Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
And that’s not allowed.
He leans back against the counter and regards me for a moment. He’s still smiling. And still so, so attractive. “I figured you’d say this.”
“Did… um… Alannah put you up to this?” I ask.
He moistens his lips, but doesn’t say anything right away, so I keep talking. “She knows I’ve been going through some stuff, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Don’t worry, I’m not… not mad or anything if she did.”
I wait. He gives me nothing.
“Are you just gonna keep me guessing here?” I ask.
“Nobody puts me up to anything, Chloe. And no, I haven’t talked to your friend Alannah about you.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
He sips his coffee and then opens a cupboard door and pulls down two plates. I watch him divide the scrambled eggs between them. He reaches into a mostly empty fridge and pulls out a small store-bought fruit tray and a bottle of orange juice.
I frown as I watch him move to the table, which he’s already set with cutlery and napkins.
“Ketchup for your eggs?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Eww.”
“Thank God,” he mutters.
“Hm?”
He smiles. “Just can’t stand that. Glad I won’t have to watch you debase your eggs like that.”
I scoff. “Kind of ironic considering the degradation that happened in there last night, don’t you think?” I hook my thumb over my shoulder.
“No,” he denies, a serious look on his face. “Nothing ugly about any of what we did last night as far as I’m concerned. Did any of it feel debasing to you?”
I’m taken aback. Heat creeps up my cheeks and I shake my head. “Not at all.”
“Then why say it?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Never been in this position before.”
He studies me for a too-long moment. I’m saved from his study when the toaster pops. He looks mildly irritated as he moves back to the counter and drops two pieces of toast on each plate. He grabs a knife and butters them sort of aggressively.
“Can you grab the jam from the fridge, baby?” he mutters and walks them to the table.
I open the fridge and see a jar of jam on the otherwise empty top shelf. The only other things in this fridge are a quart of cream in the door and a carton of eggs on the middle shelf along with some condiments in the door of the fridge.
“Good jam choice,” I say in an effort to lighten the mood. Because I think I’ve pissed him off.
I sit across from him and look at my plate. Perfectly scrambled eggs. Perfectly toasted marble rye bread.
Realization sinks in.
“You sure you didn’t talk to Alannah about me?” I ask.
“I already said I didn’t.”
“Then how’d you know I like rye toast?” My eyes hit the jam jar. “And seedless raspberry jam?”
“Do you?” he asks. And there’s light in his eyes. Like he’s got a secret.
I frown.
“Don’t overthink it, little bunny. Just enjoy.”
“If you knew me you’d know I overthink everything,” I joke, then get up and go back to the fridge to fetch the cream for my coffee. I add sugar and cream to my mug, stir it, then bring it to the table.
He’s poured me a glass of orange juice and is digging into his breakfast.
After my second bite of eggs, I wipe my mouth.
“Seriously, Derek. How did you know I like marble toast and raspberry jam?”
“Don’t believe in coincidences, obviously,” he states.
I take a sip of my coffee and study him for a moment.
He smiles and takes a bite of buttered toast.
No jam on his toast. This jam was bought for me.
“Alannah didn’t contact you? Or stop by last night after I fell asleep to drop off breakfast supplies?”
“Is that something she’d do?” he asks with twinkling eyes.
Ah. That’s it.
“Absolutely, she would.”
His smile widens.
I roll my eyes and slather jam on my second piece of toast.
Turns out I’m hungry after all. We eat in silence. I’m mostly checking out the view from his windows and thinking about my exit plan. About what I need to say. This isn’t exactly an easy conversation for me. I’m a novice. If I’m going to do things like this in the future, I need to be clear and concise about what I want, what my rules are, including no hickeys.
Am I going to do this in the future?
He’s done eating first, still sipping his coffee and watching me as I finish my breakfast. When I’m done with my last bite of toast, he rises and takes my plate.
“I’ll clean up,” I offer.
“No need,” he says. “Relax and drink your coffee. You want some music or the news, or… round three?”
I chuckle. “I think it’d be a lot bigger of a number than three, but actually, I need to get going.”
“Your clothes are still in the washer. Should be ready for the dryer now. I’ll go do the switch. You’re here at least another half hour, my guess.”