Page 23 of Home Coming

Had he almost kissed her or was that all in her imagination? A projection of what she’d wanted to happen.

The only thing she knew for sure was that a) the mean girls were still bitches and b) she still had the ability to humiliate herself even without the mean girls’ help.

Quinn having to cover her butt was proof of that.

With a sigh, she went through the motions of making coffee for Quinn and tea for herself.

Thank goodness the Baldwin’s had a good old fashioned Mr. Coffee. Possibly the same one they’d had when she used to hang out here with Josie after school.

Water and grounds in. Coffee out. Anything more complicated and she’d have been screwed.

She needed caffeine, Advil and a gallon of water. In that order. And then, after all that, possibly she could handle some breakfast. Something full of carbs to soak up any residual alcohol in her.

French toast. That should do it. Maybe cooking would take her mind off her misery.

A while later—long enough she was just flipping over the second batch of toast in the hot pan—Quinn made his way to the kitchen.

He was freshly showered and dressed, but the damp hair and clean smell of soap kept the vision of him naked and wet uppermost in her mind.

“What smells so amazing?” he asked as he walked through the door.

Amazing.

Bailey tempered her excitement over the comment. Quinn was complimenting the food. Not her.

Anybody could make french toast.

“I—uh—made breakfast. There’s a plateful keeping warm in the oven and this batch is just about ready, if you’re hungry.”

“You always cook like this?” he asked, eyeing the pan as she flipped off the heat and reached for a spatula.

She cringed. “I’m sorry. It’s rude of me to just make myself at home.”

“I’m not complaining. Believe me.” He accepted the plate she held out with three slices on it.

“You sure it’s okay? It’s just I cook when I’m…” She stopped and shot him a glance.

“When you’re what?” he prompted setting the plate down and glancing at her as he reached into the drawer for a fork.

“Nothing.” Shaking her head, she pushed the syrup closer to him as a distraction.

What had she thought she was going to say? She cooked when she was heartbroken, stressed, worried, hungover… all of the above.

Her cell phone vibrated with a video call alert and Xander’s name and face appeared on the screen. The perfect distraction to get her out of this conversation.

She grabbed the cell and said, “Sorry. I gotta get this.”

Fork in one hand and knife in the other as he bent over the plate on the counter, Quinn nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Good. He was occupied. Her almost embarrassing confession was forgotten.

Next up, she had to deal with whatever had Xander calling her this early on a weekend.

It couldn’t be good.

In the living room, she shot one more glance toward Quinn, who was happily stuffing his face in the kitchen before she tapped the screen to connect.

Putting on her camera smile and wondering how much of last night’s mascara was smeared under her eyes, she said, “Xander. Hey. What’s up?”

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