He smiles. “Something smells good. Did you make breakfast or finally find yourself a woman who can cook?”
Great. Nothing like starting the day with an interrogation.
“I feed myself all the time, Reed.”
He snorts, pushing past me. “Burnt toast doesn’t count. Whatever that smell is, it’s way above your skill level.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“Sure, you have. Let me grab one.” He takes a step toward the kitchen.
“No.” I plant myself in front of him. “These are… special muffins.”
“Special how? Are they laced with protein powder? Oh, wait.” His eyes light up. “Are they cannabis infused?”
“They’re for a recipe test.”
Reed laughs so hard, Ginger’s sure to hear it from the spare room. “A recipe test? Who are you, Betty Crocker?”
“Get lost, Reed.”
“Okay, fine.” He moves toward the door and pauses on the threshold. “Save me one.”
“Out,” I bark, slamming the door in his grinning face. I stand there a second, hand on the knob, breathing through the irritation. Reed can sniff out gossip faster than bloodhounds. When I open my eyes, Ginger’s peeking around the corner, laughter trembling on her lips.
“Special muffins?”
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” I admit. “If he’d taken one, he never would’ve left.”
She crosses into the kitchen, still giggling as she removes the muffins from the pan. “Next time I’ll make something less suspicious.”
“Next time, I’m not answering the door.”
She grins and sets the muffins on a platter she found somewhere. The sight of her in my kitchen, barefoot, hair loose, entirely at ease, hits me harder than I expect. It feels like she belongs here.
“Look,” she says, nodding to the table. “I finished my snowman sign while the muffins baked.”
It’s perfect, all bright paint and her careful lettering. “Wow, that came out great. Where will you hang it?”
“At my house. It’s a keepsake from our first date.”
The word “date” does something to me.
We sit down to eat. She takes a bite, eyes lighting up. “I’m starving.”
“Do you eat the top or bottom first?” I ask.
“Depends on the day. Why?”
“Everyone knows the top’s superior. That’s why they sell muffin tops separately.”
She shrugs. “I think it’s all good. Life’s too short to save the best for last.”
“You didn’t follow that rule with me,” I tease. “You could’ve been enjoying me for years.”
She smirks. “I wanted more than a quick bite. And I figured you’d get tired of the same meal.”
I reach across the table, covering her hand. “That’s not happening. I couldn’t get tired of you if I tried.”
