Page 48 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“I did it!” he exclaims as the egg drops into the bowl…along with a couple of chunks of shell.

“You did,” I say, scooping them out. “Should we try another one?”

“Yeah!” He throws his hands up and sends a splatter of egg flying onto my shirt.

I grin, wipe it off.

Then we do another egg together.

One more.

But the fourth he does himself.

“I did it,” he says again, more quietly as he looks up at me.

It’s impossible to miss the pride shining in his eyes.

“Yeah, bud. You sure did.”

We make short work of washing hands…something that proves pointless when we start dunking the slices of bread.

That’s okay, though.

Because soon enough the scent of cinnamon fills the air and I find some bacon to fry off and put the coffee on to brew and…Lainey stumbles into the kitchen, hair a mess of curls, eyes half-mast, pajama pants dotted with porcupines wrinkled, one leg tucked into her sock. Her white tank top is a little see-through and I force myself to look away even though I want to be a creep and stare at her tits, at the hard buds of her nipples pressing against the fabric.

There are children around.

And Lainey probably doesn’t want to be ogled first thing in the morning.

Definitely not as she rubs her sleepy eyes and asks, “What’s going on down here?”

Ollie and I exchange a look…and a smile. “Mom’s a zombie,” he whispers.

I take a beat to process that then grin and move to the coffee maker, pouring her a cup and adding a little splash of milk. “Here,” I say, bringing it over to her. “Can’t have Mom Zombie.”

Befuddled brown eyes on mine.

I press the mug into her hand and she robotically brings it up to her mouth, sips.

And then her face softens.

“You know how I take my coffee?” she asks softly.

My heart thuds hard against my ribs, but I just shrug, shoot her an easy smile as I tease, “It’s not hard.” I wink. “Considering how much of it you drink.”

“Rude,” she says, lightly swatting my chest before taking another sip and surveying the kitchen. “French toast?”

“We’ve had cinnamon rolls and pancakes, had to complete the Americana trio.”

She chuckles before her eyes come back to mine. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, Pages,” I say even as I unconsciously stretch my neck, rolling it from side to side.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

She sets the mug aside and then…