Page 38 of Shortcake
“Well, hey, if I recall, you promised me breakfast. Let’s eat and then if she’s not up yet, you can wake her and deliver the bad news that she’s losing her dream bedroom.”
With a sigh, I went to the fridge, looking inside. Yikes. I needed to hit the grocery store badly. Unless Addy was happy having cereal with some questionable milk, we might have to settle for running out to grab breakfast somewhere.
“Sadly, I think I over promised that breakfast for you. I ate half of that shortcake last night. And all that I’ve got in here are two eggs, and some dry, ready to mold bread.”
“But you still have half that shortcake?” Even before I could invite her to have a seat and make herself at home, she set Eleanor on the side table in the kitchen and cracked her knuckles. Then, pushing me aside, she peered in the fridge herself. “Step aside, Sheriff. Making meals out of food that’s almost gone bad is my specialty.”
“Oh yeah? That’s a pretty special superpower.”
She wiggled her brows. “You have no idea.”
* * *
Holy hell.I groaned as I swallowed the first bite of French toast that she had magically concocted out of my scant groceries.
She had used what was left of the shortcake to add flavor to the top and she had even found a pint of vanilla ice cream in the freezer that must have been Harper’s.
I finished my plate in record time, then leaned back. “Oh my God. That was amazing, thank you. How the hell does Warren manage to stay so fit with your cooking? It’s a mystery.”
“Warren?” she asked, her expression twisting. “I don’t cook for Warren. Unless you count the one or two times that he came into the bar and ordered my chili.”
“You don’t cook for him?”
“Why would I?”
Wait… Just, wait a damn minute. I tried to calm down my stupid, racing heart. “Are you saying that Warren’s not your boyfriend?”
She snorted. “Warren?! Hell no.”
Relief flooded through me.Warren wasn’t her boyfriend.
She said it with so much finality, though, that it left me curious.
I ignored the way my heart lurched in my chest and asked, “Why hell no?”
“In high school, he followed all the rules. While I broke all of them. That guy was quarterback and on the student council and national honor society. He was an eagle scout, for Christ’s sake.”
“What’s wrong with being an Eagle Scout?”
My eyes cut to a stack of frames I had yet to hang. One of them in there was the shadowbox my mom had created of all my Eagle Scout patches.
“Nothing’swrongwith being an Eagle Scout. He was just so damngoodall the time.” But she managed to make it sound like being good made him automatically unfuckable.
I snorted, my cheeks heating. “You say that like being a ‘good guy’ is a bad thing.”
I was getting defensive. I knew it. And yet, I couldn’t stop it.
She was basically shitting on the very essence of who I was. I believed as deep down as you could get that being good, following rules, and taking care of others was a fundamental way of life. In fact, it was my time at camp here in Maple Grove that had taught me that.
“It’snota bad thing!” she added sharply. “But, God, how do I put this? Warren’s the guy you brought home to meet your parents if you were on the pep squad. He wasn’t the guy you dragged beneath the bleachers to make out with.”
“So he wasn’t hot? Is that what this was about?”
“No!” She exhaled a discouraged sigh as her fork fell to the counter beside her paper plate. She was getting as frustrated as I was. “He was hot! Trust me. Every girl in school wanted Warren—”
“Except for you.”
She gave a nod. “Except for me.”
