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With a huff of laughter falling from her rosy lips, she passes the bag to me.
“Aah. Behold, the perfect breakfast casserole,” I announce, adding some extra bass to my voice.
She closes the minivan’s hatch. “How do you know it’s good?”
We head up the walkway side by side. “Because you made it,” I state.
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. I appreciate it. But just to play devil’s advocate, what if yesterday was just beginner’s luck?”
“No one can be that lucky when it comes to cooking,” I say, opening the front door. She pulls it closed behind us, laughing when she notices I’m practically jogging to the kitchen.
“Well, I don’t expect you to dislike anything I have planned for you today,” she says.
Setting the bag on the island, I turn to her. “You have plans for me?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.
She shakes her canted head as if I’m a frustrating child. “Yes, to feed you well.”
“That works for me.”
“Now, go sit down so I can get your breakfast ready.”
“Okay, but first I’m gonna grab some orange juice. Would you like some?”
She undoes the Velcro around the two handles. “No, thank you.”
“How about coffee?”
She starts to shake her head but it turns into a nod. “That would be great.”
I make the coffee first, serving it to her in my favorite Coyotes mug.
She sends a grateful smile my way. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Leaving her to cut into the masterpiece she made, I pour myself some o.j. and take a seat. My stomach rumbles letting me know it’s not nearly as patient as I am. I sip on the juice until she sets my plate in front of me. She hands me a fork and our fingers brush. I want to capture her hand and yank her closer, but since I can’t, I do the second-best thing and take a bite of the casserole. Flavors explode on my tongue and are capped off with the crunch of bacon as I chew the fluffy mixture.
“Damn, this is good,” I mumble around the food in my mouth.
Smiling softly back at me from across the island where she’s retreated to, she seems too far away. I wish she were closer.Why can’t she be?“Why don’t you grab some for yourself and come join me?”
Her eyes flash wider with surprise. “Oh, no, I’m all set.”
“Come on. There’s plenty,” I say, forking another large bite between my lips.
She shakes her head. “No, really. I had breakfast before I left home.”
“I’d say you don’t know what you’re missing, but since you made it, I can’t.”
“Actually, more often than not, I prepare simple foods for myself,” she explains.
“But you know how to make so many different dishes,” I say.
“True, but after cooking all day for others, it’s easier to have something that’s quick to make.”
“That’s understandable.”
Alternating between sips of orange juice and bites of casserole, it doesn’t take me long to finish both. Setting my fork down on my plate, I hum with satisfaction.
“Would you like more?” Calista asks.
