Before he’d become dependent on ZzzQuil.
He opened the fridge and collected a handful of ingredients.
Before he and Noah had tied the knot, even.
Larkin grabbed a cutting board and began dicing a few potatoes while the coffee brewed.
His promotion, he finally decided.It was the stress of working cold cases.
The stress of remembering the ever-fluctuating count—currently 9,024—of victims forgotten by the rest of the city.The stress of the race against time to bring solace to those left in mourning, before they, too, were nothing but a memory.The stress of simply being reminded daily what a fucking joke humanity was.
“You didn’t have to make breakfast.”
Larkin looked over his shoulder.Doyle stood in the threshold of the bedroom, wearing a pair of stark white boxer briefs, his damp hair already finger-combed, and even from this distance, Larkin could smell his freshly applied cologne of neroli and sandalwood and cardamom.
Perhaps not all of humanity.
Larkin added some salt and pepper to the cubed potatoes sizzling in the skillet.“Disliking something isn’t the same as being incapable of doing something.It’s only fair that I shoulder the responsibility now and then.”He cracked eggs one-handed into a bowl.“Besides, recovery from two rounds of vigorous sex will require something hardier than greek yogurt and granola.”
Doyle only chuckled in response, but that smooth and smoky voice settled over Larkin like a shield against all the world’s trials and tribulations, and he realized he didn’t just feel good.
He felt better.
He feltamazing.
Doyle returned a few moments later, dropped his suit coat and shoulder holster over the back of a kitchen chair, and joined Larkin.He reached overhead, collected two mugs from the cupboard, then fetched cream from the fridge.Doyle wore dark brown trousers and brown oxfords, a white button-down shirt, and a gold tie.
“Is that my tie.”
Doyle closed the fridge before instinctively smoothing the tie against his chest.“Do you mind if I borrow it?”
“No, I don’t.It looks very nice on you.”
Doyle poured them each coffee.He leaned back against the counter, saying teasingly, “Thank you, Mr.Menswear Aficionado.”
“I’m merely a product of my upbringing,” Larkin corrected.“You’ve met my mother.”
He poured the bowl of beaten eggs and finely chopped herbs into a pan bubbling with butter before hastily moving it back and forth over the burner while softly scrambling the contents with a fork.Larkin glanced sideways.Doyle had declined to comment on Jacqueline and was silently sipping his coffee.
Larkin folded the omelet a few times before banging his open palm against the handle of the pan, causing the other side of the omelet to bounce up and fold over, creating a seam.He grabbed one of the plates, tilted the pan, and let the omelet roll out, seam down.French omelets were deceptively difficult to master, and Larkin was satisfied he hadn’t lost his touch in the intervening eleven months since he’d last made one.Noah had always preferred American-style, so Larkin rarely bothered more than once or twice a year to make one for himself.He shoveled some home fries onto the plate and then handed it to Doyle.
“Wow.What’d I do to deserve this?”
“It’d be easier to ask what you haven’t done.”
Doyle leaned down and kissed Larkin.“Thank you, sunshine.”
Larkin nodded and returned to cracking more eggs for his own omelet.He melted butter, poured the mixture, worked the pan, and asked as he smacked the handle a second time, “What did you say to my mother yesterday—before we left.”He plated the omelet and potatoes before collecting his coffee and taking a seat.
Doyle looked up from his breakfast but didn’t answer.
Larkin said, “I assure you, she very well needed to hear whatever you said.”
“I don’t know about that.”Doyle set his fork down.“I let anger get the best of me.”
“Anger is a universal emotion.”
Doyle leaned back in his chair.“I told her a child has a right to unconditional love and acceptance, but being a parent isn’t the same.It’s a privilege.And that… my grandmother would’ve prayed to St.Dymphna for intercession because, surely, any woman who treated their child as she did must be ill.”
