Page 24 of The Jellybean Dilemma

It gave me something to do, at least. The cupboards themselves were black, and I crouched before the one Greg had indicated, glancing back to make sure it was the right one. He nodded, so I opened the door. Holy pans. There were so many that I opened the other side of the cupboard, resting on my heels just to gawk at them. Their cook must love pans.

How many do my parents own? I pursed my lips as I scanned the cupboard, searching for a blue handled skillet. Not seeing it right away, I shifted onto my knees to peer into the cupboard better.

“Morning, Greg.” Mandy’s voice almost made me jump out of my skin. “Are you actually going to cook, or are you just planning to stare at Rhonda’s ass all morning?”

I glanced over my shoulder as Greg fixed a murderous glare on Mandy. It was cute seeing him flustered. She shrugged, the picture of innocence until she winked in my direction. When I turned back to the cupboard, a blue handled pan caught my attention, and I pulled it out triumphantly. I set it on the stove with a clang, next to Greg who focused on the counter.

The remaining hint of anger I’d held on to drained out of me as I replayed our morning. His angry words accusing me of forgetting everything we’d said and done because his family had money. How affronted he’d been at the very thought. His fury at me risking injury to myself. And just now, he’d been caught red-handed checking out my ass.

My lips tipped up as I remembered how sweet he was after my panic attack and how safe I’d felt in his arms. Could I really be mad after all that?

Plus, Mandy was still watching. So, I wrapped one of my hands around his strong forearm, using it to balance as I stood on tiptoe and brushed my lips against his cheek.

While I was there, I whispered, “No worries about checking out my ass, turnabout’s fair play after all. Those sweatpants should be illegal.” With an audacity I hadn’t realized I possessed, I pinched his ass before I walked away, his cheek firmer than I’d imagined. My action was an olive branch, a peace offering.

“Rhonda,” he croaked on my name, making me pause in my exit. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “What do you want in your omelet?”

I smiled at him, sweet as pie. “Surprise me. You know what I like.” I let my tone hold enough suggestion that his nostrils flared at the double entendre, and I purposefully raked my gaze down him before I left.

Except I didn’t know what to do with myself once I was out of the kitchen. A cold shower was the smart choice, but I didn’t want him thinking I was running away. Mandy saved me, appearing through the swinging door a few minutes later with two piping hot cups of coffee in her hand.

She offered me one. “Greg said for you to try a sip before you judge it. He found some special creamer he thought you’d like, even if it’s not your specialty froufrou drink.” She shook her head. “His words, not mine.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I lifted the mug to my lips. “Peppermint!” My delight faded as I tried to reconcile the Greg who made sure my coffee was perfect and made omelets for everyone, with the Greg I’d fought with this morning.

“What?” Mandy sat down at the dining room table, propping her chin on her hand.

I frowned. “Your brother. He confuses me.”

Her laughter echoed around the room. “I’d be worried if he didn’t. Was that him I heard stomping down the stairs this morning?” She shook her head at my nod. “Figures. I thought I’d come down here to him slamming around in the kitchen, banging pots and pans, muttering to himself.” A soft smile spread over her face. “But he was just standing there, gawking at you like a lovesick schoolboy. It was so cute.” She chuckled. “I knew then whatever he was annoyed about wasn’t that big of a deal.”

I hoped it was true. Thankfully, Greg was no longer scowling when he brought out three omelets. And he slid mine over first.

Mandy smirked when he grinned before sitting next to me. “Told you so,” she said, catching the plate he slid to her.

He looked from me to her in confusion. “Who told you what?”

I took a quick bite to keep from answering, immediately glad I had. “Holy shit, this is good.” I winced at my language, grateful his mom wasn’t around to hear my slip.

Mandy paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “This is the first time he’s made you an omelet?” At my nod, her fork hit her plate with a clang. “What is wrong with you? Haven’t I told you to lead with that?”

A giggle escaped my lips at the absurd image of Greg arriving to pick me up, rolling down the divider and offering me an omelet. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the picture was. Soon, I couldn’t breathe.

Mandy’s phone rang, and she excused herself while shooting me a mystified look. Greg waited till she was out of earshot, then faced me with a quizzical frown.

I struggled to get the words out. “All I could think about was you coming to pick me up. I get in, you roll down the divider, and hold out a steaming plate to me.” I schooled my face into a hopeful expression. “Omelet?”

His laughter mingled with mine, the rich deep tones underlining my higher ones. Our hilarity danced together, into a joyous crescendo where we were both left breathless and holding our stomachs.

Mandy returned glancing at me then her brother. She took her seat once more, waiting for us to calm down before saying, “So that was Peter. We’re invited to a sledding party today.”

“Sledding?” I asked.

She nodded.

Greg shrugged when I didn’t have more of a reaction. “There’s nothing else on the agenda today. What do you say? Wanna find out how real yoopers do it?”

I frowned. “Yoopers?”

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