Page 42 of Only You and Me

Seconds later, the door opens and Trina steps back, gesturing for me to come in. Damn, she looks pretty today in old cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, her hair up in a messy bun and her pink cheeks matching the polish on her bare toes. I’m positive she has no clue what a natural beauty she is.

After she closes the door, she walks away and looks over her shoulder at me, a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. “Follow me. I made us breakfast.”

Uh oh. This isn’t going to be good.

Hell, who am I kidding? I’d eat cardboard and pretend I loved it to make her happy. I can handle some burnt eggs.

“Oh yeah? What’re we having? And what’s the occasion?”

“Tater tots, because they’re basically like hash browns, and scrambled eggs.” Her kitchen is suspiciously neat for someone having been cooking in here. I notice a skillet on the stove with a lid over it, but no bowl with eggshells, and the surfaces of the counters are spotless—not even a drop of spilled ingredients.

Trina turns to face me. “And the occasion is to prove to you I can cook. Plus…” Her voice trails off, and she glances down at the floor. I watch as she swallows, then looks up. “Plus, yesterday was day sixty since Vegas.”

Her sapphire blue eyes radiate uncertainty as she peers up at me through her lengthy black lashes. And my stomach drops.

I clear my throat. “Does that mean you looked, and we’re not married? I’m guessing that would set your mind at ease and you’d want to celebrate.” I try to hide the dejection in my tone, but I’m nearly positive I fail.

“Wouldn’t you?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Wouldn’t I what?”

“Want to celebrate that?” She tilts her head, and her eyes fix on me, waiting for an answer.

I bite my lip to stop myself from telling her that, hell no, I wouldn’t celebrate that. I give a half-hearted shrug and walk toward her refrigerator. The subject needs to change.

“Do you have orange juice?”

“Yes. Help yourself. And even though you’re trying to change the subject, I didn’t check. I thought we could do that together.”

I spin on my heel and face her, the plastic jug of orange juice in my hand. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds good. We’ll check together after we have these delicious eggs. I bet they’re not even burned,” I tease.

“Hmm. Let’s see how much of a wise ass you are when you eat the best damned eggs you’ve ever had.”

I only chuckle in response and reach up to open a cabinet in search of glasses and plates. I pull down two of the plates and hand them to her and, after making sure she wants juice, I pour us both some.

“Wow,” I say, eyeing the juice container. “You’ve come to the dark side and started liking juice without pulp, huh?”

“Um no. Pulp is good for you. But you don’t like it, so I got it without.”

“Oh.” She remembers that? “Well, thanks. I appreciate it. The pulp always wigs me out. It’s something about the texture in my mouth.”

We decide to eat on the patio since it’s a gorgeous late May morning—warm enough to not be chilled, but not yet hot.

When I’ve carried our drinks outside and placed them on the table, I turn and see Trina standing at the door with our plates in her hands. I open the door for her and don’t miss the impish smirk on her face as she walks past me. “Look at these perfectly cooked scrambled eggs. The chef must be amazing.”

I make it back to the table as she’s setting the plates down, and I reach behind her to pull out her chair. She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks blush a rosy pink and it’s obvious she’s fighting to hold in a smile.

“I’m not too proud to acknowledge when I’m wrong. These eggs look and smell amazing.” They’re a perfect fluffy yellow, not a black spot on them anywhere.

“Thank you,” Trina answers, looking at her plate.

Ten minutes later, I’ve devoured everything on my plate. I lean back in my chair and let out a satisfied groan. “Damn, I was wrong about your kitchen skills. That was amazing.”

Trina grins widely. “There are more eggs in the pan if you want seconds.”

I stand. You don’t have to tell me twice. “You want anything?”

“Only a little more juice if there’s some left.” I grab her glass off the table and make my way inside. After scooping more eggs onto my plate, I get the orange juice container from the refrigerator and pour the last of the juice into Trina’s glass.

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