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He passed me two eggs. “Let’s see how you do it.”
I cracked each egg against the counter at the same time, then positioned them over the bowl and let the contents fall into the bowl. Holt arched his brows and grinned.
“I’m never cracking an egg in front of you again.”
I smiled. “I’ve cracked thousands of eggs over the years. It just becomes second nature.” I pass him a whisk. “Whisk until they’re combined but not frothy.”
While he whisked, I added in a splash of Worcestershire sauce and ground fresh salt and pepper into the bowl. When he was done whisking, I passed him a hand grater and a block of fresh cheddar.
“Grate and I’ll tell you when,” I said. “This is going to be about one-eighth of a cup, just enough to add some flavor.”
He grated until I told him to stop. I showed him how to measure two tablespoons of butter and add them to a skillet.
“When it melts, move the skillet around to coat the whole bottom,” I say.
Soon, he was pouring the eggs into the skillet and I showed him how to gently move them with a spatula.
“Okay, time to remove it from the heat,” I say when they’re done.
He lowered his brows with concern. “Okay, I’ve been overcooking scrambled eggs my whole life.”
“That’s okay, most people do.”
Once the eggs are on a plate, I get two forks and we exchange a look.
“I have a great feeling about these,” he says.
We both got a bite at the same time, and he groaned as he got a taste of the finished product.
“Those are seriously the best eggs I’ve ever had.”
“I get our eggs and butter from the most amazing little organic farm. It’s amazing how much the way food is grown and raised affects the flavor.”
He just looked at me for a second, his attention unnerving.
“What?” I ask.
“Sorry.” He looked away and then back at me. “I just like your enthusiasm for what you do. It’s so clear you love this.”
I sighed softly. “I’m here at least sixty hours a week, so I guess it’s good that I love it.”
His expression changes and he looks away. “Don’t miss out on life for your work. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“What do you mean?”
“My ex-wife and I are completely over, but in the aftermath of what happened with us, I went to counseling and it helped me realize what I did to contribute to the end of the relationship. I should have been more present for her and the kids, but I gave most of my time and energy to hockey.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again.
“What were you going to say?” he asked.
“Something I thought better of.”
He nudged me. “What?”
“There’s no excuse for cheating. That’s my opinion, anyway.”
“Trust me, I agree. But I wouldn’t have the relationship I do with my kids if my ex hadn’t cheated and left.” He shrugged. “I’m grateful I made the changes I did, no matter what made me do it.”
