Page 51 of Choosing Stella

“Morning.”

Neither of us mentioned that a few hours ago she’d been naked in my bed telling me not to stop.

I opened the refrigerator.

“Eggs?”

“Yes, please.”

That was apparently how two adults handled the morning after one of them had chased the other through a fortified building.

Stella took another drink of water while I set a pan on the stove, cracked four eggs into it, and stirred them.

“You slept?” I asked.

“Some.”

“Nightmares?”

Her gaze lifted to mine.

The question was out before I could reconsider it. It was reasonable, but it asked for more than she’d offered me.

“No,” she said. “I just woke up and wanted my own room.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I know.”

The toaster popped.

Stella turned to retrieve the bread, and the movement pulled the cotton of her shirt across her back. My attention stayed there a second too long before I turned back to the stove.

Last night hadn’t changed the assignment.

My phone vibrated against the table.

The screen showed Bancroft.

Work had arrived before breakfast.

I answered.

“DiNero.”

“Morning. I have Locke on with us.”

A second voice came through the speaker.

“Geo, it’s Locke.”

It was the first time Locke Stonebridge and I had spoken directly. Until now, he’d dealt with Bancroft while I dealt with Stella.

“I can hear you.”

Stella glanced over from the toaster. I pointed to the phone and mouthed Locke.

She carried the toast to the table.