Page 11 of The Last Key
He looks at his computer then back at me. “The best part of running your family business is being able to work from home. And the best part of working from home is taking breaks whenever you want.”
Pushing the tray table away, he rises from the couch and follows me to the kitchen.
It’s as homey as I remember. Deep maple cabinets and white granite counters with tan and bronze marbling. It’s not massive, but its U-shape makes it plenty big enough for us both to move around. The sink sits on one side of the island. The other side israised for stools to fit underneath. The counter space is plentiful, and as I pull eggs, bacon, and butter from the fridge, Devon turns on the Bluetooth speaker.
I smile at him as I set everything down.
“Music is a must.” In college, whenever we’d cook in the tiny kitchenette in the apartment he shared with Justin, we’d always dance around to music.
“Definitely.” Then I look around. “Pans?”
He nods, then opens the cabinet by my feet and pulls out a cast iron pan—the best pan for cooking anyone could own. That, a ceramic-coated Dutch oven, a saucepan, and a small pot are all you really need. And when it comes to cooking a breakfast sandwich, there’s nothing better than a cast iron pan. Except maybe a full griddle.
“How many slices of bacon do you want?”
“Two’s good,” he says asDandelionsby Ruth B. flows from the speaker.
I open the package and put four pieces of bacon in the pan, then turn it on medium-low. He has a nice gas cooktop which is my favorite for cooking.
“I also have one of these,” he says, grabbing a splatter screen from under the cabinet and handing it to me.
“Oh. Nice. Bougie.” I pop it on top, then grab the bagels, slice them, and stick them in the toaster oven while he makes our lattes. “You want scrambled eggs or fried?”
“Definitely fried.”
With the bacon cooking and the milk frothing, we dance around the kitchen to the song—one of my favorites. Have I mentioned that to him? I know I haven’t told himwhyit’s one of my favorites.Because it makes me think of him.
I close my eyes for a minute, moving to the rhythm of the music when Devon wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me closer. My eyes fly open. And damn it all, my core clenches. Usually I’m past any physical reaction to him. But he’s being more physical with me than normal. I’m not complaining, but it’smaking it harder for me to leave my fantasy world and revert to best friend mode.I don’t want to.
Especially as he inches closer, his body still moving to the music.
Dance.
I let myself go, having fun. My eyes slip closed again as our bodies move together. Without thinking, I slide my hands under the back of his shirt, running them over his lower back.
His sharp inhale pulls me back to reality, and I rip my hands off his back as my eyes open. I’m expecting to see a freaked-out expression on his face, but instead, he’s grinning.
What the hell?
Was he enjoying me dancing so close, rubbing my hands over his skin? My body flushes at the thought, and I turn my attention back to the stove, carefully lifting the splatter screen and using tongs to flip the bacon slices.
“What flavor latte do you want? I have toffee, vanilla, salted caramel, and,” he laughs, “chocolate chip cookie dough. I was thinking of you when I bought that one.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him, but the chocolate chip cookie dough sounds delicious.
“Definitely the cookie dough,” I tell him, eyes still on the bacon, as if me staring at it will alleviate the heat coursing through my body or make the bacon cook faster.
He slides the mug over to me, then stands behind me, head dropping down so it’s nearly resting on my shoulder.
Oh my god. What’s happening?
“Almost done? Should I start the toaster oven?”
Breathe, Kennedy.
One breath in. One breath out.
“Yeah, that would be a good idea.”
