Page 17 of Snow Bound

“True.” He watched her lay the crisp strips on a plate lined with paper towels. “But you’re still angry.”

“I’m…” She frowned down at the bacon, hand fisted around the fork. “I don’t know what I am.”

He wanted to snitch a piece of bacon, but that would put him in stabbing range of her fork. “I didn’t ghost you, Anna. Not intentionally.”

“So you said.” Laying the fork down, she set the plate of bacon on the island he was trying not to remember fucking her on. “Istanbul?”

He frowned at that, then remembered his conversation with Simon. “Yeah.”

She switched out the cast iron for a non-stick skillet, added butter to sizzle, and began cracking eggs into a bowl. “I’ve always wanted to go there. What’s it like?”

He shrugged. “It’s nice when you’re not trying to keep some rich asshole from causing an international incident or getting himself killed.”

She whipped the eggs into a froth, then poured them into the skillet and added salt and pepper. “You could’ve called, you know.”

“You didn’t give me your number.”

She slanted him a look. “I meant you could’ve called the club.”

“I thought it would be easier to explain in person,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But when I got back, you were gone.”

She poked at the eggs, lips pressed together as though she was holding back words.

Not ready to talk about that, he decided, and changed tactics. “I tried to get your number from the club.”

Her gaze flicked over, then back to the eggs. “You did?”

He nodded. A woof sounded from outside, Henry’s I’m ready to come in bark, and Grant crossed to the back door. “They wouldn’t give it to me.”

“Why not?”

“Club policy.” He opened the door for his snow covered dog, who gave him a happy, tongue lolling grin, then shook mightily. “Dammit, Henry.”

“Club policy?” she echoed.

Slapping snow off his clothes, he looked up. “Odyssey promises its members discretion and confidentiality. Michael takes that seriously.”

She was frowning. “Who’s Michael?”

“The owner. Tall, dark with a beard, always looks like someone pissed in his Cheerios?”

The description made her lips twitch. “I don’t think I met him.”

“Anyway.” He grabbed a towel from the stack in the mudroom and began to dry his dog. “He doesn’t breach confidentiality, not for anyone. I couldn’t even get him to tell me your last name, or if Anna was your real first name or a scene name.”

“It’s my real name,” she said, her brow creased in thought.

With a last scrub for Henry, he tossed the towel on the floor to mop up the puddles. “The eggs are burning.”

“Oh, shit.” She spun back to the stove to snatch up the pan while Henry wandered over in hopes of getting his share.

With the floor reasonably dry, Grant picked up the towel and tossed it back into the mud room. “Are they salvageable?”

She carried the pan to the sink. “No.”

“Sorry. I distracted you.”

“It’s okay.” She scraped the eggs into the trash and set the pan in the sink. “I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

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