Page 23 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Morning.” Beckett’s croaky greeting makes me jump.
“Uh, hey. Did you go plowing already?” I recall him mentioning that last night.
He spins around, his smile bright. Of course, he’s a morning person.
His eyes linger on my glasses for longer than necessary, but instead of pulling away, his eyes move down me, checking out the T-shirt and flannel pants I changed into after our midnight snack. I kinda wish I had the forethought to put on my bra before I ventured into the kitchen. I cross my arms over my chest, hiding my breasts from his view.
“Only drawing more attention to them,” he drawls, his vision on my chest.
“Perv,” I spit, hugging my arms tighter around me.
“Nice frames. They suit you.” He turns back to his task of cooking the bacon, his approval igniting a spark in the defunct organ in my chest. It feels like it’s been forever, I almost don’t recognize it for what it is.
“Thanks?” I say in response to his compliment.
“Hungry?”
“Famished. Bacon is my weakness.”
He looks over his shoulder. “Mine too.”
Imagine that.
I ignore the connection, making my way farther into the kitchen. “Mind if I grab some coffee?”
He reaches into a cupboard on his right, grabbing out a mug. It isn’t until he pushes it into my hands do I wince at the image of the Grinch. Out of my control, my body spasms, something Beckett makes a note of with a tsking sound.
“The Grinch, huh?” The words are bitter on my tongue, and the irony hits a little too close.
“Family joke, but for you, most fitting. My other mugs are put away for the season. If you want coffee, that’s what I’ve got.”
I swallow down the nasty retort on my tongue, not giving him the satisfaction. “I want coffee,” I mumble, ambling to the coffee maker and filling the mug, only leaving room for a splash of milk.
“Help yourself to milk or creamer in the fridge. Need sugar?”
“Milk will do it.” I add a bit to the top, giving it a stir with the spoon Beckett produces out of thin air. “How are the roads?” I sit at the table, curling my fingers around the mug to warm them up and allowing the steam to do the same.
“Haven’t been out yet. Got more snow than predicted. A hearty meal will keep me full longer than the granola bar I planned on. I’ll probably head out in an hour, be gone most of the day. Not sure I’ll get to your car today. Depends on how many guys come to help with the cleanup.” There’s apology in his tone layered with disappointment.
Or I’m imagining that. I’m good at making shit up. I do it for a living.
“Oh. So I’m stuck here another night?” The thought isn’t quite as daunting as it would have been yesterday. Now that I’ve gotten to know Beckett a little more and trust he won’t hurt me, his company is kinda nice.
“Don’t sound so dismayed. You can gorge on brownies.”
Piece by piece, he lifts the bacon from the pan, laying the slices on the paper towel on the counter. It’s such a simple task, but I’m mesmerized.
More like jealous.
“Quiche will be ready in about five minutes. Wasn’t sure if you like veggies or not, so I left them out. Hope you’re okay with American.”
“Did you even sleep last night?”
All the bowls and utensils he used last night are put away, and foil covers the brownies. There are a few items in the sink, but I’m guessing they’re from breakfast.
“Got a few hours. Couch isn’t as comfortable as I remember.”
I kinda feel bad. I had a great night’s sleep in his uber-comfortable bed, and he suffered on the couch.
