Page 63 of Fighting For You
I stifled a smile. “Too late now.”
He held up his mug right as Catherine set one down next to me, so I raised mine to meet his.
“To imperfection.”
My stomach flipped.You’re just hungry. It’s fine.
“To imperfection,” I echoed, my throat a little tight with an emotion I wouldn’t focus on right now.
“Do you guys need menus?” Catherine held a bunch in her hands with an expectant smile.
“I’m good. You?”
I smiled up at my friend. “I can do it. I’ll take the farmer’s omelet with whole wheat, extra butter.”
Catherine grinned and turned to Beast.
“I’ll take the southwestern omelet with bacon and whole wheat, no butter. Orange juice and a silver dollar stack.”
“That’ll be right up.” She lingered for a sec, her smile quiet but a little more obvious than the one she gave the average customers, I’d guess.
When she spun around and bustled to another table just sitting down, I took another sip of my coffee.
He did the same.
Silent, drinking coffee, and perhaps most notably,notarguing.
“Extra butter on your toast, huh?”
His usual cocky jerk tone made my hackles rise, though it felt a little different this time.
“Dry toast for you? That tracks.”
His brows dropped low. “How so?”
“I mean it’s just more evidence of your moral deficiencies.”
Those same dark slashes over his eyes rose high. “Oh, yeah?”
I nodded, a regretful smirk on my lips. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure dry toast is one of the most common markers of being a serial killer.”
A laugh tripped out of him, and my chest warmed.
“Is it now? So all we need to do in order to predict a person’s likelihood of becoming a serial killer is check their breakfast order?”
I shrugged. “I mean, I’m not saying weshouldn’t.”
He shook his head, and I reveled in the way he pressed his lips together. I wanted to see him smile full out like I had with his friends… but I wanted it directed at me.
I’d also take his lipsonme again. I wonder if he ever smiled in those quiet, intimate moments. If he was the kind of man who?—
Whoa there. First date. Simmer down.
“I got dry toast out of habit.” The smile at his eyes faded. “I used to give it to my grandma. She liked jelly only. I eat the pancakes. Guess I can just sub for pancakes now, though.”
My hand shot out and grasped his large one where it rested near his mug. Hisnowdidn’t mean because he was here with me… it meant now that she was gone, and it sent a horrible crushing ache into my chest.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Tease him about something sensitive? Remind him of what he’s lost?
