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“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“I came to tell you breakfast is ready, and I heard you talking to someone.” He looked over her shoulder into the bathroom.
She gave him a crooked smile. “Sometimes, I talk to myself.”
His frown cleared. “I do that too when I’m trying to get my shit together. Did the conversation come out all right?”
Her cheeks burned. “Yeah.” She sniffed the air. “Is that bacon I smell?
“It is,” he grinned. “And I made omelets and biscuits.”
She chuckled. “Just a regular Martha Stewart, aren’t you?”
“I like to think of myself as more of a Gordon Ramsay. I don’t look good in a dress.”
Shelby laughed at the image she conjured of Remy, with his broad shoulders, in a dress. “I don’t know. With the right heels, I think you could pull it off.” She stepped past him on her way to the good smells coming from the other part of the house.
“I’ll pass on the heels and the dress, but I’m not giving up on kitchen duty. I like to cook what I like to eat. You’re just the lucky recipient of the extra ingredients.”
Remy had set the table with two plates filled with fluffy omelets, a plate full of bacon and a basket filled with fluffy biscuits.
He held her chair.
“I could get used to this,” she murmured as she sat.
“Orange juice or coffee?”
“Both,” she answered.
He entered the kitchen and was back in seconds with a mug of coffee and a glass of orange juice. “Thought you might like both.”
He took his seat across from her.
Shelby tucked into the food hungrier than she’d thought. When she’d polished off the last of her omelet and a biscuit slathered with strawberry jam, she leaned back in her chair. “Wow, that was amazing. I don’t think I need to eat again for a week.”
“You needed it,” he said and gathered their plates.
She rose to help, carrying the basket of biscuits.
They worked side-by-side at the sink, him washing, her drying. Each time her shoulder or hip bumped his, a blast of heat rushed through her. Imagining those arms wrapped around her body, holding her close, sent that heat lower, coiling at her core. By the time they’d finished cleaning the kitchen, she wanted to take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom.
He hung the dishtowel and turned toward her.
Shelby raised her hand.
Before he could take it, a knock sounded at her front door.
Shelby frowned and dropped her hand. “Who the hell could that be?” She turned and hurried toward the front door.
Remy quickly caught her arm. “Let me.”
She frowned but backed away as he went first to the living room window and peered around the edge. “There’s a young woman with dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin at the door.”
Shelby smiled. “Sounds like Gisele.” She reached for the doorknob and pulled open the door.
Her petite friend flew through the door and wrapped her arms around Shelby in a breath-stealing hug. “Shelby, my dear friend. What were you thinkin’ goin’ ’round the bayou alone?”
Shelby laughed. “That I was doing my job?” She extricated herself from her friend’s tight hold. “I’m all right.”
