ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 23: Breakfast Meetings

The city had not yet shaken itself fully awake.

A pale ribbon of dawn stretched across the eastern horizon, washing the tops of downtown Los Angeles in muted shades of pearl and gold. Office towers caught the first light while the streets below still belonged to delivery trucks, joggers, and the occasional taxi gliding through nearly empty intersections.

Deborah stood beneath the awning outside the Cross Foundation, hugging a folder against her chest as the cool morning breeze stirred loose strands of hair from her neatly gathered bun. She glanced at her watch.

6:12 a.m.

The strategy meeting with two international donors had been moved forward twice. The latest email, sent shortly before midnight, confirmed an eight o'clock video conference.

She had barely finished reading the agenda when another message appeared.

Julian: The office kitchen won't be open this early. Don't skip breakfast.

She rolled her eyes and smiled sheepishly. A black sedan rolled quietly to the curb. The driver stepped out.

"Good morning, Miss Carter."

"Good morning."

He opened the rear door.

"Mr. Cross asked me to bring you directly to him."

"I thought we were going to the office."

"We are... eventually."

The drive carried them away from the growing traffic downtown. Glass towers gave way to tree-lined streets where jacaranda branches arched over the road, scattering violet blossoms across the pavement.

The neighborhoods grew quieter. Larger homes appeared behind wrought-iron gates softened by climbing roses and carefully trimmed hedges.

Finally, the sedan slowed before a pair of stone pillars. The iron gates opened without a sound. Deborah found herself sitting a little straighter.

The driveway curved gently through a grove of old olive trees before revealing the house. It was large, certainly. But it wasn't the sort of mansion that demanded attention.

Natural stone wrapped around broad windows that reflected the morning sky. Ivy climbed one corner of the façade as though it had been invited to stay. Wide verandas overlooked carefully tended gardens where white camellias bloomed beneath towering magnolia trees.

The place seemed to settle naturally into the landscape, as though it had grown there over many years. The driver parked beneath a covered entrance.

"I'll let Mr. Cross know you've arrived."

Deborah stepped onto the stone path. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, freshly cut grass, and jasmine carried on the breeze.

Somewhere nearby, water trickled softly. She followed the sound until she noticed a small fountain tucked among flowering shrubs.

Before she could admire it further, the front door opened. Julian stood there, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, a mug of coffee warming one hand.

"You found the place."

She laughed, though her eyes lingered a heartbeat too long on the strong lines of his forearms beneath the rolled sleeves of his white shirt. "I had help."

"I imagine you did." He stepped aside, making room for her to enter.

"Come in."

Warmth greeted her before the door closed behind them. Not the heavy warmth of expensive heating. The quiet warmth of a lived-in home.

Morning sunlight spilled through tall windows, stretching across polished oak floors that bore the faint marks of years rather than perfection. Bookshelves climbed almost to the ceiling, interrupted only by framed landscapes and family photographs whose details she couldn't yet make out.

Somewhere deeper inside the house, classical piano drifted gently through hidden speakers.

"It doesn't feel..." She stopped herself

Julian looked over. "Doesn't feel what?"

"So formal." A faint smile crossed his face as he sipped his coffee keeping his gaze on Deborah's eyes.

"I've always preferred houses people can relax in."

She turned away, letting her eyes wander through the room. A wool throw rested carelessly over one arm of the sofa.

An open book lay face down on a side table. Fresh lilies stood in a simple glass vase near the window.

Everything suggested someone actually lived here.

"You expected marble everywhere?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it."

She laughed, lowering her eyes. "Maybe a little."

"I'll try not to disappoint you."

He led her toward a sunlit study overlooking the gardens. French doors stood partly open, allowing the morning air to wander inside. A long table had already been prepared.

Two laptops sat closed, close to it were arranged folders, a closed fresh notebooks and pens arranged neatly beside each chair.

"This should be quieter than the office."

Deborah set down her bag down on one of the upholstered chairs."It already is."

Julian glanced toward the clock. "We still have almost an hour."

"Enough time to review everything."

"And have breakfast." Julian added

Almost as though on cue, footsteps approached from the hallway. An elderly woman appeared carrying an apron folded neatly over one arm.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Cross"

She looked genuinely distressed. "My granddaughter's school bus—"

"You don't need to explain."

His voice remained calm. "I'm glad everything's alright."

"I can prepare breakfast immediately."

Julian looked toward Deborah before shaking his head gently.

"We've managed worse."

The housekeeper hesitated, folding her hands behind her back and bowing slightly "I still feel terrible."

"You'll make it up to us by not worrying."

