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“You’re young. You have some time before you need to worry about what’s next,” she says.
“I’m thirty now. If I’m lucky, I’m only halfway through my career.”
“My soon-to-be sister-in-law says hockey years count like dog years.” She laughs as she scrapes the vegetables into a bowl.
I nod. “That’s pretty accurate. Are you excited about the wedding?”
“I am. I never imagined Darius would be the first one to get married, though.”
“Who did you think would be?”
“I don’t know for sure. I’m the oldest, so it feels weird that it’s not me. Not that I’ve got any prospects.” She snorts.
“I can’t imagine you’re lacking attention from men or women,” I say.
She pours the egg mixture into the pan. “That’s nice of you to say, but I’ve been told I give off a bitch vibe that keeps men away.”
“What?” I laugh. “Who told you that?”
“My neighbor, Lucy, who’s one of my best friends.”
“I’m a man and I don’t think you give off a bitch vibe at all. Although, you did hang up on me and call me a dickhead.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you brought that up. And here I am thinking you’re a gentleman,” she wails, her cheeks turning pink right before my eyes. I find it adorable.
I aim a skeptical look her way. “If you’re familiar with my reputation at all, I doubt you expected me to be a gentleman.”
“Pfft. I don’t believe things posted on social media. I judged you from our interactions, and you’ve been nothing but polite with me. Until a few seconds ago, anyway.” She playfully narrows her eyes at me.
“Some things posted on social media are true,” I warn. After all, I earned my reputation when it comes to women. I’ve never been a relationship type of guy, and in the past I’ve taken advantage of what’s been offered freely.
“Well, you’re clearly generous. I know what you paid for this weekend,” she says.
“Naw, it was motivated by purely selfish reasons. I already told you how much I dislike cooking.”
“Hmm,” she hums, and I hear the doubt in the vibrating tone. She adds the cooked vegetables back in, sprinkles some cheese on top, then folds half the egg mixture over. If omelets can be beautiful, this one is.
“Damn. How did you do that so well? It never works for me,” I say.
“If you don’t use enough eggs it can make a difference. Also, if you try to fold it too early it can break apart.” She pulls a larger spatula from her bag of utensils and carefully transitions the omelet from the pan to a plate. A sprinkling of parsley on top is the final touch before she grabs a fork from the drawer and delivers my breakfast to the other side of the island. She sets the plate down in front of me.
“Thank you so much.”
“What would you like to drink?” she asks.
“I still have some coffee left.”
“It must be cold by now.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
Giving a quick shrug of her shoulders, she retraces her steps around the island. As much as I appreciate the perfection of her work, I can’t wait to try a bite. Cutting off a piece of the outer edge, I pierce it with my fork and shovel the steaming food into my mouth without blowing on it first. Getting burned seems like a small price to pay for the reward. Chewing, I close my eyes as I take in the various flavors. It’s so delicious, I expect angels to sing, but I’ll have to settle for the sound of me humming. Swallowing it down, my eyelids raise and I find Calista leaning on the island across from me. Head canted, she’s studying me.
“Well?” she asks.
“It’s fucking amazing. Couldn’t you tell from my reaction?” I ask.
“You looked like you were enjoying it but I didn’t want to assume.” She starts to clear things away, placing the pan and utensils in the sink while I continue to wolf down my breakfast. I watch as she bustles about, taking in the way her slim black pants contour to her long legs. Her top is meant to be utilitarian, but even the plain design can’t hide the soft treasures hidden underneath.
