Page 36 of Tough Nut to Crack

For a man who is adamant about this being nothing but great sex, that little action seems entirely out of place.

A timer goes off before I can lift my cup to my mouth and get my first taste of coffee.

"Do you need help with anything?" I ask when she sets down her coffee cup and shuffles to the oven.

"You can grab a couple of plates out of the cabinet," she says, pointing over my shoulder as she grabs a potholder before reopening the oven.

I do as she has requested, setting the plates down on the counter as she pulls the fluffy, bubbly breakfast out of the oven. The scent of cinnamon and sugar triples as she closes the oven and sets the casserole down on a trivet. Instead of making a production out of it like I fully expected her to do with the way the woman talks about food, she simply grabs a serving spoon and scoops some of the food onto each plate. I notice how much bigger my serving is than hers, but I choose not to say anything about it.

"Thank you," I tell her when she slides a plate in front of the stool I'm standing near.

Before I even sit down, I take a fork and load it with a massive bite.

"What are you doing?" she snaps.

"What?" I ask with the fork paused just a few inches from my mouth. "I was planning on blowing on it."

When she licks her lips, clearly distracted by my words, I toss her a flirty wink.

"It needs syrup on it," she says after blinking a few times, no doubt to clear her mind of all the dirty things we could be doing instead of enjoying this casserole. "And whipped cream."

My mind stays in the gutter as I lower my fork. "Everything tastes better with whipped cream."

My voice is low, layered with sexual innuendo, but she shakes her head with a light smile before walking to the fridge and grabbing the extra supplies.

"Tell me when," she says as she tips the syrup bottle over my plate and begins to pour.

"Drown me with it," I rasp, my eyes on her rather than the plate of food.

The meal is going to be delicious. I know that without a doubt. I'm equally confident that she'd taste even better.

"You seem different his morning," she says, stopping the pour even though I didn't tell her to.

Next, she lifts the can of whipped cream, looking up to meet my eyes as she squirts it on top of the casserole.

"I just slept really well. The bed at the hotel is awful," I explain, taking a seat when she steps away.

Despite insisting that I add syrup and whipped cream to my own meal, she doesn't add it to hers.

"This is made with egg whites only, and the bagels are high protein and gluten-free."

I stare down at the food on my plate, hating that her explanation makes me a little less excited to eat it. Full carb and full fat are both part of my lifestyle.

"Why?" I ask, the disdain in my voice very clear.

She shrugs. "It's healthier."

I nod, guessing that she's trying to explain her choice of breakfast because the woman has some evident self-esteem issues. I refuse to feed them. Giving them life will only make them worse, so I scoop up a huge bite of casserole and shovel it into my mouth like my dear momma never taught me any manners. I'm fully prepared to smile through bland-tasting food, but the flavors coat my tongue and a rumble of genuine approval bubbles out of my chest.

Her smile widens as she lifts a much smaller bite to her mouth. "Good?"

I look down at the plate, wondering if I'm being tricked.

"It's delicious," I answer honestly, the last syllable less than intelligible because I shove more food into my mouth.

Before long, my plate is empty and I'm looking longingly at the casserole dish sitting on top of the stove.

"You're more than welcome to have seconds," she says, reading my mind. I don't waste a second before standing up and scooping more onto my plate.

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