Page 40 of Clear Shot
She hesitates for a second but then nestles against my chest.
Fuck, it feels good to hold her.
I run a hand up and down her back, my touch gentle.
If I’d known how good it would feel to have her in my arms I might not have said any of the dumb shit that’s come out of my mouth. It’s not dumb in the sense that it was an excuse or something. I truly don’t want biological children, but is there a compromise? Like adoption? A sperm donor?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m just comforting her. It’s not like this is romance.
Or is it?
“Come on,” I say after a moment. “Let’s get some breakfast and then we can pack. Hurricanes don’t last that long so we’ll probably only need two days of clothes. Maybe three if the whole city loses electricity.”
“Plus my laptop and our phones and chargers,” she says.
“Toiletries.”
“Raincoat?” She gazes up at me curiously, like she can’t figure out if that’s a necessity.
“Can’t hurt.”
She smiles and for the first time since last night, her face is more relaxed.
“Do you have the ingredients to make pancakes?” she asks. “Claudia taught me how to make them and they’re my favorite.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, opening the pantry. “There’s a box of Bisquick, so they wouldn’t be from scratch but I think they’re pretty good.” I pull out the box and turn it over. “And there’s a recipe on the back.”
“Perfect.” She takes it from me and starts puttering around the kitchen, finding the ingredients and mixing them in a big bowl. I don’t even know where it came from.
“Is that mine?” I ask curiously.
She chuckles. “No. It’s mine. While I was living with Claudia’s parents I was slowly buying what I would need for my own apartment. I bought mixing bowls, a stand mixer, an expensive set of pots and pans, and silverware. I’m storing most of it at Claudia’s, but when I saw you didn’t have big bowls, I brought them over.”
“You can bring whatever you like,” I say. “And if there’s something you think we need, just let me know and I’ll order it.”
“Claudia has a griddle,” she murmurs, looking under the counter. “I guess this frying pan will have to do.” She pulls it out, and I surreptitiously look up griddles on my phone. There are a lot of them so I refine my search to “best home griddles” and the number is considerably smaller. I don’t know if she wants a stove top version or a standalone, so I order one of each. I can just return whichever one she doesn’t want.
“Do you have syrup?” she asks.
I grimace. “I might not. But I can run to the store.” I rummage around in the pantry and to my surprise, there’s a bottle of syrup all the way in the back. “We’re in luck!” I say, pulling it out.
“Excellent!” She flips the first two pancakes.
I get out dishes, forks, butter knives, and butter.
Then I make us two fresh cups of coffee.
“Start eating,” she says. “So they don’t get cold. I can only make two large or three medium ones at a time.”
“I can wait for you.” I lean against the counter. “They smell awesome.”
“I love pancakes. I add a dash of cinnamon and the last time I made them from scratch, I used vanilla protein powder, chopped walnuts, flax seed, and bananas. They were so good. Anders ate twelve of them.”
“That’s a lot of pancakes,” I reply, “but those sound amazing.”
“I know you have to be cognizant of your diet for hockey, so Claudia, Sloane and I have been searching for and testing out high-protein, low-fat recipes. And since pancakes are my favorite, we had to make those too.”
