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***
Max
The next morning I wake up before Emilia. She is sprawled on the bed, her leg swung over me. For a brief second, I consider waking her up and giving her a quiet orgasm instead of a “good morning,” but that would be selfish. She is peaceful and beautiful in her sleep, and all I can do is look at her and wonder how it can feel so right to have her here with me. What was I doing before? How could I have known she existed and not gone after her? She wrinkles her nose in her sleep, pushing a rebel strand of hair off her face, and I can’t resist placing a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. She’s just too damn cute. She wrinkles her lips this time, then turns her head in the other direction. The message is clear: no morning sex. Yet.
I leave the room as quietly as possible, heading to the living room. Grams is nowhere to be seen, so I assume she’s still sleeping. I’m about to go off and buy breakfast when I remember that Emilia actually cooks, so she might have breakfast food already.
An idea strikes me while opening the fridge. Grams and my girl love pancakes, and I bet they have the ingredients for it. I’ll be the first to admit that I lack in romantic ideas, but I’d bet Emilia would love it if I made her some pancakes. How difficult can it be to make them?
/> I search for a recipe on the Internet, and then get to work. Twenty minutes later, I realize that making pancakes is not as easy as it seems. The pan looks like I can throw it away, the resulting pancakes are nothing more than burned shreds, and I cannot figure out where it all went wrong for the life of me.
Groaning, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Alice’s number.
“Morning, little brother,” she answers, her tone chipper as usual.
“Hey. So, I need some help. I made pancakes and ended up with a burned pan. Not to mention the contents looks like someone ate it up and threw it up.”
“Eww. Thanks for the visual. You’re making pancakes? Why?” After a brief pause, she squeals into the phone, nearly deafening me. “You’re making them for Emilia?”
“Yep. Just tell me what to do. How do I fix this?”
“I can’t believe you negotiate million-dollar deals for Bennett Enterprises but can’t make pancakes.”
“No one’s perfect,” I deadpan. “I should’ve called Summer.”
“I’m not sure she knows about pancakes.”
“Yeah, I thought so too, which is why I ended up calling you.” I try to scrub the thick, black crust off the pan, but it sticks to it like glue. Definitely belongs in the trash. I’ll buy them a brand-new one.
“Always lovely to hear I’m not your first choice.”
“Alice,” I say in a warning tone.
“Right, you want to know what to do.”
“Yeah.”
“One: clean up. Two: go buy some pancakes.”
“Your faith in me is astounding.” Looking at the mess in front of me, I say, “But you’re right. Thanks.”
After the line goes static, I clean up the crime scene, get dressed, and venture out to buy half a dozen pancakes. When I reenter the house, I find Emilia awake and in the kitchen.
“Keep your voice low,” she says. “Grams is still sleeping.”
“Stop whatever you’re doing,” I tell her. “I bought breakfast.”
She turns around, smiling devilishly. “But I have breakfast stuff. I can even make pancakes.”
“Yeah… about that….”
“What?”
She whirls around, looking at the stove intently. “It smells of burned stuff.”
So much for my cleaning skills. She opens the dishwasher, and then looks in the garbage, where I tossed the pan.
“You tried to make pancakes?”
