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I kicked out the recliner and settled her against me. “Perfect.”
For the first time, she looked a little unsure of where to put herself. She shifted and tried to sit up, but I nudged her into the corner of the chair where we could comfortably sit together then put the plate on her lap.
I forked off a corner of the omelette and popped it in my mouth. “Hot sauce?”
“I…yes.”
Surprised, I grabbed for the bottle and handed it to her along with the extra fork. “I can handle whatever you can.”
She cut off herself a small bite then uncapped the hot sauce and gave it a dainty sniff. She turned the label around then dabbed the pad of her finger on the edge.
I laughed. “It’s not going to bite you.”
“I’ve watchedHot Ones. I’m not stupid.”
“Have you now?” She was full of surprises.
“Amazing what you’ll watch when you have insomnia.” She shook it over the eggs liberally, then looked up at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” But I couldn’t stop smiling at her as she forked off another meager bite.
“What? Stop it.” She elbowed me.
“I’m trying to picture you eating hot wings.” I slipped my arm around her to get my fork in there, but it was a little awkward. Not enough to want to move her though.
She caught on and cut me off a piece, holding it in front of my mouth. I watched her eyes darken as I took it off the tines slowly.
“So you secretly get hot wings from Postmates or Uber Eats or whatever is the city equivalent?”
She rolled her eyes as she chewed and swallowed. “Why would you live in New York City and not get pizza and wings?”
“Why indeed. Though I’m a Sicilian kinda guy.”
“Sacrilege,” she muttered.
“You haven’t had a House of Cheese pizza with all the fixings.” She held up another bite with an alarming slash of red sauce on it. When she only stared me down, I opened my mouth. It took everything in me not to cough at the burn.
She added more hot sauce to the eggs and tucked the bottle between her knees. “Good.”
I picked up my wine glass and downed half of it—manfully.
I hoped.
“More?”
I shook my head and kept drinking. Was the wine making it hotter?
She finished the last few bites, then rescued a stray pepper and scraped off the last of the sauce and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm.”
I finished my glass and sat up, collapsing the footrest. “Gonna get a refill. Need anything?” I scooped her up and set her back down in the chair.
She laughed. “I’m good.”
I hightailed it into the kitchen.
“Some milk might help,” she yelled after me.
It did. Thankful that I’d just bought the milk the day before, I glugged right from the container. When the heat died down, I recapped it and shoved it back in the fridge then grabbed a Firefly hard cider from the back of my fridge.
