Page 63 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“You’re still weird.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” Cooper chuckles.

“You ready to go get some chow?”

“Yes, I’m starving.”

“So, what new thing are you going to try today?” I question in an overly excited voice.

Cooper ignores my obvious stab and answers seriously, “I’m thinking blueberries. You know I never really get fruit with my breakfast. Maybe I should. Plus, I read that blueberries help your memory and shit. So, maybe it will stop me from getting Alzheimer’s later in life?”

I laugh as we walk to the mess hall. “You’re something else.”

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me what?”

“What are you going to try?”

I squint, cynically eyeing him.

“Just play along,” he urges.

“I suppose I’ll get sausage today since I normally get bacon. How’s that?”

“Eh, it’s a start.” Cooper shakes his head, and I can’t help but laugh.

London

“I don’t want to change who I am. I mean, I love me, but awesomeness is infinite, so I can always become even more awesome.”

—London Wright

I’m stirring. I’m stirring. What does it say again?

I look over to the cookbook lying open on the granite counter. “Simmer until sauce thickens.”

Has it thickened? How thick are we talking here?

The sauce bubbles in the pan.

I’m quite impressed with myself. I’ve been trying to use my time, sans Loïc, for a little self-improvement. I don’t want to change who I am. I mean, I love me, but awesomeness is infinite, so I can always become even more awesome. So, that is my worthy goal—to become a better version of myself.

One of my projects is to become a better cook—or, let’s face it, a cook, period. Based on the looks of this sauce, I’m rocking it.

“Whatcha making?” Paige comes bounding into our kitchen in her new business suit. The soft gray pencil skirt makes her ass and legs look amazing.

“You look hot today,” I say. “I bet that Tom guy was all over you.”

Tom’s one of Paige’s coworkers, and he’s been trying to get her to go on a date with him for the last month.

“He did come into my office quite a bit today.” She sets her purse down at the end of the counter, opens the cupboard above it, and pulls out a wine glass. “Want a glass?” she asks.

“Sure.”

She grabs a bottle of wine from the refrigerator.

I ask, “Tom’s cute, right?”

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