Page 49 of XOXO, Valentina

“He’s very obedient for a cat.”

“Only when he wants to do what he’s asked.” I tucked a loose strand of her hair into her ponytail and smiled at her. “I heard you were learning Spanish.”

Color stained her cheeks. “Who told you that?”

The kettle screeched. “Is it true?” I asked, taking the kettle off the stove.

She shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to speak another language.”

“Why Spanish?”

She huffed out a breath and moved to the sink to wash her hands. “If I’m staying, put me to work. What can I do?”

I pointed at the bread box and didn’t comment on how neatly she’d avoided my question. “Slice some bread for toast.”

I spooned ground beans into the coffee press and tried not to smile while I watched Gabriella fumble around in my kitchen.

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder at me after finally choosing a butcher knife from the knife block.

“Use this one.” I pulled the proper knife out of the block and handed it to her. “It will slice better.”

She nodded and pulled the bread out of the box. “Don’t tell me you made this bread.”

“Okay.” I winked. “I won’t.”

“Seriously? You made this bread?”

“I made it in the bread machine. Does that count?”

“You have a cat and a bread machine?”

I laughed and reached above her to pull a bowl from the cabinet. “He’s not my cat.”

On my way back to my side of the kitchen, I dropped a kiss on her cheek. The bowl in my hands clattered to the counter as I wrapped my arms around her waist. At this rate, breakfast might not be served until lunch.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, vibrating against my hip. Gabriella dug it out and glanced at the screen.

I eased back to give her privacy and cracked eggs into the bowl while she responded to the message.

“My mom wants me to bring rolls to dinner tonight.”

I added a splash of milk and a dash of hot sauce to the eggs. “What kind of rolls?”

She shrugged and picked up the knife. “Is there more than one kind of dinner roll?”

I tried not to cringe when she hacked into the loaf of bread. “Yes. There is more than one kind. My mom makes the best garlic rolls.” My stomach growled at the thought of tasting my mom’s cooking again.

Gabriella smiled. “You must be starving after running nine miles.”

I shrugged. “At least it wasn’t a marathon.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You wouldn’t have run that far.”

Running was the last thing I wanted to talk about. I pushed the plunger on the coffee press as if it required all my attention. “You’ve been avoiding me at work again.”

The tension in the air thickened.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

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