She straightened, a little smile curled on her lips as relief softened the woman's face.

"Thank you."

After she disappeared toward the back of the house, Deborah looked around.

"You were going to wait?"

"I've survived missing breakfast before."

She smiled thoughtfully. "So have I."

Silence settled comfortably between them. Then Deborah's eyes wandered toward the kitchen.

The island already held a basket of eggs, fresh herbs, tomatoes, and a loaf of crusty bread resting beside a wooden cutting board.

She looked back at Julian.

"May I?"

He followed her gaze. "You cook?"

"When my mother lets me."

A quiet laugh escaped him, He put down the mug in his hands and turning fully to face her .

"That wasn't the question."

"I know."

"But yes." She huffed

For the first time that morning, Julian looked momentarily uncertain. Then he stepped aside.

"The kitchen's yours."

Deborah rolled the sleeves of her blouse just above her wrists.

"Good."

"I was beginning to think we'd have cereal."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "I don't think so."

Morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen floor as Deborah reached for the eggs.

Neither of them noticed how naturally the room had fallen into a shared rhythm.

The kitchen welcomed the morning as naturally as the garden beyond its windows.

Soft sunlight pooled across the wide stone island, catching the faint grain of the butcher-block countertop. Copper pans hung neatly above the stove, their polished surfaces reflecting ribbons of gold that drifted through the windows. Somewhere outside, sprinklers whispered across the lawn before shutting off with a gentle click.

Deborah washed her hands, then reached for the carton of eggs.

"You really don't have to do this," Julian said, lingering near the doorway.

She looked over one shoulder. "I know."

Her fingers cracked the first egg neatly against the rim of a ceramic bowl. "But someone has to eat."A second egg followed.

She whisked them together until the yolks disappeared into a smooth ribbon of pale yellow.

Julian folded his arms loosely and leaned against the doorway, watching as her hands moved "You seem very comfortable in kitchens."

"My mother believes conversations happen better around food."

He watched her rinse cherry tomatoes beneath running water. "And do they?"

"Usually."

The knife moved with quiet confidence beneath her hand. Julian walked over to Deborah almost so close to her and watched over her she cut the tomatoes, spring onions and parsley, everything landed neatly in separate piles before she reached for the bread.

"You cook often?"

The warmth of his breath, mingled with the clean scent of his cologne, caught her unexpectedly. She swallowed before answering.

"It isn't complicated."

Julian's gaze lingered for the briefest moment before he looked away and returned to the doorway and leaned one shoulder against the it.

"No."

His voice carried quiet thoughtfulness. "But it isn't common anymore either."

For several moments neither of them spoke. Only the soft rhythm of Butter hissing softly as it melted across the warm pan, filling the kitchen with a rich, comforting aroma.

"They're ready." Julian blinked, his mouth falling agape for the briefest moment before he pressed his lips together, hiding the surprise almost as quickly as it appeared.

"So quickly?"

"You were talking."

"I distracted you."

"You kept me company."

Something flickered across his face before disappearing just as quickly. He stepped forward.

"I'll get the plates."

"You know where they are?"

"I live here." She laughed softly tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, her thumb insintively going to her mouth before the caught herself

They moved around each other almost absentmindedly, the kitchen suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment before. He reached into the cupboard just as she turned carrying two mugs.

Their shoulders brushed lightly enough to make both pause. Heat climbed unexpectedly into Deborah's cheeks.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

They spoke together, a brief silence settled between them., Deborah stepped back first.

"My fault."

Julian shook his head. "The kitchen isn't built for two people trying to be polite."

The explanation sounded reasonable but still neither moved for another heartbeat, then she looked away first.

"I'll finish the toast."

Halfway through breakfast his phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen, the caller's name disappeared almost immediately. He silenced it without answering.

"You didn't pick up."

"It can wait."

"Are you sure?" Deborah tilted he head slightly

"I have forty-five minutes before the meeting." He buttered another piece of toast.

"I'd rather finish breakfast."

His answer came so naturally that it took her a moment to believe he meant it, Deborah looked down at her plate. No one had ever postponed work to continue a conversation with her, the realization arrived quietly. She wasn't certain what to do with it

As Deborah gathered her bag to leave, she glanced back toward the kitchen. The breakfast dishes had already been washed, the mugs sat upside down on the drying rack. Nothing remained except the faint aroma of coffee lingering in the quiet house.

Without realizing it, she thought— It felt... peaceful.

She smiled to herself looking down on her red shoes and up again Then, just as quickly, she dismissed the thought. It had only been breakfast