Page 72 of The Alpha's Protective Mate

All this mess is because he wanted to make me breakfast? My lips twitch, and my heart feels warm. He’s clearly losing his mind but is determined to see this through, as if making me breakfast is the most important thing for him today.

I see him lift the pan and take it toward the trash can. I quickly call out, “I want to try that one.”

Robert freezes.

When he doesn’t say anything or move, I roll my eyes. “I can still see you, Robert.”

His shoulders droop. My own shake with laughter.

My gait is slow as I head toward him, and he immediately tries to get rid of the egg in the pan.

“Hold it!” I grab the pan from him. “Let me see.”

“It’s not edible,” he says, glaring at me.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He doesn’t put up much of a fight, which is why I’m able to seize the pan from him. The contents have me gawking, though. What was supposed to be a fried egg is swimming in oil. It is still raw on top, and the bottom is black.

I sink my teeth into my lower lip to stop myself from laughing. When I look up at Robert, he looks fifty shades of mortified.

“I told you it was inedible,” he mutters, taking the pan from me. “I’ll order breakfast in.”

I look around the kitchen, wishing I had the guts to actually eat what he had attempted to make. However, I don’t have a death wish at the moment. As I watch him toss the contents of the pan, I ask sincerely, “How are you with buttered toast?”

Robert glances at me, disappointment still in his eyes. “Even a monkey can make buttered toast.”

“And coffee?”

His eyes brighten. “I make good coffee.”

“Let’s have that.” I begin clearing the mess from the table. “My insides still feel raw from the healing. Something light would be preferable. I do appreciate the efforts, though.”

Silently, I think to myself that I might have to get this kitchen deep cleaned and never let Robert near it again. The mess he managed to create is simply insane.

Ultimately, Robert still ends up making me breakfast while I sit at the table. The only edible thing he did manage to cook was the bacon, and it’s a little hard, but I chew on it happily. When he sits down, he looks worn out. However, he doesn’t let me butter my own toast, lathering generous amounts on it before cutting it into two pieces and putting them on my plate.

I’m being cared for, I realize, and I don’t exactly hate it.

The light breakfast does make me feel better, and I don’t know why the simple bread and butter tastes so much better than usual today. But as I pick up my mug of coffee, for a moment, I think I smell blood in it. Blinking, I stare down at it, puzzled. But the aroma of the coffee is overpowering, and I’m sure I was just imagining things.

Robert is watching me as I drink, an odd look in his eyes. The taste is different from any coffee I’ve ever had. My toes tingle as I gulp it down, not caring how my tongue burns. My head feels light and my body a little too warm. But as I set down the empty mug, about to ask for seconds, Robert hands me a glass of water.

My head feels a little woozy now.

“Did you put alcohol in the coffee?” I slur, looking at Robert.

He grins slightly. “No. Just drink the water. I’ll make you another cup.”

The water is cold, and it soothes my burning tongue. The next cup of coffee isn’t as tasty as the previous one, and I feel disappointed.

“Here,” Robert says, putting another piece of buttered toast on my plate. “Eat.”

I do so obediently, and as the food hits my system, I feel more stable.

“That was odd,” I mutter to myself, but when I look toward Robert, he doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.

Confused, I concentrate on my breakfast. The coffee is still good, but it doesn’t make my toes tingle anymore, and that makes me a little sad.

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