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“Give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you down there.”
“No can do. It was my job to get you so we can eat. Come on.” She tries to pull me with her, but I just laugh.
“Chloe. Let me use the bathroom, brush my teeth and my hair. I promise I’ll be right down. Five minutes.”
“Don’t make me come back up here, Nat. I get hangry.” She chuckles and heads down the steps.
Going into the bathroom and seeing my own reflection, I debate on taking another shower. I took one last night before bed to wash the grime of the night off of me. Now, I look like I’ve been in the eye of a tornado and spit back out. Sleeping with wet hair did nothing for me. Neither did tossing and turning all night.
Knowing if I am not downstairs in five minutes, Chloe will come up here and physically remove me from the shower, I settle for washing my face, brushing my teeth, and throwing my hair in a fishtail braid. Grabbing my grey Notre Dame sweats out of my bag, I throw them on with a white t-shirt and a spray of my favorite orange blossoms body spray. This will have to do.
Five minutes later, I’m walking down the stairs and can see everyone pulling plates from the island in the kitchen and taking them over to the table in the dining room. Chloe was right. The smell of bacon is strong, and there is something spicy in the air too. I can’t place it, though, until I step into the kitchen and start to see what’s actually on the plates. Bacon, eggs, sausage, sour cream, salsa, burrito wraps, onions, peppers, and bagels are all out on assorted plates and bowls. I momentarily forget my awe at what I’m guessing is going to be a surprisingly good breakfast, though, when a shirtless Brady walks into the kitchen.
Holy Hell. I was right that first night.
Brady’s body is carved perfection from all of his hours spent working out on the field and in the weight room. I mentally tell myself not to drool, as I wonder if beautiful is an appropriate term for a man. Because beautiful is the only word I can think of right now.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Wants some coffee?” He is already holding what I’m guessing is a now empty mug of coffee and grabs another cup from the shelf. “Sugar and cream are on the counter over there.”
“Thanks.”
Brady fills both mugs and hands one to me. He leans back on the counter for a minute and might as well shine a spotlight on the perfectly sculptured V that his shorts are hanging off of. I internally groan while I imagine licking every ridge of his chest.
If I lick it, is it mine?
Standing up, Brady hands me a plate. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting for you, and Murphy gets pissy when his food gets cold.” The laugh that comes after that strange statement is deep and rumbly, and makes me melt.
I follow Brady into the other room and see everyone is around a massive, cherry wood dining table with six high back, upholstered chairs. The chairs match the gorgeous golden drapes that are embroidered with the prettiest jewel tones. The way the morning light is filtering through is bathing the entire room in a magical golden glow. “Wow. The food smells amazing, guys. Sorry I slept so late.”
Brady pulls my chair out for me. “No worries, Nattie. You needed it.”
Sitting down, I look at my brother, who is seated to my right. He already has one breakfast burrito in his hand and manages to eat half of it with one bite. “Murphy made plenty.”
Elbowing him in the side, I yell at him. “Gross, Coop. Trying swallowing before you speak.”
Murphy chokes out a laugh. “That’s what she said.”
The joke falls flat, and Murph shrugs his shoulder. “Sounded better in my head.”
Murphy is shirtless, wearing a pair of black gym shorts and aKiss the Cookapron that looks so out of place in this room I have to hold in my laugh. “Huh. Murphy, I didn’t know that you liked to cook.”
Murphy is busy putting together a giant burrito on his plate. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Little Sinclair.” He winks. “It’s my fallback plan if the pros don’t come knocking. Or maybe after I retire. I want to be the next Gordon Ramsey and get to yell at everyone in my kitchen all of the time.”
“I stand by what I said last night, Murphy. You are crazy. But, you’re my kind of crazy. Thanks for the breakfast. So, what’s the plan for today?”
Everyone answers all at once.
“The beach.”
Okay then.
* * *
The day ends up much better than I was initially expecting. We are moving slowly in the morning but manage to get on the beach before noon. Chloe and I brought a gigantic, blue plaid blanket today instead of chairs. As soon as we get everything set up, I am lying face down on the super-soft blanket, happily avoiding everyone else.
The warm sun feels good on my skin. You’d never know by the gorgeous day today that there was a nasty storm last night. The only thing giving it away is the riptide warning the lifeguards have posted, and the nasty waves still crashing against the sand. T
he sun is out, and the seagulls are everywhere.
