Brooks grinned. “You sure did.”
I slithered out of my pants and folded them and put them away. “And yet, I’m dying for the banana bread.”
“I’ll cut you a piece, if you want,” Brooks said, not taking his eyes off me even as I put on a pair of sweats.
“Will you try it?” I asked. “I made it for you.”
“Made it for me?” he repeated in confusion. “Even though you know I don’t eat baked goods?”
“Please?” I pleaded. “Just a taste.”
“You’re trying to break down my rules,” he accused.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Why?” he asked.
“You know why. The no drinking thing? I get that. Isupport that. But denying yourself a treat every now and then is not the same thing asI don’t likesomething.”
He peered at me. “This is important to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I nibbled my lip. “Because I know this goes deeper, Brooks. You deserve enjoyment.”
He exhaled a slow breath and removed his cowboy hat and let it rest on the counter, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you worried a bite of banana bread will shove you face first into hedonism?”
“I was face first into hedonism only a few days ago,” he remarked dryly. “I’ll taste it.”
I went to the loaf of banana bread and cut a slice. I put a pat of butter on it and then heated it in the microwave.
He’d taken a seat at the kitchen table, his leg stretched out.
I brought him the plate and set it down in front of him before taking the chair across the table.
“You have the first bite,” he commanded.
“All right.” I took the fork and cut a piece.
It was perfect. Warm. Moist. Delicious.
I put the fork down and pushed the plate toward him. He stared at it for a moment, like it was an adversary.
Finally, he picked up the fork and took a huge bite.
He didn’t chew right away; it almost looked like he was savoring the flavors on his tongue.
“Best banana bread I’ve ever tasted,” he said after he chewed and swallowed.
“Yeah?” I asked with an excited grin. “Really? It was Muddy’s recipe.”
He shook his head. “Recipe’s got nothing to do with it.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
