Page 34 of Unpacking Secrets

The sweet smell of breakfast drew me straight to the kitchen from there. Henry had his back to me as he stood in front of the stove, spatula in hand. He was flipping pancakes like a pro and had an apron tied around his waist. Out of respect for his efforts to feed me, I limited myself to a swift once-over, admiring the view of his strong shoulders moving beneath a white undershirt and the snug fit of his jeans over his ass and thighs, then focused hard on the back of his head.

While my hair frizzed like I’d stuck a finger in an electrical outlet first thing in the morning, his fell in enviable waves that brushed the back of his neck.

When he turned to place the pancakes on a plate, I stifled a snort. He was, in fact, wearing a frilly, flowered apron over his clothes. He looked unfairly attractive in this domestic setting, with his dark hair disheveled from sleep and threatening to fall into the warm hazel eyes that twinkled as they traveled over me from head to toe.

At least I wasn’t alone in my perusal.

“Hi,” he said. A soft smile curled his lips upward, though it was unclear whether it was because of how ridiculous I looked in unicorn pajamas and a hastily tied ponytail or because he was actually pleased to see me upright and steady on my feet.

“Hi,” I replied, soaking in the warmth of his expression, no matter the cause.

I wished I'd thrown on jeans instead of staying in what I’d slept in. Then again, I'd spent the past few minutes reminding myself that I didn’t need to impress him, so why did I feel so self-conscious now?

“How’s your head?”

His gaze lingered on my forehead for a moment before he turned back to flip the next batch of pancakes. I sat carefully on one of the bar stools along the counter.

“It doesn’t feel too bad, actually. Just looks terrible.”

Henry didn’t hold back an incredulous scoff in response to that. “Yes, you are truly hideous to look at, Juliet Morrison. How about your knee?”

“Ah,” I mumbled, still basking in the glow of the unexpected compliment. “It’s okay. Feels better than yesterday, at least, but pretty impressive bruising.”

Henry lifted the pan and flipped a pancake high in the air. I applauded politely as he set the pan back down on the burner, gave an elegant bow, then slid a mug of coffee in front of me.

“Seemed like you must be a coffee drinker,” he said, nodding to the bag of gourmet coffee I had left beside the coffee pot.

“So you’re a detective,” I mused. “And an accountant, and a good samaritan.Andyou cook? I should have visited this part of the country sooner.”

He grinned. “What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.”

I slipped awkwardly off the stool to grab a bottle of flavored creamer out of the fridge. When I sat back down, I turned my coffee to the perfect shade of beige.

“So, where’d you learn to cook?” I asked.

His brows quirked upward. “Why, Ms. Morrison, personal questions? You’d think we had spent the night under the same roof,” he teased. I blushed and he added, “Nan taught me, actually. A chef to make breakfast at the inn was actually the first employee she added when she made the shift from a one-woman show, but she showed me a few tricks over the years.”

“Oh.” I studied him for a moment, picturing Nan and a very young Henry with their heads bent together in this very kitchen.

Henry grinned at my surprise and turned briefly to load the last of the pancakes onto a plate before responding. He slid his own plate over so he could hop onto the stool beside me.

“Anything else you want to know? Credit score, genetic markers?” he asked as he dug into his giant stack of pancakes.

“All in good time, Mr. Walker,” I drawled as I took a deep swig of coffee.

This was the best breakfast I’d had in weeks—even better than the inn’s, which shocked me. Maybe it tasted better because I was relaxing in my own environment, maybe it was Henry’s easy camaraderie, but either way, I was happy.

Simply, wonderfully, stupidly happy.

Henry glanced up from his food to smile at me. “All in good time,” he repeated. “Does that mean you’re going to stop avoiding me?”

There was a certain gleam in his eyes that made it hard for me to tear my gaze away from this handsome stranger who’d saved the day, especially when he looked so damn adorable in that ruffled apron. I couldn’t think of a way to change the subject smoothly, so I took a deep breath and turned back to the pancakes, clearing my throat.

Henry, on the other hand, seemed to have moved on from breakfast to playing twenty questions.

“Excellent, I’ll take that as a yes. So, you’re an artist?”

I hurried to swallow the giant bite I was chewing. “Yes.”

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