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“You’re not ruined, Avery,” I shook my head. “You’re definitely not normal,” I laughed, “but I wouldn’t consider you ‘ruined.’”
“You’re too nice to be my friend,” she frowned.
I stood and grabbed a fluffy towel. “You look like you’re clean, and I’m exhausted. Let’s get you dry and in bed.”
She reached under the water and pulled the drain plug. I had to help her out of the bathtub since her legs were on the shaky side.
I dried her with the towel and helped her into Trace’s t-shirt, before brushing out her red hair.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re the bestest friend of all the bestest friends in the world.”
“That’s a pretty big compliment,” I laughed, opening the door.
Trace sat up and I laughed at his makeshift bed on the couch. Ace was asleep on the floor beside him. “Need help?”
“I think I’ve got her,” I shuffled along with Avery clinging to my shoulders.
I got Avery into the bed, and by the time I pulled the sheet up over her, she was already snoring.
“Figures,” I snorted.
I got into bed and in no time exhaustion consumed me.
When I woke, Avery was still sound asleep.
I eased from the bed, not wanting to disturb her. I quietly closed the bedroom door behind me.
I smiled when I turned and saw Trace in the kitchen making breakfast. Between sips of coffee from his beloved Yoda mug, he was singing, and feeding Ace pieces of bacon.
“Morning, beautiful,” he ceased his one-man musical when he noticed me. “Coffee,” he handed me a steaming mug, full of sugar and cream, just the way I liked it. I was a sugar addict, but what sane female wasn’t?
I took a seat at one of the barstools that overlooked the small kitchen.
“Whatcha’ making?” I peered over the edge of the bar top to try and catch a peek.
“Pancakes from scratch, because I’m awesome like that,” he smirked, leaning a hip against the counter.
“Of course,” I laughed. “How could I forget your awesomeness?”
“Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?” He put a hand to his chest.
“Because I am,” I peered at him over the rim of my coffee mug.
“You wound me,” he chuckled, grabbing an old bottle of ketchup that contained the pancake mix.
“Really, Trace?” I raised a brow and pointed at the bottle.
“I was being resourceful,” he smirked, squirting several dollops of pancake mix onto the hot griddle. “See? It’s so much easier.”
“Do you want a round of applause?”
“Normally,” he leaned across the counter so that our faces were only inches apart, “people don’t ask. They automatically applaud my awesomeness.”
“You’re one of a kind,” I couldn’t hide my smile.
“There’s no point in being like everyone else. That’s boring.” He shrugged and stepped back. He grabbed a spatula from the drawer and flipped the pancakes.
I slid from the stool and gathered the butter and syrup. I also swiped a piece of bacon while I was at it.
