Page 23 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
I stuck up one finger at him. And with the other hand, got on with shovelling down my food like there was no tomorrow. Just call me the king of multitasking.
I slept badly that night, despite Phil staying over, and not for any of the fun reasons either. I hadn’t set my alarm, but still ended up staggering out of bed before eight. It could’ve been even earlier, but getting up before seven on a Sunday would’ve seemed like admitting defeat.
The cats must’ve thought it was Christmas, getting fed so early without any application of claws to sensitive areas. I wasn’t totally sure I was hungry, myself, so I just made coffee—bunging an extra scoop of coffee grinds into the cafetière while I was at it—and chucked a couple of slices of bread in the toaster.
I still wasn’t sure I was hungry by the time it was done, but seeing as the secondary purpose had been to lure Phil out of bed with delicious, toasty aromas, I counted it as a win when he stumbled, bleary-eyed and fluffy-haired, into the kitchen. “Do I smell breakfast?” he muttered, coming over to give me a half-awake kiss.
“It’s yours if you want it,” I said, getting out the marmalade.
I could tell how awake he wasn’t by the way he didn’t even smirk at the innuendo. “Cheers. Coffee?”
I handed him a mug. Phil leaned against the counter and yawned. Then he took a gulp from his mug and grimaced. “Bloody hell, are you trying to give me heart palpitations?” He grabbed for the milk and sloshed a load more in his mug.
“Uh, sorry. Fancied it a bit stronger this morning.”
“Next time, warn me. Because believe me, I can think of ways I’d rather you got my heart rate going.” He grabbed for me, but I sidestepped and crouched down to stick my head in the fridge instead.
“Fancy bacon and eggs for afters? Seeing as it’s Sunday? Could grill up a couple of tomatoes to pretend it’s healthy, if you like. Or there’s mushrooms. Could make an omelette, come to that. If you like.” I paused, realising the conversation had got a bit one-sided. “Phil?”
There was a sigh. “Didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”
I shrugged, which felt a bit lopsided with one hand full of eggs and the other holding a packet of bacon. “Just a bit restless, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Wouldn’t have anything to do with what happened yesterday, would it?”
“Dunno,” I lied, turning to the stove and putting down the bacon so I could grab a pan. “So what’s it gonna be? Fried, scrambled, or omelette?”
Phil’s hands landed gently on my shoulders. “Could always let me cook if you’re having trouble choosing. Pretty much cuts the options down to scrambled.”
I smiled at the cooker hood, relieved he wasn’t going to make me talk about it. “Nah, don’t do yourself down. I can definitely tell your fried eggs from your omelettes. Well, most of the time, anyway. Tell you what, we’ll have fried, and I’ll show you how to do the yolks properly, yeah?”
He dropped a kiss to my neck. “Can’t see the point of going to so much trouble, to be honest. They all taste the same smothered in brown sauce.” I swear I could hear him smirking behind me, the palate-less git.
“The chickens that laid those eggs would be crying in their coops if they heard you say that.”
“No, they wouldn’t. We ate ’em last night, remember?” Phil’s arms snaked around my waist, and he rested his head on my shoulder. “What you were saying yesterday. About me moving in. That what you want?”
He wanted to talk about it now? “I dunno,” I said, slapping some butter into the pan and turning on the heat. “I mean, we haven’t even set a date for the wedding. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“Stop evading the question.”
“Hey, it’s a valid concern for some people.”
He huffed down my neck just as I was cracking an egg into the pan, and I nearly broke the yolk. “What, elderly spinsters of this parish?”
“Oi, don’t you talk about my sister like that.”
“Git.” He paused. “Think you should give her a call and make sure she’s all right? About that woman dying, I mean. They were friends, weren’t they?”
I was touched, ’cos, well, Cherry and Phil hadn’t exactly hit it off immediately when we started going out together. “Yeah . . . I reckon friends would be overstating it a bit. But I’ll ring her later. After church.” By which I meant, after she’d been to church, not me.
He nodded. “We don’t have to talk about the other stuff right now. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“It’s not—” I stopped. We both knew what I’d been about to say was a lie.
Phil kissed my neck. “Come on. Show me how you do those yolks.”
So I did.
