Page 50 of XOXO, Valentina

“Maybe.” I reached for two mugs and filled them with steaming coffee. I handed her one. “Black, right?”

She took the mug and stared into it with a frown. “This isn’t going to work between us.”

“Because of work?”

She nodded at her coffee.

“You wouldn’t want to be with me even if we didn’t work together,” I said. Before I could shut my stupid mouth, I went on, “You don’t date, especially not men like me.”

Her eyes flashed up to mine. “I didn’t mean that.”

I poured the eggs into the skillet, wishing I wouldn’t have brought it up. “Let’s just forget it.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she wrenched it out of her pocket. She fired off a rapid text as I scrambled the eggs and popped the bread in the toaster.

“Shane’s going on a church group retreat for spring break,” she said, shoving her phone in her pocket. “The list of supplies he has to bring keeps growing.”

“A lot of the kids from the team are going. He will have a blast.”

“He won’t have his phone for the entire week.” She laughed. “He may not survive.”

I scooped eggs onto two plates. “You’d be surprised.”

“This looks delicious,” Gabriella said. “I’m impressed.”

The scrambled eggs and toast weren’t fancy. “At home, we eat rice and beans with our eggs. We call itgallo pinto.”

“Spotted Rooster!”

I winked at her. “Very good.”

We sat at my breakfast table as if it were the most normal thing in the world for us to share a meal. Gabriella fired off a few more texts in between bites of food.

She glanced up and saw me watching her while I ate. “Sorry.” She slapped her phone face down on the table and picked up her fork. “I broke my own no-technology-at-the-table rule.”

“More for the list?” I asked.

She nodded. “I don’t know why he has to have two sets of sheets. They’re camping.”

I laughed, picturing the camping I’d done growing up on the quiet beaches of Playa Langosta. It didn’t involve sheets.

“What do you call it?” I took a bite of toast, trying to remember the right words. It was a funny American expression of two words mashed together. “Expensive camping?”

Gabriella took a sip of coffee. “Glamping.” She took another sip and groaned. “This coffee is so good. I don’t even miss the cream.”

“You said you liked it black.”

She scrunched her nose. “I just said that because I thought you wouldn’t have any.”

“Hablar papaya,” I muttered under my breath as I slid my chair back from the table. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a carton of half-and-half and some flavored creamer from the fridge. “Which one do you want?”

Gabriella’s fork paused in the air, and her eyes widened. “It’s fine without,” she said, reaching for the flavored creamer. “But I’ll take a dash of this.”

I watched her splash creamer into her coffee. “Why wouldn’t I have cream?”

She reached for her fork again. “I misjudged you in many ways,” she said. “Take these eggs, for example. I’ve never had scrambled eggs so perfect. How did you get them to be so fluffy?”

“You thought about me making eggs?” I asked. “Why?”

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