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. . .
Jett stared at the ingredients sitting on the counter as if they were live snakes about to pounce. There was something about the flour and sugar just sitting there watching him that made him bristle. The way the whisk mocked him, or the way the eggs taunted—okay, he was being ridiculous. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake. He could make some damn Valentine’s Day waffles for his girl.
Taking a deep breath, Jett pushed past his irrational fear of the inanimate objects. He reminded himself that he had successfully cooked many meals before—some would go as far as to say his cooking was evengood.Waffles would not be the thing to break him. As he glanced at the recipe on his phone, he mustered up his courage and began to measure out the flour.
He poured it into the mixing bowl, quickly glancing at the bedroom door to make sure it was still firmly shut. Thankfully, it was. Abbie needed her rest, and he needed to not be so damn loud.
It was ridiculous, feeling this anxious over making breakfast. But this wasn't just any breakfast, because it wasn't just any day. It was Valentine's Day. Their first together.
Abbie moved in with him a few weeks ago, and it had been the best decision of their lives. Maybe it was moving fast for some people, but he wanted to move faster. And if things went the way he planned on them going, then tonight would skyrocket them toward their future.
The heart-shaped waffle maker sizzled as Jett ladled the batter into it. It bubbled and hissed, and he hesitated before pressing the top down. The batter overflowed around the edges, pooling on the counter below.
He cursed under his breath, snatching the spatula beside him, and shoved the batter into a pile. Frantically, he looked around—he didn't know what for. Something, anything, to fix this mess.
Trash can. That could work.
Reaching out with his foot, he kicked it closer until it rested between his legs on the floor. With the spatula clutched in his hand, he began scraping it off the counter. It landed on the edge of the bin, dripping half outside.
"Fuck!" He gripped the edge of the counter, the smoke from the remaining waffle batter wafting in front of his face.
This was their first Valentine's Day. He didn't want to fuck it up, but here he was, doing just that.
He took a deep breath as he scanned the mess in front of him, his heart sinking. He just wanted to do something special for her. Abbie deserved the best, and she'd been so out of sorts since officially cutting ties with her parents and leaving school.
After she gave Roxy her painting, Roxy seemed to tell everyone about Abbie's art. So now she had buyers lined up, ready to purchase anything she made. It was overwhelming, the attention she was getting. But he was proud of her. More than proud. Inspired by her. He was completely enraptured.
She'd built this business for herself, doing something she loved more than life. Yet, he couldn't even make a few simple waffles.
The door opening drew his attention, and he straightened, his head snapping to the side. “Go back to bed!” he barked, and she let out a long sigh.
“I'm not tired anymore.”
“You need to rest–”
“What's going on–”
“Bed!” He pointed at the door, his heart racing. She likely didn't know what was going on with the absolute disaster that exploded in their kitchen, and he didn't want her to figure it out.
“Happy Valentine's Day to you too, grumpy pants,” she grumbled under her breath, turning toward the bedroom door. The back of her brown hair was matted and sticking up in all directions, the shirt of his she'd stolen as her nightgown was twisted and hanging to her knees. She looked so fucking cute, clutching Ottie in her arms.
“I'm sorry, pretty girl,” he murmured, looking around to find something to clean his hands on. When he found nothing, he wiped them down the front of his jeans and rounded the counter. Holding his arms out, she gave him a disgruntled look as she shuffled toward him. “Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her close to his chest. “You smell like sugar,” she mumbled. Then her body went rigid. “Sugar. Why do you smell like sugar?” Her head whipped around, trying to peer past his broad frame. “And what’s that smell? Is something burning?”
“Bed,” he said firmly, twirling her around. He landed a firm smack on her ass, and she scrunched her nose at him.
Jett gently pushed her towards the bedroom, his hands still sticky from the failed waffle attempt. She stepped into the bedroom and turned fully toward him. Her eyes bored into his,like she was silently begging him to let her come out and see what he was hiding.
But he couldn’t. Not when he smelled burning and saw smoke billowing in the air from the corner of his eye.
“I sure would love some juice,” she sighed dramatically.
“I’ll bring you some.”
“I need exercise. I can get it myself–” She stepped forward, and he pointed at her.
