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“Why not JPsama?” she questioned.
“That’s a mouthful,” I admitted. “Not that the others aren’t, but neither one of those is your actual name. Which makes me lean toward your first name. It’s a little bit stronger meaning if you use their actual name.”
JP nodded and backed away from the counter and me as I placed her fourth pancake on her plate. “No eggs?”
“Not when there’s bacon and pancakes,” she shrugged.
I chuckled quietly as I answered her earlier question. “As for why I wear my watch like this, honestly, it’s just a comfortable way to wear it while not having to give so much wrist movement to check the time. I can be more discreet about it, especially when I have clients in the same room as me. I’m not observed constantly looking at my watch.” I paused. “The downside of the watch face being on my wrist, though, is that it gets scratched fairly easily.”
“Ahh,” JP said just as there was a shuffling movement from the woman on the couch.
Her hair was…everywhere. And she was wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too big for her.
At some point last night, she’d ditched her shoes and her socks, but her leggings remained, one pant leg rucked up to her knees while the other was pulled down past her heel.
She looked absolutely adorable.
“Hungry?” I asked her.
She looked at the pancakes that were still cooking, then at JP’s plate, and rolled her eyes. “I’ll wait for the next batch, I guess.”
Smiling—goddamn, when did I start doing that so much?—I grabbed the coffeepot that was behind me and filled the mug that looked like it’d magically appeared in her hand.
“How do you know that I’m not putting creamer in this?” she asked skeptically when I didn’t leave enough room in the cup.
“Because I watched you for a full year and know that you drink it black, like your soul,” I taunted her.
She glared at me as she took a sip, then I started to laugh.
At the bottom of her coffee cup, which only became visible when she drank, was a hand extending the middle finger.
Chuckling, I flipped the pancakes, then took them off and placed them onto a plate. Going off of what I’d watched of her eating habits before, I filled her plate with all of them, just like I had her daughter. Then piled on a couple of pieces of bacon.
She gladly took the plate and dug into the bacon while she dutifully waited for her daughter to slather on half the bottle of syrup.
“Do either of you even want eggs?” I asked as I hesitated over the carton.
I liked eggs, but I wasn’t going to make them just for myself. Seemed like a waste of a cleanish skillet.
“Nah,” Folsom eyed the oven. “How much longer on those cookies?”
I looked at the still full bowl of cookie dough—I only had so many hands—and said, “About twenty minutes.”
“Then definitely not. I’ll finish these, then help you clean up. By then, we’ll have our dessert.”
I rolled my eyes. “Y’all do realize, correct, that it’s not even noon yet? I feel like this is kind of like alcohol, where it should be at least a certain time before you start eating bakery items.”
“Oh, pshhh,” JP wiggled her fingers. “That’s just blasphemy. There’s always time for chocolate chip cookies.”
I finished up the last four pancakes and took the last eight slices of bacon, then took a seat.
They both eyed my pile. “Do y’all want any?”
They shook their heads. “There’s no way that you can finish all of that food,” JP challenged me.
I winked at her. “Want to bet?”
JP nodded. “What do I get if I win?”
