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He gazes at me. “I’m saying you don’t need to pack, Blossom. I’ve already packed. And I plan on caring for your every need during this trip.”
I’m frozen for a moment. Bound by his stare and his promises. He is in control, I realize, and he’s calling me Blossom…
My coffeepot grinds to a stop, jolting me out of my head. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“You don’t like it?”
“The Brit in me, I suppose. I got into the habit of drinking a strong tea at breakfast.”
“I don’t have any tea. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He points to the cardboard cup holder with two to-go cups. “I brought some for us both. Plus poppyseed bagels with lots of schmear, of course, for my Manhattanite.”
I smile. “All right. I’ll try tea today.”
Coffee is a morning ritual for me, but a nice cup of strong English Breakfast sounds pretty good. I’m not sure how it’s going to taste with a bagel and cream cheese, though. Seems like we should be having clotted cream and scones or something.
Going to New Orleans is all about seeing new things, trying new things. I guess that starts right now with our breakfast.
I pull out a couple of plates and a knife for the cream cheese. “Are the bagels sliced?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you had a bread knife.”
“I do. I love bagels. But pre-sliced is perfect. Now I don’t have to dirty it up.” I gesture to my small table in the kitchenette. “Have a seat.”
Ronan rises from the futon. The table is tiny, and so are the chairs. For a moment I wonder if the chair will collapse under Ronan’s weight. He’s such a big man.
But it doesn’t.
I bring over the plates and utensils while Ronan pulls the paper cups out of the holder.
“I like to drink my tea plain, but I brought some milk and sugar for you just in case.” He pulls out a few packets.
“Plain sounds good.”
I take the cup, letting it warm my hands. “You know? Let me get us some coffee cups. I don’t feel right drinking tea out of a paper cup.”
“As you wish.”
I grab a couple mugs, set them on the table, and pour my steaming tea into one, inhaling the hearty aroma. “It’s funny. I never drink tea at breakfast. But I love it in the afternoon or in the evening.”
“You’re such an American.”
“Last time I checked, so are you.”
“True. But I spent the last fifteen years in the UK. Plus, my father always had tea with breakfast when I was little.” He flicks his gaze downward and back up. “When he was home, that is.” He grabs a bagel, smears some cream cheese on it, and takes a bite. Once he swallows, he says, “New York bagels are unlike anything else. They’re so chewy.”
I grab one for myself. “They’re the best, aren’t they?”
“They are good. I’m not a bagel novice. We had them in Louisiana, but they aren’t like this.”
“Like you said, New York bagels are their own thing. You can’t get them anywhere else.”
He takes another bite and then sips his tea, raising one eyebrow. “Turns out tea is good with everything. I wasn’t sure how it would jibe with the cream cheese.”
“Isn’t cream cheese like clotted cream?”
