my slippers and tried on the new sneakers, enjoying the feeling of the soft and cushioned soles.

As I walked around the shop to test the shoes, I couldn't help but notice the admiring glances from some of the male customers. I smiled to myself, pleased with my choice of footwear. I paid for the shoes and put my slippers in my handbag before wearing the new Nike sneakers out of the shop.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I felt the comfort and support of the new shoes, which made me feel both stylish and confident. I walked down the street with a spring in my step, knowing that I had made a good choice in choosing these Nike sneakers.

I alighted from the cab I took to the restaurant I was to meet Emile. I adjusted and adjusted my jeans and took careful strides. A week ago I didn't pay much attention to my shoes but after clumsily walking on heels I learnt to.

The restaurant before me was a modest affair, its windows adorned with lace curtains and its door adorned with a simple brass handle. Yet there was an air of promise about the place, a sense that within its walls awaited a feast for the senses.

I approached the door and hesitated for a moment, considering the propriety of a lady in such a dressing entering such an establishment unaccompanied.

"Who cares", I muttered to myself as I pushed open the door and was greeted by a chorus of aromas - savory meats, fragrant spices, and sweet baked goods. My stomach rumbled in response, but I checked myself, unwilling to appear unseemly in the presence of strangers.

The restaurant was nearly empty, save for a few patrons scattered about the room, their faces lost in contemplation or conversation.

They threw glances at me from up to down, for a few moments it seemed I was walking on pins before their gaze shifted from me. But still some people still looked at me from the corner of their eyes.

I took a seat at a small table near the window, my eyes fixed on the passing pedestrians outside. A waiter approached me, his demeanor deferential but not obsequious.

"Good afternoon, madam," he said, bowing slightly. "What can I get for you today?"

I surveyed the menu, taking care to note the various dishes and their origins. My appetite whetted, I ordered a selection of savory pies and a cup of strong tea.