She hums happily in response, and Jesus Christ, do I want to bend her over and replay our last adventure in this very kitchen scene by mouth watering scene.
But then her stomach rumbles.
A flush immediately rises in her cheeks. “I…”
With a chuckle, I kiss the top of her head and step away. “Keep your hand under the water. I’ll make us breakfast.”
“You,”she scoffs. “Are you sure you don’t want to call Donatella?
“I’ll have you know, I’m an exceptional cook.”
I grab four eggs from the fridge. Their familiar weight fits comfortably in one hand, and as I set up the frying pan on the stove with the other, I immediately feel myself sink into the zone.
It’s been a while since I’ve bothered with doing this, but the routine of it soothes what remains of my anxiety from earlier.
I take a metal spatula out next and wave it at Cas. “Watch,” I say as I throw an egg up into the air over the pan. It falls perfectly on top of my spatula, wedging the shell and cracking the contents into the warm surface below.
She lets out a low whistle. “I’d clap, but…” she waves her injured hand at me. “Where did you learn that?”
“I had a big house and a whole lot of downtime as a kid.” I turn away to the stove. “I figured I’d learn from my father’s numerous award-winning chefs.”
“Ah, so is it a Michelin-star secret technique?”
“The egg toss?” I say as I throw two slices of bread in the toaster.
“Bringing a gun into the kitchen.”
Damn it. I forgot about the pistol shoved into the back of my pants. I’d revealed it to her as soon as I turned my back to her.
“You can never be too careful,” I joke.
She hums non-committedly. “Is that a mafia thing?”
“It’s a…a” the sizzling eggs fill the silence for a moment, “territorial thing.”
“You scared someone’s gonna come in here and make better eggs than you?”
I take my time plating up the food in order to formulate my response. It’s a simple meal, but I garnish it with salt, pepper, and fresh parsley.
“These days, I have a little more to lose, I suppose,” I say as I hand her a plate.
She takes it with her good hand and turns off the faucet in order to join me at the breakfast bench.
“This looks lovely,” she replies as she stares down at the food before her.
“Thank you…”
“What are we, Rocco?” The words explode out of her so quickly, I think even she’s taken aback by her abruptness.
I blink back. “I assume ‘hungry’ isn’t the answer you’re looking for?”
“I thought this was just…you said you just wanted something physical.” She bites her lip. “But last night…it didn’t feel just physical anymore. And I basically confessed to you, then you kissed me even though you said you wouldn’t do that and…”
“Cas.” I smile at her flustered words. “Are you asking me out?”
My words have their desired effect. Cas immediately covers her red face with her hands. “Not when you say it like that!”
I can’t help the booming laugh that escapes me as I try to carefully pry her hands from her face. “Cassandra Bellini, I adore you. I would very much like to be your boyfriend.”
