Page 26 of End Game

His stomach roiled at the thought of having hurt her. No matter how much she annoyed him, he would never have intentionally caused her harm.

Eggs crackling in a pan on the induction stove redirected his attention. Using a spatula, he raised each one to check their level of brown before covering the lot with a lid. By the time he dropped four pieces of multigrain bread in the toaster, Kayla swept into the room.

She wore her long blond hair in a low ponytail and a black business suit with a lavender silk shirt. The air in the room charged to life, and he suddenly felt at a disadvantage with his finger-combed hair, scruffy jaw, and day-old clothes.

Spotting him at the island counter, she stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too.” Her eyes cut from his, as if embarrassed. Or was that nerves he detected? Interesting. “The better question is why are you dressed for work?”

“It’s Friday.”

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to return?”

“No, why?”

“You watched someone you care about die before your eyes, violently. Not to mention the lump on your head.”

“Which you put there.”

He kept his focus, despite her provocation. “Give yourself time to grieve.” To heal.

“Better I go into the office than sit here with my thoughts, twiddling my thumbs.”

“Somehow, I knew you wouldn’t stay home. Have a seat,” he said. “These are almost done.”

On her way to the massive fridge, she paused at the sight of the serving tray sitting on the counter. A fork and knife, napkin, butter, and blueberry preserves already nestled inside.

The area around her eyes softened as her gaze shifted from the tray to him. Her lips parted as if to say something, then the moment passed. She opened the fridge door and pulled out a tumbler filled with something creamy and slightly purple. “I appreciate the gesture, but I drink one of these for breakfast.”

A drink no doubt made of some kind of alternative milk, like oat or almond, fruit, nuts, and a heaping tablespoon of protein powder. He wouldn’t mind having one of those, too.

“Save it for the road. Eat while we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ignoring her question, he nestled two eggs and a slice of bacon on a warmed white plate and plucked a lightly toasted bread slice from its slot. He set it on the counter and moved everything from the serving tray to near her place setting.

“Bon appétit.”

She heaved a heavy sigh before sliding onto one of the island chairs. Her stomach growled.

A satisfied smile rippled at the edge of his mouth. “How’s your head?”

“Tender to the touch, but otherwise fine.”

“No headache?”

Instead of answering, which was an answer in and of itself, she said, “I’m fine, Ash. No need to worry.”

Ash.

He didn’t know if it was brain fog from lack of sleep or the novelty of serving her breakfast in her own kitchen, but it seemed to him that she spoke his name with a sweet melody. One he could have replayed, over and over.

Suddenly, inexplicably, he missed hearing his name. Missed being Ash Blackwell.

Why now? Why this woman, this lobbyist?

He was saved from delving any deeper by a sharp rap against the sliding glass door.

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