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“How so?” I asked.
“Just little things I picked up on while you were playing house with me. You know, when we weren’t knocking boots at the office?”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?”
“With you? Hmm, not really. No.”
The microwave beeped.
“Eat and get some rest,” he commanded. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
I looked down at my ring, remembering what it all meant.
“Goodnight, Weston.”
“Night, bunny.” He smiled and disappeared around the corner.
CHAPTERTWELVE
WESTON
Muriel Miller wasone heck of a woman. She may have been extremely confused and tired last night, but she woke up ready to embrace the day.
I woke up to the smell of bacon and French toast coming from my kitchen.
It was Sunday, and I remember Quinn saying Sundays were big for her growing up. Her mother would cook up a giant breakfast and invite all the neighbors. It was her very own weekly block party. It was also where she caught up on all the latest town gossip, according to her daughter.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my soon-to-be future ex-son-in-law,” she said playfully. She scooped the scrambled eggs she was working into a bowl.
“Aren’t you a hoot?” I smirked at her.
“When you get to be my age, darlin, you learn to just roll with the punches.” She poured fresh coffee into a mug and handed it to me. “Now, how do you take your coffee?” She held up brown sugar and Splenda.
“How doyoutake it, Muriel?” I handed her the mug back.
“Well, dear, my good friend Jerri taught me a thing or two about great coffee.”
She went into the fridge and brought out some cool whip. Then she reached into the spice cabinet and pulled out the cinnamon and some vanilla extract. She found my portable frother and mixed the ingredients together, adding some brown sugar to it. Finally, she poured the hot coffee over the fluffy mix and handed me the new mug.
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, don’t be such a wuss. Go on, try it.” She smiled, and her eyes reminded me of Quinn.
I took a sip, and the warm mix slid down my throat, coating it with rich pleasure.
“Wow, Muriel. That’s ridiculously good.”
I took another sip, and the foam coated my upper lip.
“Morning,” Quinn said, still wearing her silk pajamas.
“You got a little something there.” She wiped the foam from my lip and licked it off her finger.
The gesture made my body react, and I sunk down onto the barstool, trying to hide my tent from Muriel.
“Morning, sugar,” she gave Quinn her cup with brown sugar.
“You really don’t skip a beat, do you, mama?” She looked over the spread her mom created.
