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Chapter 9
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next morning was a chicken in a sweater vest. Loco was nesting in the center of Harper’s pillow, and I mumbled, “Where’d your daddy go?” As always, that was met with a vacant stare.
I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, where I discovered Harper had thoughtfully left my toiletry case on the counter. Once I showered, I took a hard look at myself in the mirror. I’d been pretty thoroughly failing to give a shit about my appearance lately, and it showed. To make up for that, I spent some time trimming my beard, and then I actually used some gel in my hair and tried to give it a bit of style.
That totally failed, so I gave up and returned to the bedroom, where I found my clothes neatly unpacked in the closet. Harper had been busy, and I’d slept through all of it.
I found out just how busy after I got dressed and joined him in the kitchen. Every inch of counter space was covered with pots and pans, food, dishes, and miscellaneous items. He was trying his damnedest to make breakfast, so I didn’t comment on the mess. Instead, I kissed his cheek and said, “It smells good in here.”
“The coffee smells good. The rest smells like it caught fire, which it did. More than once. I’m not giving up, though.”
As he poured me a cup of coffee, I said, “I appreciate all this effort.”
He guided me to a seat at the little round table at one end of the kitchen and put the coffee and a bowl of fruit salad in front of me. “Proceed with caution,” he said. “I know it looks like I chopped it with a lawnmower, and I’m not sure everything in there is edible.”
It wasn’t, but I tried to be positive as I said, “It looks delicious.”
“You’re lying, but thank you for trying to spare my feelings.”
“You’re doing great. You even got the power back on,” I said.
“Yup. I found the fuse box hidden inside one of the closets.” He put a champagne flute in front of me and grinned as he said, “Here’s another thing I got right, the mimosas.”
The chicken wandered into the kitchen, spun around, and wandered out again as Harper darted to the stove. He removed a smoking pan from the heat and exclaimed, “Shit, not again!”
“What’s wrong?”
“The pancakes keep burning on the outside and staying raw in the middle.”
“Let me help.”
I got up and took a look at what he was doing. Then I found a new pan in the cupboard and turned the heat down to medium. The batter was really thick, so I added a splash of water and gave it a stir, and he said, “My cooking skills are hopeless. I can’t even make pancakes from a mix.”
“Sure you can. Try it now.” He ladled four pancakes onto the pan. After about ten seconds, he picked up a spatula, and I said, “Patience, young padawan. Don’t flip them until the edges start to look dry and the top is covered with bubbles.”
He grinned at me. “I appreciate the fact that you went for a ‘Star Wars’ reference, as opposed to ‘Worst Cooks in America: Celebrity Edition,’ although that’s pretty apt.” I brushed his hair from his forehead and kissed him, and he leaned into me as he said, “I hate the fact that I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re not terrible, you’ve just never been taught how to cook. If you want, I’ll teach you. Not that I’m an expert or anything.”
“I’d like that. Maybe that can be one of our projects this week.”
“One of our projects? What happened to relaxing?”
He smiled at me. “That’s another of our projects.”
I gestured at the pancakes. “Go ahead and flip them, they’re bubbling.” He looked so happy when he managed to turn them over and discovered they were golden brown. I told him, “You’re doing great.”
“Now that you’re helping me.” He draped his arms over my shoulders and kissed me. “See why I need you, Phee?”
I grinned at him. “Because your pancakes would never survive without me?”
He gave my ass a playful slap and grinned too as he said, “Yes. That’s obviously what I meant.”
A few minutes later, we sat down to breakfast together. As we ate, he said, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Say yes to all my ideas for, let’s say, the next four hours. Even if you think it’s stupid or a bad idea, say yes anyway.”
I asked, “What exactly will I be agreeing to?”
“It’s a secret.”
“But what if I’m agreeing to skydiving, or bungee jumping, or something I have absolutely no intention of doing?”
“I will be asking you to take a leap, but not like that. Please just trust me.”
