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And it still pissed her off that she couldn’t boil water without burning it, it seemed.
“Can I help?” It was as though even the air itself stilled in the room for long, silent moments.
Bliss’s and Chaya’s gazes jerked from the plate of bacon to Angel. Chaya’s in regret while excitement and pleasure bloomed in Bliss’s.
“Angel. Oh my God. You’re here!” A little squeal and Bliss ran across the room, her arms going around Angel in a quick, tight hug.
“Hey, imp.” Angel didn’t bother to hide her affection for her sister, but she saw the way Chaya turned away and hurriedly dumped the bacon she’d burned in the trash.
“I’ll have Natches run out for breakfast. . . .” she began as Bliss stepped back and Angel turned her attention to the other woman.
“Not necessary,” Angel assured as she joined her at the kitchen island.
Chaya gripped the handle of the skillet and turned, placing it in the sink, keeping her back to the room as she began washing it.
“He won’t mind in the least,” Chaya continued. “He’s used to it.”
It sounded as though those were tears in her voice. Chaya crying because she couldn’t cook? She should have already been over that little fact of life.
Moving silently, Angel selected another skillet from the rack hanging over the stove, turned on a burner, and placed the pan on the flame, then took the plate of unfried bacon Bliss pushed across the counter to her.
“Bliss, get Angel a cup of coffee,” Chaya ordered, obviously fighting to control her breathing and whatever emotions had her near tears.
“Yes, Mom.” Giving Angel a concerned look, Bliss moved to the coffeepot and the cups set out, ready to be filled.
Layering bacon into the skillet Angel remained silent, her head down, aware that Chaya turned back to her, watching her.
“I can’t believe Natches let you have a gas stove,” she muttered, still not glancing in her mother’s direction. “Or that he actually allows you to use it. He’s obviously brave as hell. Not to mention optimistic.”
Silence met her statement, but Angel hadn’t expected anything else.
“Coffee with plenty of sugar and cream.” Bliss placed the coffee next to the stove top.
Turning to her sister she quietly asked for the ingredients she needed to finish the meal and ignored her mother.
“I can do my own cooking.” The words sounded forced past Chaya’s lips.
Angel shot her mother a mockingly doubtful look before muttering, “Since when?”
Chaya drew in a slow, careful breath, her nostrils flaring as her brown eyes lit with a combatant glare.
“Where are your baking flats?” Angel asked her, ignoring the assurance of culinary ability and her anger.
Evidently, Chaya was still trying to fool herself in that particular area.
“Cookie sheets?” Chaya snapped. “They are not baking flats.”
“Same difference.” Angel shrugged. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“To your left.” Natches spoke from the doorway leading to the living area. “Pots and extra pans to the left. Cooking utensils in the
drawers to your right, dish towels and oven mitts in the drawers to your left.”
“Leave the bacon alone,” she warned her mother as Bliss began placing the ingredients she asked for on the counter next to her. “Natches, get her coffee and get her out of my way.”
Chaya’s breathing was choppy and a brief, covert glance at the other woman caught the trembling of her lips.
Dammit, if Chaya began crying . . .
