Page 106 of Flirty Fall Fling

I miss hanging out with them, but they’re in their married stage and enjoying being with the loves of their life. I get it.

When it’s finished brewing, the crema on top is absolutely perfect. I turn, blowing on the top as I stare at them. “What kind of coffee is this? Smells good.”

They look at one another, then shrug at the same time.

“Oh, you two are good at this game,” I say, opening a few cabinets and finding the bag. “Cozy Coffee. Dark roast. Very good boy.”

I hear one of them snicker. Probably Patterson. Maybe not.

Cozy Coffee doesn’t ship beans. Jules roasts eight pounds at a time in a warehouse just over the hill and sells it over the counter to people who walk in. Everyone in Colorado knows they have the best brew in the entire state. That means someone drove.

“I guess you spoke to Jules. What did she say about me?”

Neither of them reacts.

“I can only imagine.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to figure out which is which. I have to force myself to use my intuition. It’s the same pull that’s been dragging us together since the day we met. I don’t mention it, but I feel it.

“Anyone have the time?”

“It’s just past six,” one of them says.

One of them pushes off the counter as the other pulls ingredients from the fridge. I sit on the stool, watching them make omelets while they chat about the weather. Eggs get cracked into a bowl. One handles slicing avocado while the other cooks. They build breakfast together, and I try to imagine them as kids and how they interacted with one another. I wouldn’t know. I was the only kid my parents had. Instead of siblings, I had Autumn and Julie.

“Wow, I could get used to this.”

“Maybe you should.”

The plate is handed to me across the island with a fork. When I take it, my fingers slide over his.

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t smile either.

Neither of us looks at Patterson.

“May I have the salt?” I ask.

It arrives in front of me.

“Unbelievable,” the other one says.

“What is?” I ask.

“Nothing at all. Eat your breakfast.”

I’m convinced he’s Jamie. The omelet is better than anything I’ve made.

“This is really good,” I say.

A phone vibrates on the counter, and one of them picks it up. He carries it toward the balcony door and stops halfway because whoever is on the other end has asked a question he doesn’t want to answer in front of me.

The door shuts behind him, and I look at the twin I’m left with.

“His wife?” I ask.

He turns and stares at me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Mm-hmm.”