Page 7 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
Stepping into the kitchen, I made a beeline for where I knew the coffee pot would be.
“Morning, princess,” my dad said from the kitchen table.
“Mmblemm,” I muttered.
I opened the cabinet above the counter and reached for my mug. My special boss lady mug. The mug my mom got me for Christmas the year I was promoted to vice president at Hart’s. The mug she kept here for me, so I would always have my mug when I came home to visit.
Which hadn’t been as often as it should have been over the years, I could acknowledge that. But that didn’t mean it still shouldn’t be in the spot I always left it. However, patting my hand around the shelf, I could feel there was a space where my mug should be.
“Morning, princess!”
I turned at the sound of the voice that had literally haunted my dreams last night. There was Paul, the non-tire-changing tree-farmer knight, sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee from my BOSS LADY mug.
“That’s my mug,” I said, in a tone that meant business.
“Now, sweetie,” my dad said. “There are other mugs.”
“This one’s got a nice weight to it,” Paul said and took another sip of coffee.
“I know,” I growled.
I pulled down another mug and filled it. I didn’t wait to sit down before taking multiple sips. It was hot. It was black. It was oddly delicious, which was unlike my dad’s coffee. I sat down at the kitchen table where I was certain there would be some sort of breakfast food. My dad was a big believer in breakfast being the most important meal of the day.
“Good,” I grunted, as I continued to slurp the coffee.
“It’s a special blend, I like. Plus, I add a little salt in the filter,” Paul said. “That really does the trick. I saw it once on some food channel show and I was, like, that cannot be good, but then I tried it and it was life changing.”
I glared at him. “Are you still talking?”
“Not a morning person?”
I made another grunting sound and he got the picture.
“She’s always been like this,” my father told him. “Can’t get a coherent thought out of her until she’s had her coffee. Here, sweetie. Let me get you a plate so you can eat.”
I reached my hand out and put it on my dad’s arm. “No. Sit. You need to stay off your feet. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”
“I told your brother, Ethan, and I’ll tell you. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a nursemaid.”
“Obviously you do or you wouldn’t have fallen off the ladder to begin with,” I said. “You broke your leg in two places, Ethan told me. That’s serious, Dad.”
“Bones heal.”
“Yes, but they heal faster when rested properly.” I took another gulp of coffee, it really was pretty good, and stood up. I got a plate and then took the time to actually look at the spread. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast.
My dad liked breakfast, but he shouldn’t have been doing all this. I would have been fine with toast.
“Dad, did you cook all this?”
“Nope. Paul likes to treat me on the weekends,” he said.
“It’s Monday,” I pointed out.
“Weekends and special guests,” Paul said.
“I’m not a guest. I’m his daughter,” I said, like I was making an important point. I loaded my plate with the eggs, and allowed myself one piece of bacon and half a piece of toast.
The coffee, the eggs, the bacon. “Mmm. Good. You can’t change a tire, but you make decent eggs.”
