He ignored Wade’s fancy coffee machine in favor of the small coffee pot Emily preferred. Filling the water reservoir, he dumped grounds into the filter and hit the start switch.
By the time it was done, he’d have the second omelette ready and he could either call Vee down or deliver breakfast to her room.
“You really are a man of many talents.”
Spinning around he found her sitting at the breakfast counter, chin resting in her hand. “How long have you been there?”
“A while.” She shrugged. “You were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
He scanned her face, tried to decipher the message in her eyes, but she was hiding her thoughts. “I’m making breakfast.”
She smiled. “I see that.”
“I made omelettes.”
“I see that too.”
“Right.” He put the pan back on the heat and watched her from the corner of his eye as he threw in the remaining food. “I’ll just get this second one cooked and then we can eat. Do you want to have it in here or out on the terrace?”
The stool scraped on the tile floor as she stood up. “Outside. It’s lovely out there at the moment, although it’s going to be another hot one today.” She got plates out of the cupboard and put them on the counter. “Do you have to work?” she asked.
“No. You?” He hoped not.
She glanced his way. “No. But I need to get my phone and purse from Edward.”
His fist clenched around the spatula handle.
The last thing he wanted her to deal with was Smithe. He’d volunteer to collect her things, but he doubted she’d let him. He wouldn’t allow her to go on her own though.
“We’ll go after breakfast.”
“You don’t—”
“Not negotiable. I’m coming with you or I go alone.” He turned his back to her so she wouldn’t see the anger on his face and think it was aimed at her.
Smithe would be lucky if Brent didn’t punch his lights out the second he opened his door.
“Okay.”
Her quick agreement had him glancing over his shoulder at her. “What, no argument?”
“No, and if it wasn’t for the fact I don’t want Edward to think I care enough about what happened to avoid him, I’d let you go without me.”
He didn’t know what to make of that. Other than last night and when they’d buried her parents, she had never let him take care of anything for her.
She’d always been fiercely independent, more so after he walked away.
He chose to believe it meant she trusted him. How much, he couldn’t say, but he’d take anything he could get at this stage and consider it a step forward.
He turned back to the stove. The omelette was done, maybe a little over-done, so he quickly removed the pan from the heat and slid the omelette onto one of the plates.
She headed outside with cutlery and napkins, and while she set the table he plated the other omelette and poured the coffee. When she came back, he handed her a plate and cup.
“I thought we could take the boat out later. Maybe pack a picnic lunch,” he said as they walked outside.
“Might not be a good idea. It’s supposed to hit the high thirties before a storm front moves in around five.”
“Damn.” He’d hoped to get her to himself for a few hours without any distractions.
