Page 63 of Whiteout

“Get over here.” His arm hooked around her waist, and pulling her to his chest, he kissed her.

Good morning, indeed.

With the familiar feeling of worn flannel beneath her fingertips, she stepped out of his hold and went to get her coffee. “Where’s Francie?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Sinjin answered, sticking his head in the refrigerator. He passed her a carton of cream. “I’ve been out in the garage making sure everything’s good to go.”

She stirred her coffee, tipping her head to the side.

“There’s going to be a lot of snow to move later on,” he said with a kiss to her nose. “Comes with living here.”

“Oh.” She nodded. Not that Breanna had any experience with that. It rarely snowed in Portland, and they never got any in LA.

“Why don’t we do Francie a solid and get breakfast started?”

“I can make oatmeal.” She grimaced at the thought.

With a stroke of his beard, Sinjin raised his brow.

“Look, I’m not much of a cook.”

He opened the fridge, grabbing a pound of bacon and a carton of eggs. “I’m feeling like waffles this morning. How about you?”

“The ones you pop in the toaster?”

He chuckled. Reaching into a cabinet, Sinjin grinned and set a waffle iron down on the counter, then turned around to fry the bacon.

Breanna just stood there, shaking her head. “Sinjin…I…”

“Scrambled okay with you?”

…can’t.

She pulled up Google on her phone. How to make waffles.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, getting milk and butter from the fridge. “Give me two of those eggs, will you? And where do I find flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt? Hell, I’m going to need a bowl, too.”

“Pantry.” Smirking, he tipped his chin. “You need to learn your way around your own kitchen.”

“It’s not mine,” Breanna insisted. “It’s Francie’s.”

Sinjin turned away from the stove. Glancing down at her, his eyebrows pulled together, and he folded his arms across his flannel-clad chest.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “And maybe I just want you to make me waffles.”

Ted wasn’t kidding. There had to be more food on the shelves in this kitchen within a kitchen that Sinjin called a pantry, than Hank had in his entire store. Good grief. Luckily, Francie had everything neatly organized, and after finding the items she needed, Breanna carried them out to the island.

She opened up the recipe on her phone and blew out a breath. Whistling as he fried the bacon, Sinjin didn’t so much as glance her way. Here goes nothing. Breanna mixed the dry ingredients before adding in the milk. Cracking an egg on the edge of the bowl, a chunk of shell fell in along with the slobbery mess, and she muttered, “Shit.”

“Potty mouth.” He snickered.

“Shush you.” Breanna giggled too. “Unless you’d rather wear your waffles instead of eating them.”

Sinjin came up behind her. Kneading her shoulders while she picked out the shell and stirred the batter, he kissed the skin beneath her ear. “See, princess? You’ve got this, so don’t ever let me hear you say you’re not much of anything.” He swatted her bottom. “And I’d much rather be eating you.”

As Breanna poured the last of the batter onto the hot iron, Sinjin set platters of eggs and bacon down on the polished stone, and Ted, Francie coming along right behind him, joined them in the kitchen. “You made breakfast? Is it my birthday or something?”

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