Mark catches my wrist before I can turn.
Just lightly.
Then leans in and kisses me.
Quick. Warm. Smiling against my mouth.
When he pulls back, his eyes are still bright with amusement.
“What’s for breakfast then, Chef?”
He lets go of my wrist and reaches for his coffee.
I turn back to the hob, mostly so he doesn’t see the stupid smile trying to happen.
Too late, almost certainly.
“Avocado smash and poached eggs,” I say over my shoulder.
Mark reaches for one of the takeaway coffees, takes a sip, then glances down at himself.
“Do you think I’ve got time to shower? Before I drip all over your breakfast.”
“That would be appreciated.”
He leans in, brushes another brief kiss against my mouth, and disappears upstairs.
I stand where I am for a second after he’s gone.
My pulse taking its time to return to normal.
“This,” I tell Heath, “is getting out of hand.”
He stuffs a sunflower seed into his face and offers no guidance.
Useless.
I turn the music down and get on with the rest.
Bacon crisping under the grill.
Tomatoes softening.
Sourdough toasted.
Avocado spread thick.
Hash browns golden.
I leave the eggs until last.
They need to be fresh.
By the time footsteps sound on the stairs again, the water is just beginning to tremble.
I glance up.
Mark has changed into jeans and a white T-shirt, tattoos dark against clean skin.
