Page 31 of Wren's Winter

“Um, do you have any clothes I can borrow?” I asked.

Adrian

The shirt reached down to her mid thighs, and she cuffed the sweatpants several times over to prevent them from dragging on the floor. Wren put her arms out and did a twirl. “I’m quite the fashionista right now.”

“You can keep them.” I sat on the bed, watching her survey herself in the mirror. “You look good in my shirt.”

Glancing over her shoulder at me, she smiled that warm, wide smile I craved. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. How could I tell her she was bringing out a different side of me? Aside from the woman who stole all my silverware years before, no one had ever taken something of mine. And I certainly never offered.

I’ve never wanted to see a woman wear my shirt or to fall asleep in my bed.

“You want some food?” I asked.

With the flour, salt, and sugar on the counter, I pulled out the rest of the ingredients from the fridge. Holding the old green mixing bowl of my Gran’s with its white flowers, I mixed everything together with a wire whisk.

Wren settled onto a stool on the other side of the island. Her hand resting on her chin, she watched me as I heated the butter in the old pan. I poured the mixture into the pan, turning the pan until the batter was spread evenly.

Furrowing her brow, she pursed her lips. “Um. Is that a crepe? You know how to make crepes?”

Watching the batter so it didn’t burn, I nodded. “My Gran taught me. She used to make these for me every time I spent the night. When I turned ten, she said I needed to learn how to make them myself.”

I laughed at the memory, my Gran standing behind me as I mixed, flour all over the floor and the stove top. The time I dropped the shells into the mixture and she made me pick them out. We still found crunchy bits when we ate those. And all the burned ones. So many crispy, blackened crepes. But she ate each one I made and made my Gramps eat them too, less enthusiastic than she did, of course. “Yeah, we had a few trial-and-error sessions. But now it’s the easiest thing for me to make—besides toast.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Wren commented. “I wish I could have met her. You must miss her terribly.”

“Yeah.” My voice broke slightly at her comment. I cleared my throat, swallowing down the lump in it. “She was great. They both were.”

The edges of the batter were browning, and I flipped it with my spatula. Hazarding a glance up at her, I blurted. “They would have loved you.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You think so?”

I nodded as I slid the crepe off the pan. The fridge held little for choices of fillings. I should have brought some stuff from the store. “Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet,” she responded. Of course she wanted sweet. Quickly, I sliced some bananas, cooking them for a minute until they caramelized. On top of the bananas, I scattered little bits of chopped bacon I had. I filled the crepe, folding it over in thirds.

“Bananas and bacon?” she asked, a brow raised.

“Try it and tell me it doesn’t work.”

A dusting of powdered sugar on top and a drizzle of syrup, and I slid the plate across the island top. As her lips closed around the first bite, she moaned around the fork. Her eyes grew large. “Oh my. That is amazing.”

Inside my chest, it was as if a balloon were expanding at the compliment. “Yeah?”

She nodded this time, taking a larger bite.

I poured the batter into the pan, to make my own crepe. Carefully turning the batter until it was even.

Her hand in front of her mouth, she spoke with a full mouth. “I might need to eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

That could be arranged.

Where did that thought come from?

Her finger dipped into a spot of syrup, which she brought up to her mouth to suck it off. Her tongue swirling around the tip the same way it had my cock in the shower.

Now I had a hard-on while cooking brunch. What kind of man was I? She took another bite of the crepe and glanced down at the pan. “Is it supposed to start smoking?”

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