Page 42 of Make Me Dream of You

She barely looks at him. “No, I’ll just grab some coffee.” She looks down at her phone. “I’m going to be late. Has anyone seen my purse?”

“Your purse is by the front door,” Wood says, somehow already at the coffee pot pouring some into a travel mug.

He intercepts her on the way to the door and hands her the mug, which she takes with stunned silence.

“You really do need to eat,” Wood says in a stern tone I’ve never heard from him.

She sighs, checking her phone again. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. Um—” Somehow that little crease in her forehead gets deeper. “I need to go check my levels and stuff.” She retreats back to the bathroom. When she returns a few minutes later, she takes an apple and a couple slices of bacon.

“I could give you a ride—if you want,” Wood offers.

“No, I’m fine,” Macy says as she slings her purse over her shoulder and swings open the door. “I’m just glad I have an extra pair of scrubs at the hospital.”

He slinks back to the kitchen after she leaves.

“Give it up, brother. I think she’s the only girl on the planet immune to your charms. Plus, she’s got a boyfriend.”

Wood pours flour into the mixing bowl, a white cloud of flour billowing over onto the countertop. “I’m well aware,” he says.

I steal a slice of bacon from the paper towel-lined plate while he cracks an egg open and separates the yolk and the white into two bowls. By the second egg, he’s already humming Taylor Swift again. Mid chorus he sing-songs, “Morning, girl!” then goes right back to singing and whisking.

I glance over my shoulder to where Livvy is walking out.

Her brown hair is messy around her face, golden in the sunlight pouring in from the windows behind her.

“Morning,” she says with a yawn and sleepy smile.

She’s wearing my T-shirt and gray sweatpants. They hang off her hips, way too long and baggy. She looks adorable in my clothes.

Mine.

I don’t know where that intrusive thought came from. Some feral, primitive part of my brain thinks seeing her in my clothes means she’s mine.

I know she’s not.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“Good.” She smooths a wild lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks rosy, and comes to sit at the bar stool next to me. “How about you?”

I got very little sleep, as usual. Didn’t fall until almost three and then was woken up by Bex getting in late and spent most of the rest of the night fitfully tossing and turning, in and out of the same old nightmares, finally falling back asleep around five only to be woken by Mr. Morning Wood himself at six forty-five.

“Good,” I say.

“Your Belgian waffle is coming right up,” Wood says, scooping batter into the hot iron.

“What about my waffle?” I ask.

He points the measuring cup at me, a drop of batter hitting the counter. “I am not your mother. I’ll make it next.” He looks back to Livvy. “I didn’t know what you like on your waffle, I have fresh strawberries, bananas, maple syrup, blueberry syrup, and whipped cream. Oh shoot, I didn’t even think about chocolate chips! Do you want chocolate chips? We might have some chocolate chips. Hold on, let me look.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Livvy laughs. “Strawberries and whipped cream is perfect. But really, I wasn’t expecting all this. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Wood waves her off. “It was no trouble. Coffee? Tea? Juice? I can squeeze some oranges.”

“Coffee will be great, thank you.”

“I’ll get it for you.” I stand before Wood can beat me to it.

He’s handing her a plate with a steaming waffle, eggs, and bacon when I get back with her cup of coffee.

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