Page 22 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“You want cream and sugar, sugar?” He said my nickname like a purr. His breath against my ear sent a shiver through me.

“Yes. Uhm. Both, please.”

“You got it.” He moved away, rummaging around the kitchen before he deposited both, along with a spoon. I began measuring out everything exactly how I liked it. His eyes remained fixed on me, garnering that familiar heat I was coming to recognize whenever he stared at me. I threw a questioning glance his way. He merely shrugged, then went back to whatever it was he’d been doing.

“Make yourself comfortable at the island. I’ll get you breakfast.”

Warmth seeped into my chest at the declaration. Luke had never cooked me breakfast—unless you counted weak coffee and burnt toast.

I did as he said, taking a seat. “You really didn’t have to make me breakfast.”

The gesture didn’t really fit with his whole…persona. Which only left me confused. And made whatever was happening inside my chest all the more confusing.

“You had a rough night. It’s the least I could do.” There was a long hesitation. I gaped at his back, suddenly wishing I could see his face, his expression. “I wasn’t exactly…you know. On my best behavior.”

I snorted. “Is that what you call it?”

“Eleanor,” he warned, tossing a glare over his shoulder. I pressed my lips between my teeth, forcing my expression clear. “Anyway, figured I should get something in you before we discuss our next steps.”

“Next steps…?”

“Yup.”

“Right.” I looked at my coffee and took a tentative sip. Flavor filled my mouth as warmth shot into my belly. My eyes widened. I took another sip, catching notes of chocolate and…caramel?

“Like I said,” he continued, “let’s eat first, yeah?”

I had to restrain myself from gulping down the entire mug.

“You with me, sugar?”

“What?”

“I said we’d discuss things after we eat.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. As long as I can have like, three more cups of this?”

His eyes danced with something I couldn’t quite place before a plate slid onto the island in front of me. I stared down at it, blinking. A stack of three pancakes, four slices of bacon, and fluffy scrambled eggs done to perfection, with a sprinkle of cheddar cheese on top. The ball of butter on the pancakes was pooling up as it melted. The scent of vanilla and bacon tickled my nose and I inhaled.

A small carafe of syrup landed in front of me. It was heated, a tendril of steam curling up into the air. It was followed by a clink of cutlery as a knife and fork were laid down beside my plate. Finally, a napkin.

My lips parted as I took everything in. “Wow. This looks… There’s no way I can eat all this.”

“No problem, sugar. Eat what you want.”

Our eyes connected across the island as a crackle of sparks flared between us. I was vaguely aware of the plate in his hands, piled high with a mountain of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. At least three times as much as was on my plate. He held my gaze a beat longer, then lifted his eyebrows in challenge.

It’s like he was a completely different person today, opposite of how he’d been last night. There wasn’t a whole lot of asshole present. Which left me to wonder: why?

Dropping his gaze, I started spreading butter over my pancakes, then doused the stack in syrup. He took the seat beside me, so close that his elbow brushed mine as he prepared his own food. I was far too aware of his proximity. The heat radiating off him.

I cut into my pancakes. They were so fluffy, they sponged up after I pulled the knife through them. Absolute perfection. I lifted the fork to my mouth. The second I took a bite, I moaned.

Bastian completely stilled beside me. When I opened my eyes, I found him angled toward me, watching intently. His lips were parted, his pupils dilated. I quickly chewed and swallowed. “What? They’re fucking delicious.”

When he said nothing, I turned back to my meal and began devouring it. His eyes lingered for several more bites. I was only vaguely aware of him turning back to his own food.

We were both quiet for a while. I felt his eyes return to me several more times, mostly because when I tried the bacon and eggs, I offered up similar vocal responses. I didn’t care. It was good. He should take it as a compliment. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just shocked that I enjoyed his cooking this much.