I’d been bracing myself for this moment all morning, telling myself to play it cool, stay calm, not say anything stupid. Unfortunately, my brain short-circuited the moment she looked at me.
“Morning,” I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere betweenfriendly bartenderandnervous teenager.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who didn’t sleep.”
I blinked. “Who told you that?”
She shrugged, taking a slow sip of her drink. “You’ve got that glazed look in your eyes. And the fact that your brother’s doing all the cooking tells me you’re running on fumes.”
I smirked. “Observant as ever.”
She nodded. “It’s a gift. So where’s Lydia?”
“Gone to pick up more syrup.” I smiled. “A pancake emergency, if you will.”
“Oh,” she said, almost too quickly, like that was news she wasn’t sure what to do with. She stood there a beat too long, holding her mocha like it was a weapon, before adding, “Guess it’s just you and me, then.”
“Looks that way.”
She didn’t move closer, but her gaze darted toward the pancake griddle. “Just promise me not to make my pancakes.”
I feigned offense. “Why does everyone say that like I’m a kitchen hazard?”
“Because you once set a toaster oven on fire.”
“That was one time.”
“And it was a frozen pizza.”
I grinned. “In my defense, itwasn’tvery frozen.”
She rolled her eyes and took another sip, lips twitching despite herself. I noticed the tiny smear of lipstick on the cup rim and had to look away before my brain went anywhere dangerous.
“Smells good in here,” she said after a moment, glancing at the stacks of pancakes already waiting to be served.
“Callum’s doing gingerbread men shapes or snowmen. Your choice,” I said. “Lydia’s idea.”
“Of course he is.”
“She’s going forwholesome holiday magic.”
Melanie arched a brow. “And you’re going for what? Brooding lumberjack chic?”
“Something like that.” I leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You approve?”
“Of the pancakes? Sure.”
“Of me?”
Her eyes flicked up, quick and sharp. “You’re fishing, Benedict.”
“Always.”
“Well, you’re not getting anything from me before more caffeine.”
I eyed the cup in her hand. “That’s not my coffee.”
“Correct. It’s from the coffeeshop down the lane.”
