The morning sunlight streamed through the tall kitchen windows, reflecting off the gleaming marble island. The storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean and smelling of wet asphalt and blooming hydrangeas.
"Oleg, if you put one more strawberry on that pancake, I am going to fire you from the kitchen," I warned, sipping my black coffee.
Oleg, wearing an apron over his crisp white dress shirt, paused with a perfectly sliced strawberry hovering over an already absurdly tall stack of buttermilk pancakes. He looked at me, completely unrepentant.
"You can't fire me. I work for free, and I slept in your bed last night," he grinned, carefully placing the strawberry on the very top. "Besides, you need the vitamins. You work too hard."
I felt a sudden, treacherous flush rise to my cheeks.
