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I started pulling out bread from the loaf, placing it on a plate. I turned to the cabinets behind me, finding Sydney’s spices and pulled down cinnamon and vanilla extract. When I put those in front of Grace, who was finishing up her last egg, she looked from the items to me. “What are those for?”
“For French toast?” My brows drew in.
“You just dip the bread in the egg…”
I chuckled. “Oh no, sweetness. You need to fancy it up a little. Put a decent drop of vanilla in and some cinnamon. I’ll get you a fork to whisk it.”
“Who taught you to make French toast?” she asked, but still doing as I requested.
“My mother.”
“Well, ok then. Susan knows what she’s doing, I guess.”
I handed her the fork but didn’t let go when she took it from me. “Oh, my mom knows what she’s doing, so it’s ok then?”
With her smile wide, Grace tugged at the fork. “Just let me whisk the eggs, Soy.”
God, I wanted to kiss her so badly right now. She was completely open, completely relaxed, and I wanted to devour that up. Instead, I let go of the fork and went back to the fridge, trying to find bacon or sausage, some sort of breakfast meat.
My brother-in-law was a professional athlete. Surely they had some sort of morning protein in the form of meat.
I made a face when I found turkey bacon, but figured it didn’t taste too bad. “Turkey bacon?” I asked, holding it over my shoulder as I continued to rummage through the fridge.
“Sure.”
I lowered the package to my leg and, not finding anything better, closed the fridge and opened the package, pulling out four strips and placing them on the side of the now warm griddle.
“You about done over there?” I asked, lifting my chin toward her bowl.
“Yeah, but the cinnamon keeps clumping at the top.”
I reached for the bowl, pulling it toward me. “It’ll be fine. Trust me.” I winked across the island at her and after swirling the egg and vanilla spiced mixture once, dipped a piece of bread in and tossed it on the griddle, the sizzle as the wet bread hit the hot surface filling the air. I repeated the process with the remaining slices of bread and as they all cooked on one side, I started to clean up.
“I’m impressed.”
I looked over at Grace as I put the last of the fridge items away. “Why?”
“You cook and you clean up after yourself.”
“Woman, I live alone. If I didn’t cook or clean, my place would be trashed.”
She opened her mouth to say something and must have thought better of it, because she closed her mouth and smiled slightly instead.
“No, what were you going to say?” I pried.
She shrugged. “Just that not every man is like that.”
Jeremy.
She meant Jeremy.
Well fuck yes, I was better than that man. I’d never be more interested in the women around me when I had Grace in my arms. And I sure as hell would never let her walk away from me.
“Not everyone can be as awesome as me,” I offered instead, trying to keep it light when all I wanted to know was what really happened with Jeremy. They only dated for a few months, sure, but I had seen Grace. She’d been happy, as badly as that stuck in my craw. So what happened?
“What happened with what?” she asked, making me realize I spoke aloud my last thought.
It was my turn to shake my head and deny. “Nothing.”
