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Heat swept into her cheeks. He’d told her not too long ago he could read her. Now she wondered if he could actually see into her mind. As much as the idea was unnerving, the compliment calmed her silly nerves.
“I’m not used to such flattery so early in the morning.” She puckered her brow. “Or ever for that matter.”
Chet clicked his tongue. “That’s a shame.”
She stood and joined him in the kitchen. A bowl of cracked eggs sat on the counter beside a pan of what looked like cake batter. Cinnamon swirls topped the creamy batter—coffee cake. “Looks like you’re preparing a feast.”
He reached above his head for cooking spray and a tiny patch of skin appeared between his shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants.
Her mouth watered for a completely different reason.
“Felt like cooking.” He threw a smile over his shoulder. “Didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.”
His consideration warmed her to her toes. A man had never cooked her breakfast before. Let alone pulled out all the contents of his fridge to make sure he made something she’d like. “Need any help?”
“Nope. Grab some coffee. Relax.” He nudged a mug forward that he’d placed on the counter by the pot.
She filled her mug then sat at the table, watching him. Studying the broad set of his shoulders and tapered waist. His pants hung low on his hips, and she itched to run her fingers over the abs she’d seen the day before.
Oh sheesh, his stitches. Between Aaron showing up and then kissing Chet last night—God she kissed him—she’d forgotten he was the injured one. That a murderer had sliced him with a knife. “How’s your side?”
“Fine,” he said, flipping the bacon. “How’s your lip?”
She lifted her fingertips to the corner of her mouth. A sharp pain throbbed from her touch. “Okay, as long as nothing’s touching it.”
He glanced her way with raised brows.
She wrinkled her nose, embarrassment flushing her face. “You know what I mean.”
Turning back to the stove, he chuckled.
The sound of a car door slamming turned her head to the window. Tucker stalked toward the apartment, an unfamiliar frown on his face and a dog at his heels. Confusion brought her to her feet, opening the door wide. “Is that my car?”
“Morning.” Tucker hurried up the porch stairs and offered her shoulder a quick squeeze before stepping over the threshold. “Yep. Cruz released it last night. He’s heading this way to take me back to the station.”
The gray and black mutt ran past her while she stared, slack-jawed and bewildered, at her car. Washed and shiny with four new tires in the drive. “I…I don’t understand,” she said, shutting the door and facing the kitchen. “How did my car get new tires?”
Chet kept cooking while Tucker helped himself to a piece of bacon then filled a mug. The dog sat next to Chet, tail thumping against the floor.
“Umm, excuse me?” She fisted her hands on her hips.
Tucker took a bite of bacon and shrugged. “I just followed orders.”
“Whose orders?”
He flipped the bacon over his shoulder at Chet. “He’s to thank for the tires. I brought you Wrigley.”
She rubbed circles over her temple as she tried to keep up with the conversation. She hadn’t even had a drop of coffee yet. “Wait. One thing at a time. Chet, did you tell Tucker to put tires on my car?”
Finally, he faced her. His shoulders drooped, and he scrunched his face like a child who was afraid of being reprimanded after spilling the truth. “Yes.”
“Why did you do that?”
He lifted his palms. “You need good tires. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I should have asked.”
Touched, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him close. Gratitude wedged in her throat. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she sniffed them back.
Chet lowered to speak in her ear. “I wasn’t trying to control you.”
