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conversation, and most likely assumed we had sex.
This is so damn awkward. I don’t even know if Nora likes me—she’s a huge flirt.
I sigh, wishing that I had a clue about women and their minds.
I open the fridge slowly and wince when two root beer bottles clink together on our wobbly door shelf. I grab the one closer to me and steady it, resting the refrigerator door on my hip. I grab a two-day-old take-out box, noodles with some sort of peanut sauce and chunks of questionable chicken, and close the fridge.
I turn and Nora is standing there, her eyes sleepy and her hair messy. I jump in surprise and nearly drop the leftovers, but she just smiles up at me. Her smile is a lazy-morning smile and her eye makeup is smeared around her eyes.
“You woke me up,” she says, and rolls the sleeves of her sweatshirt up her forearms. Her black shorts are so short that when she turns around and walks toward the fridge, I can see the curve of her ass where it meets her thigh.
She tugs at them, trying to cover more of her body, but there just isn’t enough fabric.
No complaints here.
I look away when she opens the fridge and bends down. Half of her ass has to be hanging out of those little shorts, and I have to force my feet to stay planted here, not to grab a handful of her. This is something new for me, this urgency, this gnawing throb from my chest to my groin. She pulls out a red Gatorade and I raise my brow to her. I point my index finger at her.
Nora smiles and pulls a straight face and covers the bottle’s label with her hand.
“Two th-things,” I begin, awkwardly clearing my throat when my voice breaks.
Now that she’s up, I don’t care so much about being quiet. Tessa’s probably been lying awake in her bed since seven, anyway. I toss the box of dicey leftovers into the trash and open the fridge again. I grab a carton of eggs and a container of milk and set them on the counter.
“Make that three,” I correct myself. “Do you want an omelet?”
I open the egg carton and look at her. She glances toward the living room and back to me like she’s looking for someone.
“She went home,” I say.
At least, I assumed it was home. She’s not here and doesn’t have many options that I’m aware of. But given how little I know about her new life, she probably has an entirety of things I don’t know about. For example, she could be hiding a Hippogriff in her apartment and I wouldn’t even know—because I’ve never even seen her apartment building, let alone been inside of it.
“Oh,” Nora says, seeming surprised. “Last night—” she begins, but I want to finish my three things, or I won’t remember them later.
“Wait.” I hold my finger up between us. She smiles and dramatically closes her mouth. “First things first. Omelet?”
I reach into the cabinet in front of me and grab the frying pan with one hand while turning on the stovetop with the other. Honestly, it’s the smoothest, most coordinated move I’ve made in the past twenty-four hours.
“Yes, please,” Nora responds in a voice that sounds like it should still be in bed.
I can hardly imagine how it would be to wake up to this woman every morning. Her hair would be messy and probably tied up on her head. Her legs would be smooth and tanned and I bet she doesn’t even have a tan line.
“I’m a vegetarian, though. So only cheese for me.”
“I have some onions and peppers?” I offer.
She nods, giving me an impressed smile. “Don’t talk dirty to me so early in the morning.”
Her smile is contagious and I’m impressed that I caught on to her kitchen humor. Though my two-egg omelet won’t be very brag-worthy, it will be competent, and as a pastry chef, she likes when men can stand their own in the kitchen. Or so I assume.
Using a small bowl, I crack two eggs on the side.
“Now, for my second thing.” I look at her to make sure I have her attention.
Her eyes are on mine as she lets her hair down. It falls in thick waves of deep brown around her shoulders, and when she shakes her head, I’m convinced that I’ve been thrown into a shampoo commercial.
