Page 57 of The Love You Fight For
“That’s not breakfast,” I tell her. “That’s a beverage.”
She takes a slow sip, then sighs contentedly and gives me a sarcastic smile.
“I’m having it at breakfast time, so it’s breakfast.”
I don’t respond. I just get to work cracking eggs and whipping them with a fork since I can’t find a whisk.
“What do you mean get on the road?” she repeats. “I have work to do. I’m not leaving this couch for the next four days.”
I glance at the makeshift office she’s made on the couch. Laptop, notebooks, pens.
“Bring it with.” I go back to my task without looking at her.
She stands and puts her hands on her hips in my periphery.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Christopher. Are you forgetting what I said yesterday?”
Christopher.
NotCasper.
I bite back my grin and take it as a good sign. I shake my head once as I pour the egg mixture into the pan on her stove.
“Heard you loud and clear yesterday, princess.”
“Good. Then hear me now. I am not gettingon the roadwith you, and I already had breakfast.”
I don’t respond. I just focus on the eggs, adding the chopped bellpeppers, shredded cheese, and seasoning. Pretty soon, I feel Sam’s presence and look up to find that she’s moved to the counter and is silently watching me cook. It makes me nervous but in a thrilling way.
“Are you making omelets?” she asks after a moment, and I flash her a grin.
“I like my eggs the way I like my women...” I trail off, and she raises an eyebrow. I can’t help but laugh a little when I finish. “Folded, with their insides scrambled.”
“Oh my god.” Her lips twitch in an attempt to fight a smile. “That is terrible. That is so dumb.”
She’s right. It’s a horrible joke, but that little smile I just earned? I feel like I struck fucking gold.
I plate her omelet and set it in front of her, sprinkling some parsley and chives on top of the perfectly melted cheese, then I top off her coffee. I lean my hip on the counter and watch, arms folded, as she studies the plate.
“I’m not hungry.” She flicks her eyes from me to the omelet and back.
I hold a fork out to her and wait. She looks at the fork, then at me.
“If I take that, I’m going to stab you with it.”
I sigh, then step up to the counter. I use the fork to cut into her omelet, then raise the bite to her mouth.
“Open wide.” I smirk.
She doesn’t. She just glares.
“Don’t be so stubborn. One bite, and if you don’t like it, we can trash it.”
She doesn’t budge, so I try a different approach.
“This is a smoked bourbon gouda. Don’t make me throw it away before you at least taste it.”
She huffs, then opens her mouth, so I feed her the bite of omelet and watch intently as she chews.
