Page 13 of Stuff My Turkey
I grabbed my toiletries bag from the shopping haul and scurried to the bathroom, locking the door behind me with probably more force than necessary.
The bathroom was still foggy, and Heath's scent hung in the air—cedar and coffee and clean sweat. I started the water again, hoping it would clear my head as well as the mirror.
Ten minutes later, I emerged feeling marginally more human, wrapped in a plush towel with my wet hair combed back. I'd forgotten to bring clothes in my rush to escape.
"Heath?" I called out, cracking the door enough to peek through. "Are you decent?"
No answer. I listened carefully and heard noises from the kitchen. With the coast clear, I went to my shopping bags andpulled out jeans and the cream-colored sweater. Once dressed and reasonably put together, I headed toward the kitchen, following the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon.
The scene that greeted me stopped me in my tracks. Heath stood at the stove, his back to me, frying what looked like half a pig. Sizzling bacon and sausage filled the air with a mouth-watering aroma that, as a vegetarian, I found both tempting and horrifying. A platter of toast was stacked nearby.
"Morning," he said without turning. "Coffee's ready."
I padded across the floor, drawn to the caffeine like a moth to flame. "What is all this?"
"Breakfast," he replied, flipping a sausage link. "Nothing says welcome like a pound of bacon."
I stared at the meat-laden skillet in dismay. "And what exactly am I supposed to eat? Besides bread?"
Heath glanced over, brow furrowing. Then his eyes widened with sudden realization. "Oh crap. You're vegetarian. I completely forgot."
"At least you remembered eventually," I said wryly, reaching for the coffee pot.
"I'm sorry," he said, and actually looked it. "I don't usually cook for anyone else. Never even known someone who didn't eat meat before."
"Don't worry about it," I said, opening the fridge to survey my options. "I'll make some eggs. I need protein to get through this morning."
I found the carton of eggs and a small block of cheese while Heath pointed me to a clean skillet. I cracked eggs into a bowl and then busied myself doctoring my coffee with sugar—a heaping spoonful, then another, and what the hell, a third.
"Sweet enough?" Heath asked, eyebrow raised as he watched me empty half the sugar bowl into my mug.
"I need the energy to face those two again." I nodded toward the window where the Vickerys' enormous RV loomed like a chrome spaceship that had landed in the yard. "Plus, it masks the taste of your backwoods beans."
His lips twitched. "I'll have you know that's premium dark roast."
"Premium in what century?" I looked at the small bowl of eggs I'd started whisking and immediately reached for more. "I should make enough for everyone, not just myself."
I cracked several more eggs into the bowl and grabbed the whisk again. The cheese would stretch further now, but eggs were eggs—even with the Vickerys' refined tastes, they'd appreciate a generous portion of fluffy scrambled eggs alongside Heath's meat feast.
"Thanks," Heath said, sliding me the salt and pepper as I worked. "I got caught up in the bacon and forgot about everything else."
As I poured the mixture into the larger skillet Heath provided, we found an easy rhythm in the kitchen. He arranged his bacon and sausage on platters while I monitored the eggs, each of us somehow anticipating the other's movements. He'd reach for a serving dish just as I finished with it; I'd step aside exactly when he needed access to the drawer behind me.
For two people who barely knew each other, we moved through the small kitchen with surprising coordination—like dancers who'd somehow skipped the awkward learning phase.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted our unexpected morning harmony.
"Right on time," Heath remarked dryly, glancing up at the wall clock. I followed his line of sight—sure enough, eight o'clock on the dot.
He went to answer while I hurriedly plated the food. I'd set everything on the table when the Vickerys swept in like visiting royalty.
"Good morning, lovebirds!" Earl boomed, clapping Heath on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
Dottie sniffed the air appreciatively. "Something smells divine."
Her eyes fixed on me, and I suddenly felt self-conscious about my damp hair and minimal makeup. She, of course, looked freshly pressed in her cream pantsuit, not a hair out of place despite supposedly having slept in an RV.
"Hope you're hungry," Heath said, pulling out chairs for them. "Coffee?"
