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She looks at the bowl and shakes her head. “When I was a kid, I might have, but it looks like more sugar than anything else.”
“It is,” I admit, as I start crunching my way through another handful.
“You’re not seriously going to eat all that, are you?” she asks, concern in her gaze.
I laugh. “What? No. I just spilled the whole box of cereal in there. It was an accident.”
I’m not sure she believes me. I wouldn’t believe me.
Bishop puts her mug of coffee down in front of her.
“Oh, okay, I was totally going to eat it all,” I blurt.
“I don’t think you’d feel too well if you did that,” she says.
“Probably not, but I might still be considering taking the risk.”
“I’m making eggs,” Bishop says. “Do you like scrambled, or fried?”
“Or whites only,” I add, knowing that’s what Scout will opt for when he finishes his work out.
It’s not a health thing. It started as a health thing, but now he doesn’t like the taste of regular scrambled eggs.
“Um, normal scrambled will be good, thanks,” she says, giving Bishop a weak smile.
I can’t stand the tension that feels like it’s filling up the room, but Bishop warned me not to mention Scarlett, and I don’t think we can really explain ourselves without mentioning her.
“Normal scrambled for me, too,” I say, making Bishop draw me a questioning glance.
“I probably shouldn’t eat all of this,” I say, as I let the remains of what’s in my hand fall into the bowl.
Now, Bishop’s looking at me like I just grew horns.
When it comes to sugar, I have zero self-control.
Turns out all it takes to get some is to have my future mate worry about my health out loud.
I shrug at Bishop, and he shakes his head as he moves to the counter and starts preparing to cook.
“Scout’s the only one who eats whites, only,” I tell her. “He got me to try them once. Never again. If you’re not looking, they’ve got the same texture, I guess, but only one of them is the real thing.”
I give Sapphire a pointed look, while I hope I wasn’t being too subtle with my analogy.
She raises an eyebrow and her lips twitch, just a little. “Are you seriously trying to compare me and my twin sister to eggs?”
She laughs a little, her bright eyes fixed on me while she waits for me to come up with an answer.
“I just wanted you to know …”
“That you like my texture?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“That I feel something for you that I don’t for … your sister.” I glance up at Bishop.
He’s cooking, but I can tell he’s listening, too.
He doesn’t know how to do anything without taking in what’s going on around him.
It comes from years of being on high alert in the firehouse.
