Page 29 of The Matchmaker Club
6
Blowing Bubbles
Instead of my usual coffee, I planted a glass of milk with a straw in front of me, complete with some Toll House chocolate chip cookies that my grandmother had made last night. I had even warmed them up in the toaster oven first to get that fresh-out-of-the-oven taste. Lucas walked in, fully dressed to start his day with a laptop tucked under his arm.
I sank my teeth into a warm, gooey cookie. I’d have to add chocolate chip cookies to the list of things my grandma had mastered.
“That’s your breakfast?”
I washed down a bite with milk. “Breakfast of champions.”
He shook his head and placed his laptop on the table before pouring his morning coffee. I licked the melted chocolate off my fingers as he sat down and opened his computer.
“Whatcha reading?” I asked.
“This isn’t a vacation for me. I still have work to do.”
I rolled my eyes and bit into another cookie. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”
His shoulders stiffened, and he didn’t look my way. “Paris, about three months ago.”
I snorted. “You, in Paris? I don’t believe it.”
That brooding stare of his returned. “I have a lot of work to catch up on, so if you don’t mind...”
I shrugged. “Nope. Don’t mind at all.”
Lucas typed at an impressive speed, his face severe and focused. I set my lips on the straw and blew. Bubbles formed at the top of my cup.
Lucas glared up at me. “Are you blowing bubbles in your milk?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Let me guess, you’ve never done it before.”
“No. It’s childish and accomplishes nothing.” His eyes went back to the screen.
I blew into the straw again, harder. Milk spilled over the top, and I laughed.
His eyes went to the mess, then to me, and back to the mess. “Are you going to clean that up?”
“Nope.”
Lucas let out a sigh and got up. He opened the second drawer where the towels were and cleaned up the spilled milk. After he finished, he went back to his computer.
I did it again, even harder.
Lucas shut his laptop. “What are you doing?”
I slid the glass toward him. “Idareyou to blow bubbles.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.”
“No.”
I leaned forward and cut through him with a stare that matched his own. “What’s the matter? Chicken?”
“Not at all. I just don’t play silly games that mean nothing in the end.”
