Page 42 of Beastly Mountain Man

“I want the complete proposal before I authorize breakfast.”

“Waffles. Berries. Maple syrup. Sausage. Whipped cream.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“Whipped cream? At breakfast?”

“That’s usually when I serve waffles. You can skip it if you want.”

“I’m questioning the whipped cream, not the hour.”

Caprice looked almost offended.

“I didn’t say I wanted to skip it. I want the reasoning documented.”

“There isn’t any.”

She considered that, then nodded.

“Good. That’s much more convincing.”

I laughed and started breakfast.

Unlike the night before, she didn’t stand beside me asking for exact instructions about every step. She sat on one of the stools with coffee while I mixed batter and browned sausage, talking to me as if sitting in a kitchen together on a snowed-in morning was something we’d been doing for years.

That unsettled me more than the sex had.

Sex I understood.

This was coffee, bare feet, and conversation while breakfast cooked.

For the moment, neither of us had anywhere else to be.

“So,” Caprice said, “did you grow up here with family close by?”

I looked over. “Yeah. One sister and one brother. My younger brother’s in the Air Force.”

“What made him leave?”

“He wanted the Air Force. Nothing dramatic. He talked about it for years, got old enough to make the choice, and went.”

“And your sister?”

“She stayed. Husband, three kids. They’re local. My parents are still here too.”

Caprice watched me pour batter into the waffle iron.

“So your family has evidence that both choices are legal.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“I like that.”

I closed the waffle iron and leaned against the counter across from her.

“My brother likes his life. I like mine. Nobody has to be wrong.”

Her expression turned thoughtful.