That actually got a laugh out of me. A real one.
I slipped past him to doctor my coffee, giving my machine an affectionate pat. Ithadscared a few of my friends in the past, butthat was part of its charm. I’d programmed it to make a shot at a certain time every morning along with brewing a pot for regular coffee. A little gift to future me.
As he finished up what looked to be omelets and plated them with more finesse than I’d ever used in my entire life, I settled into one of the mismatched chairs at the table and watched him work. He moved like someone who actually enjoyed cooking, not like someone just trying to impress a host.
And then I remembered my kitchen. My chaotic, thrifted disaster of a kitchen. None of my silverware matched and my plates looked like they came from three different grannies estate sales. Would Derek care? He definitely seemed like the type to judge. He hadn’t said anything, but I suddenly felt self-conscious and hyperaware of the fact my kitchenware looked like clearance bin rejects.
When I watched him plate all his cooking onto differently styled platters and he still hadn’t said anything, I relaxed marginally.
He deposited the food down across the table, before returning back with a mug of his own coffee.
Speaking of the food… It wasinsane.
The omelet was practically glowing with chunks of ham, onions, and bell peppers. There were also crisp bacon strips along with a bowl of cut fruit like he was auditioning for some brunch spread on a food blog. Did I even have fruit in the fridge?
I couldn’t remember the last time I had a breakfast like this. Probably sometime in college, when I’d visit home and Mom would make me something with love and a touch of guilt-tripping.
“You didn’t have any cheese in the fridge. Are you lactose intolerant or something?” Derek sat himself across from me.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look away from the culinary masterpiece before me.
“No,” I admitted, leaning back a little, mildly embarrassed. “I just go through it quickly.”
Which wasn’t a lie. Ididgo through cheese fast, but that was mostly because I’d stand in front of the fridge and eat handfuls of the shredded stuff like it was trail mix. Unhinged? Maybe. Convenient? Absolutely. Blocks of cheese were even more dangerous. Especially now there was another person living with me. I could already imagine Derek’s horrified face as he found a block of cheddar with literal bite marks in it. The shredded kind was easier to sneak eat and it kept him from having me sent for psychological evaluation. Win, win.
“Thanks for breakfast, by the way,” I said quickly, shifting gears. “You really didn’t have to, but it smells amazing.”
Derek glanced up, giving me a small, polite smile, and nodded like it was a given.
The first bite of the omelet hit me like one of those religious experiences we didn’t talk about in polite company. Flavors exploded across my tongue, and I had to physically stop myself from letting out anactualgroan. I immediately shoveled another forkful into my mouth while swiping a few strips of bacon like I was afraid he might take them back.
“Okay,” I mumbled around a bite, “This is… annoyingly good. Like, you could open a brunch place and put half the cafes in town out of business.”
Derek raised an eyebrow—he did that a lot—clearly trying not to smile. “You mad about the food or the competition?”
“Little column A, little column B.” I shrugged. “You didn’t say you were a breakfast wizard.”
“You didn’t ask,” he replied simply, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just mic-drop me.
I narrowed my eyes at him, “You holding out on me?”
He smirked. “Guess you’ll have to keep me around and find out.”
Dangerous, I thought, stabbing at another piece of omelet.Dangerous and smug.
The rest of the meal had us slipping into casual small talk; weather, his drive into town, that weird stretch of highway where the billboards advertise nothing but cows. Easy stuff. Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
After we finished eating, I shooed the secret chef out of the kitchen so I could do the dishes. He tried to argue that it was unnecessary. I told him payment for services rendered wasabsolutelynecessary.
You’d think he’d be grateful for my benevolent gesture. Instead, I had to hit him with an ‘ah-ah-ah’ finger wag to get him to actually leave. But, he finally relented and headed back to his bedroom to get changed with a disgruntled look on his face.
Still felt weird to think of it ashisbedroom.
With the distraction out of the way, cleaning up went quickly. I rinsed and loaded everything into the dishwasher because I wasn’t buying NASA-grade pods to obliterate every molecule of bacon grease.Get used to the pre-rinse, Derek.
The quiet gave me just enough time to reflect on breakfast. Which, yeah… was really good.
