Page 21 of Broken Bodyguard

“Good morning,” I called over the fray. I went to go make a pot of coffee with our newfound coffee grounds but I found the coffeepot already full. An empty mug sat beside the coffeemaker with a spoon inside, along with a jar of sugar and some creamer set out.

My eyes watered as I beheld the careful preparation. When I turned to look at Troy, he was spinning underneath the buckhorn chandelier, practically guffawing with laughter as he spun Grace around and around.

This man is perfect.The thought hung uncomfortably inside me as I poured myself a mug of coffee, added sugar, and topped it off with a few drops of creamer. Perfection. It was still early, so I figured I’d return the favor by getting breakfast started while they played. To the chorus of happy shrieks, I whipped together my and Grace’s favorite breakfast: my mom’s French Toast recipe.

“Okay, Gracie, Troy needs a break.” Troy sighed heavily and plopped onto the couch in the great room. Grace curled up next to him on the couch, grinning over at me with ruddy cheeks.

“Mommy did you see?”

“Oh, I saw!” I smiled brightly at her as I beat the eggs in a small bowl. “You have so much fun with Troy, don’t you?”

“I wub Toy.”

That was her way of saying ‘love’. It made my heart break—I figured they’d become fast friends, but now she loved him on day three. This was just going to make things harder when it came time for Troy to go to Ecuador and for us to resume our regular lives.

My stomach twisted. What would my regular life look like now? Constantly thinking about this handsome, thoughtful, protective man while he gallivanted the world? I fought to ignore that train of thought.

After taking a rest on the couch, Troy finally joined me in the kitchen, his limp still noticeable only if I stared long enough. He brushed past me, peering over my shoulder at what I was doing. Electricity sparked beneath my skin.

“You get your coffee?” His voice was a low rumble. My thighs tensed, wanting to pick up right where we’d left off last night. The solid heat of him between my legs was a memory that wouldn’t let me fall asleep last night.

“I did. Thank you. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine and dandy.” I heard mugs clinking behind me as I continued prepping. A moment later, he was at my side, pouring more coffee in my mug. “You need to be topped off.”

I set down the spoon and bowl, lifting my mug to clink against his. “Thanks for the coffee. You made it perfectly. Which leads me to wonder: do you have any flaws?”

He tipped his head in thought as he leaned against the countertop beside me. “I don’t think I do.”

“And so humble too.”

He winked at me over his steaming mug of coffee before he took a sip. “All right, fine, maybe I have a few flaws. But I won’t admit them because if I ignore them they don’t exist, right?”

“I think that’s how that works.”

We shared a laugh, but it faded once Troy’s phone started ringing. He fished it out of the pocket of his gray sweatpants, frowning at the screen. “I should take this.”

“Do what you need to do. I’m going to make us French toast.”

He answered the phone call and drifted toward the other side of the cabin, where I could see him and only sort of hear him. I tried not to act too interested in his call, even though I was dying to know who it was and what they wanted. Everything about Troy interested me.

I checked on Grace once the toast was ready to pop onto the warmed griddle, and found her happily coloring in her coloring book in the great room. I returned to the kitchen, ready to start cooking the egg-slathered toast, but couldn’t prevent myself from tuning into Troy’s conversation.

“Mm-hmm…a few weeks there sounds good…though I haven’t taken Spanish lessons in a long time.”

I focused on the pop-sizzle of the toast.

“Right…” Troy went on, only bits and pieces of his conversation making it over to me. “…but it’s best to be prepared with rum.” His rich chuckle filled the cabin a moment later.

Once the French toast was golden, I piled them on a plate and called Grace over. She dropped the crayons and bolted into the kitchen just as Troy wrapped up his phone call.

“Toy! Time to eat!” she called in her sing-song voice.

“This looks awesome.” Troy ruffled her hair as he eased onto one of the stools at the island. He helped her pop up onto her own stool and she beamed at him, her blonde topknot already slightly askew from the endless rounds of Twisty Monkey.

“My favorite,” she stated proudly, reaching for her fork. “My mommy’s favorite too.”

“Your mommy’s a good cook, huh?” Troy winked at me as he cut into the French toast. After a big bite, he nodded and groaned. “Wow. What’s the secret ingredient, Maddie?” He tucked into more, and I could tell he wasn’t just feeding me a line. “This is so dang good.”

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