Page 61 of Love You Truly

I take a step closer and tap her on the shoulder. She practically jumps out of her skin, whirling around and holding up the spatula like a weapon. Her eyes shine bright in fierceness and a tiny bit of fear.

“Oh. It’s you.” She lowers the spatula.

“Who did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. It could be anyone. I left the door open.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “And you did that even though it would freak you out if a stranger showed up here?”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to miss your knock.”

Grinning, I point at her spatula. “Excellent choice of weapon, by the way. I’m glad you didn’t use it on me.”

I’m actually lying. Spatula play might be fun.

She turns back to the stove, stirs the eggs one more time, and turns off the heat. Continuing to bustle about, she opens the refrigerator and takes out two jars of jam, then grabs silverware from a drawer.

“You should get a peephole, by the way. Not smart to open your door if you don’t know who’s out there.”

“I hope you’re hungry. I made a lot of food.” Mallory gestures around the kitchen. If I hadn’t been staring at her dancing, I’d have noticed a bowl of berries, some kind of sliced berry loaf, a stack of toasted sourdough, and what looks like a green salad.

“Salad for breakfast?”

“I know it’s not for everyone, but I like a little greenery with all the butter and carbs.”

“Suits me. I’m grateful you invited me over.”

She stops moving and tips her head up to assess me, almost like she doesn’t believe I’m being genuine. “Grateful? Actually grateful?”

“Absolutely. Breakfast is my favorite meal, and I rarely eat it. I usually run late in the mornings because I stay up too late and have to grab coffee and a muffin on the go.”

She nods, seeming satisfied with my explanation. “Well, we have that in common.”

“You skip breakfast?”

“No!” Her eyes go wide as though the idea is blasphemy. “It’s my favorite meal. Why would I skip my favorite meal?”

It seems obvious, but… “For the reasons I just said. If you’re running late…”

“If I want to do something, I make sure there’s time to do it.”

Putting my hands up in surrender, I don’t plan to argue with her. Not when the food is hot, and my stomach is ready to digest itself. “Words to live by. I’ll try to do better.”

She stares at me. “Really?”

“Yes. Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

“To placate me. And because you’re hungry.”

With the various smells assaulting my senses, it’s hard to take time out to keep talking, but this feels important. “Mallomar, I’m a guy. I’m pretty much always hungry, and I will always be grateful to you if you feel like cooking. But I will never lie to you in an attempt to placate you. Never. Got it?”

She doesn’t move for a second, and I worry that she doesn’t believe me. Then slowly, she starts to nod, and the tiniest smile creeps across her face. “Okay, no lying. Sometimes it takes me a while to let an idea sink in. But I like it.”

As much as I’m dying to understand why it’s a new concept, I’ve waited about as long as I’m capable of when the food looks and smells this good. Topic for another time.

Meanwhile, Mallory brings various plates of food to her kitchen table, which has two place settings complete with paisley cloth napkins. I grab the remaining bowls and plates and join her at the table.

Mallory pours us each a cup of coffee and I notice a creamer and sugar bowl in the middle of the table. I wonder if she eats like this every day.

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