Page 34 of Protecting Hailey

“Morning,” I said when I saw Christian pouring a glass of orange juice.

“Morning,” he drawled and did a double take when he saw me. His eyes dropped to my bare midsection, and then he quickly looked away. I fought back a smile at his obvious discomfort and grabbed a couple of bananas.

“Breakfast is ready.” He spun around and set the glasses on the kitchen table in front of the steaming plate of eggs, bacon, and toast.

“You spoil me, you know.”

He looked up and held my gaze. Then he cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. I always make breakfast for myself, so adding an extra egg and slice of bacon is no big deal.”

“It is for me. No one’s ever taken care of me the way you have.”

He rubbed his palms against his sweater. He didn’t wear a suit today. It was Saturday, and I didn’t go into the studio on Saturdays. “Well, that’s a shame, because you deserve a lot more than just breakfast.”

I blinked at the emotion his words stirred in me. There was nothing sentimental about them, but from all the hate and rejection I received the last few weeks, a few kind words nearly undid me.

“Thank you,” I said and cleared my tight throat.

We ate our breakfast, and I remembered something. “My family is coming for lunch tomorrow. It will be my parents, grandparents, Aunt Betty, Uncle Joe, and my cousin Anya.”

He furrowed his brow, so I asked, “Is that all right?”

“I haven’t done background checks on them.” He looked down at his watch. “But I should have enough time before then.”

I laughed at his joke. “That’s funny.”

He tilted his head and shrugged. He wasn’t joking?

“Are they bringing lunch?” he asked, not looking up from his phone.

“Of course not. I always order from Don Giovanni’s down the street when they come over. I’ll just do the same today.”

His head shot up. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why not?” I shoved a forkful of bacon into my mouth.

“If you usually order from them, then this is a pattern. And if anyone figures out your patterns, they could poison your food.”

I tilted my head. “Do you think someone would go to that extreme?”

“Have you already forgotten my last client’s story?”

I chewed slowly, recalling the kidnapping. “Well, this isn’t the same thing.”

He sighed and typed something into his phone. “If it’s Italian you’re looking for, there’s a place I trust in the city. I’ll order it under a different name and pick it up. No one will know it’s for you.”

Was I going to argue with him about Italian restaurants? I didn’t like Don Giovanni’s that much.

I shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to cook, I’m fine with whatever.” Besides, his concern was comforting. It was much better than forcing my last bodyguard to get off the couch.

I hummed as I poured myself another glass of juice and a second helping of bacon.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” I asked, looking down at my plate.

“That song you’re humming. It’s pretty.”

Oh. I hadn’t realized I was singing some of the words out loud. “Oh, it’s just something I’d written when I was a kid. I would sing it whenever something good happened at school.” I hadn’t sung that song in so long though, I’d nearly forgotten about it.

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