Page 165 of Guarding Grace
“Uh-huh.” Heat rose in my cheeks because she’d probably heard the fact that we hadn’t spent the entire night sleeping. “Where…” I stopped, feeling suddenly insecure, asking about Terry.
“Terry didn’t want to wake you. Rudi gave us some clues about where to find Elliot, and he’s out chasing them down.” She raised her phone. “If you’re ready to get up, Winston is down on the street and bugging me about making breakfast.”
Holding the sheet against me, I sat up. “Nonsense. You don’t need to wait on me. I should be making food for you guys.”
“I promised Terry I’d treat you to my famous French toast.”
Guessing that Constance had thatI-keep-all-my-promises gene, I gave in. “That sounds great. I’ll be out as soon as I shower.” I didn’t need to do my hair this morning, but after a sweaty evening under the sheets with Terry, a rinse was on the agenda.
As the warm water sluiced over me, Clyde stood staring through the glass.Meow… Meow.
“I know. I miss him too.” In just a few days, Clyde had taken to Terry, often rubbing up against him to get an under-the-chin scratch.
A little while later,I walked into the kitchen to find Winston at the table pouring juice.
He paused. “You’re going to love this.”
Constance looked up. “You’re just in time. Hot off the griddle.” She laid a heaping plate of French toast slices on the table. “Grab some quick, before Bigfoot eats them all.”
The aroma was scrumptious. After sitting, I chose a piece and topped it with a light drizzle of maple syrup.
The first bite didn’t disappoint. “This is terrific,” I said as I cut another bite of Constance’s creation.
“She does a good job on this.” Winston put down his orange juice. “I have it every week. Too bad it’s the only thing she can cook.”
Constance sent him a glare. “It is not, and how would you know, anyway?”
Winston turned to me. “We were undercover as a married couple for a week at this mountain retreat. I learned all about her.” He added a wink.
I giggled.
“It was a surveillance job.” Constance felt the need to clarify. “Undercover. Not under the covers.”
“Of course not,” Winston agreed, still smiling. “She’s too good for me.”
“Thank you.” Color rose in Constance’s cheeks.
“But honestly, name one other thing you cooked that week without using the microwave,” Winston pressed.
She huffed. “I can cook. I just don’t like to.”
“Go ahead. Name one thing.”
“The burritos.”
Winston lifted another forkful of French toast to his mouth. “Now this breakfast is truly good. I mean it. You can cook this for me any day, but frying a store-bought burrito instead of nuking it does not constitute cooking.” He chuckled playfully before popping the food into his mouth.
Constance was not amused. “At least I don’t fart in my sleep.”
“You’re the one who chose bean burritos.”
Constance scowled.
I added fuel to the fire. “They say that being uninhibited enough to fart in front of someone is a sign of closeness in a relationship.”
“We’re not in a relationship,” Winston noted swiftly.
“Definitely not,” Constance agreed, narrowing her eyes at the big man. “We bring him along when we need some muscle.”
