Page 61 of The Pieces We've Lost

“No, you’re my guest. I’m taking the couch, you’re taking the bed,” I insisted firmly.

“Yeah, I’m your guest. That’s even more reason for me to take the couch,” she argued.

“That’s not how it works around here. It’s my house, which means we’re going by my rules, and I’m not forcing you to have the couch.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll sleep on the floor then.” She crossed her arms as my mouth gaped open with disbelief.

Stubborn woman.

“We might as well both sleep in the bed if that’s how you’re going to be.” I sighed, fake exasperation in my voice.

“Fine.” She yawned, satisfied with “winning” the discussion.

After she had fallen asleep in my bed, almost instantly, I came back out to the couch. I just knew that if we had stayed in the same bed, she would have knownexactlyhow I felt about her and I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

Ellison was still asleep when I woke up, but I didn’t want to disturb her. We had time before we had to be anywhere and she probably needed the rest. I went outside to take care of the horses and a couple other minor tasks. When I came back inside, it was almost eleven and she was still asleep.

I wasn’t a great cook by any means, but to pass the time until she woke up, I decided I would make breakfast. My plan was biscuits and sausage gravy, with eggs, bacon, and, of course, coffee, even though it wasn’t her fancy white chocolate mocha coffee and was just Folgers. I kicked myself a little for not at least buying white chocolate syrup for her, but maybe I would for the future.

This was the breakfast my mom always used to make us when we were kids. Every Sunday after church, we’d come home and have it. Those were some of my favorite memories, back when my parents still loved each other and I was just a care free kid.

I was halfway through making the bacon when the sound of footsteps came out of the bedroom. I had flour all over the front of myself from making the biscuit dough and I had accidentally burnt myself with the bacon grease, but seeing her changed my mood completely.

“Good morning!” I greeted her cheerily.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice groggy from waking up a few minutes ago.

“I’m making us breakfast,” I responded as I pushed the strips of bacon around in the pan.

“Ooh, what are you making?” She instantly perked up.

“Biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs. There’s also coffee if you want some. It’s nothing fancy, but I’ve got sugar in the cabinet and milk in the fridge if you need that.” I nodded my head toward the coffee pot.

“I will definitely take coffee, regardless if it’s fancy or not. I don’t discriminate when it comes to caffeine.” She laughed as she walked over to pour herself a mug.

My girl does love her coffee,I thought.

“Oh, how do you take your eggs?” I asked because that was something I didn’t know about her yet.

It was funny. We knew each other’s biggest secrets, opened up the darkest parts of our hearts to each other, yet didn’t know how we took our eggs.

“Over easy,” she answered.

“That’s how I like mine too.” I was relieved. I didn’t know how to make eggs any other way so over easy was undoubtedly what she was going to get, unless she had said scrambled.

“Anything I can do to help?” She came up next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Nope. I just want to do this for you.”

Ellison was a caretaker, I could tell. She might not have considered herself one, but I’d seen the way she put others before herself, especially her mother, even if it meant neglecting her needs and feelings; she cared about the people she loved.

I sat down at the dining table with my coffee and watched him cook. He had this natural flow, moving from one side of the kitchen to the other. He hummed as he cooked, a melody I didn’t recognize. The house smelled heavenly as the savory smell of bacon and the sweet, bakery scent of homemade biscuits wafted through the air.

His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on cracking the eggs into the pan, and as they sizzled, I imagined a future with this in it. Maybe we’d alternate cooking every morning, or maybe we’d have children who helped us, ones who would steal the bacon right after it came out of the pan and get full before the meal was even done.

It was a crazy thought, I knew that. Yet, with every gesture, grand or tiny, I started to think maybe it was possible.

The timer on the oven for the biscuits went off, and Colter walked over to me with a plate that had two biscuits, gravy piled on top, two eggs, and four strips of bacon.

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