Page 23 of Dirty Puck

“Listen, you don’t want to do this, we’ll go out and tell her together, and then I’ll leave.”

“No—I can’t take the chance. She’s all I have. Her and Benny.” I slipped my bra on, and he stepped close, his hands steady as he fastened the clasp. A soft kiss landed on my earlobe, grounding me in the moment.

“Are you agreeing, then?” He almost sounded vulnerable.

“I don’t know that I have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, babe. Are you agreeing? I need to hear the words.”

Sighing, I pulled a T-shirt out of my drawer, slipping it on, hanging my head. “I’m agreeing.”

“What are you thinking for breakfast?”

I glared at him. “Really?”

Reece chuckled. “Simmer down. I meant I’ll go start prepping while you finish getting dressed.”

“Prepping?”

“I helped my mom all the time. It was just her and me. She called me her ‘sous chef.’ I’ve got some killer knife skills. You need something chopped, I’m your man.”

My man. Myfakeman.

Could non-beggars still be choosers? I laughed at my stupid response to myself. “I’ve got onion and bell peppers in the fridge. You mind getting those diced? I’ll make a frittata.”

“Cheese?”

“I know shredding your own is better, but?—”

“But you’re a mom to a young, special needs son and you work two jobs. Anyone who judges bagged shredded cheese can suck your ass.”

Without thinking, I slapped a hand over my mouth, laughing as I shook my head. He gave my butt a playful pat before walking out, and I quickly tugged on a pair of joggers from the open drawer, twisting my hair up into a clip as I followed.

Pausing, I let out a cleansing breath before opening the door. I was doing this. Baker Reece and I were fake dating.

Chatting from the kitchen echoed throughout the apartment. I smiled. Miss Claudia’s voice chitted the loudest. Just her being her normally welcoming self. When I made it into the kitchen, I found Reece busy washing peppers at the sink and Miss Claudia with the large, plastic cutting board out, shredding potatoes on top of it.

“I hope you don’t mind, Bree,” she said, smiling at me. “Baker said you’d decided on frittata and I thought hash browns.”

“Woman, you know potatoes—well, carbs of any kind—are my weakness,” I replied, still smiling. “I’ll get the mushrooms.”

“Leave it,” Reece said. “Just get the eggs and I saw you have turkey bacon in the refrigerator. Get that going. I’ll handle the mushrooms when I’m done with the peppers and onion.”

My kitchen certainly wasn’t big, by any means, but the size for an apartment happened to be the biggest reason for signing the lease here. We fit fine. Benny sat at the table playing with his tablet. I kissed my boy on his head as I passed him on my way to the fridge. Having a home full of people working together like a family felt surreal. Almost like I’d stumbled into some alternate reality where I no longer had to bear the weight of keeping everything going, alone.

It was a nice thought. I pulled the brand-new carton ofeggs, the bacon, and the milk. Before starting on the eggs, I fixed Benny a sippy cup of chocolate milk. Then I pulled out a glass measuring cup from the cupboard, filling it with ice and water.

One of the kitchen lessons my mother had taught me years ago: always use ice water when scrambling up eggs. It made the fluffiest eggs. And what was a frittata but baked scrambled eggs with a filling?

Thank goodness for air fryers. They made for crispy bacon without the mess. I oiled up the casserole dish and whisked the eggs with the ice water. Reece walked over to where I stood closest to the stove to scrape his diced onion, peppers, and mushrooms into the eggs.

“Youaregood.” I couldn’t help but give the compliment.

“Told you. My mom taught me well.”

Agreed.

“Coffee?” he asked.

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