Page 62 of The Best Kind of Bad

“I wanted to eat breakfast with you the other day, and then that fucking Jerry Lind showed up and interrupted.”

“Next time, let’s run him off the property.” She wraps her hands around the back of my neck. “Am I cooking, or are you?”

“Oh, I’m cooking.” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m going to cook for you so good.”

She laughs, dragging her nails through my hair. “Prove it.”

I’ve always loved a good challenge. Slipping out of bed, I step over to my dresser and pull out a pair of gray sweats. Still nestled up on the bed, Marnie locates her panties in the tangle of sheets, and unfortunately, her bra. She tugs the bra into place, adjusting it, hair glowing in the morning light. I feel blessed to witness a small intimate moment like that and get momentarily sidetracked watching her.

She catches me staring, giving me a lopsided smile, before flopping blankets aside, looking for her jeans.

I toss her a sweatshirt. “Wear this.”

Without hesitating, she pulls it over her head. “A little big?”

She swims in it; the hem hits mid-thigh. I stalk closer. Circling my hands around her waist, I tug her to the edge of the bed. “I like when you wear my clothes.”

Her fingers twirl against the material. “How is it this soft? It’s so comfy.”

“Baby, you can have it.” I bunch the sweater up in the back and slide my hand over her ass. “Wear it every day. No pants. Preferably no panties, either.”

I hold my hands out and she puts her small hands in mine, letting me pull her to her feet.

“You got it. Any other requests?”

“Yes. No bra. Leave your hair down like that.”

She pushes away, grinning. “Just make a list and send it to my assistant.”

I follow her as she makes her way downstairs. “Who’s your assistant?”

“Mr. Ed Larson.”

I laugh. “I told you that dog would grow on you.”

One of the best parts of the barn remodel was the amount of light we managed to pull into the once, dusty and dark space. It’s bright and airy and never fails to lift my spirits. I lead the way into the kitchen.

“He hasn’t grown on me.” She says, sitting at the kitchen island. “I’ve just given in.”

“However you want to frame it.” I swing open the fridge and start pulling out ingredients for French toast.

“I took on the rest of Edna’s clients. The last wedding is in August.”

I freeze momentarily, trying to appear nonchalant. “When did you do that?”

“Yesterday.” She fiddles with my sweater sleeve, letting her hands disappear. “After I finished RayAnne’s cake.”

“You must have liked doing that one?”

She rests her chin on her palm. “I loved it. It’s kind of what I need right now. A chance to recenter. Mimi’s kind of got away from me. It grew one direction and I’m not so sure that’s the direction I wanted to be, but at the time, I kind of got drug along with the tide.”

“And now?”

“And now, I’m going to take some time to figure out what I really want.”

“I think that’s good, Marnie. Life’s too short to be stuck doing something you don’t want to do.”

I mix eggs and vanilla and milk, making French toast just the way mom used to.

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