“Hi,” she said quietly. “I brought you breakfast. Well, breakfasts, plural, because I wasn’t sure what you’d want. But I figured Australian cafés have taken over New York for a reason, and it’s because any Australian breakfast is a good breakfast. So I figured that since I’m jetlagged you’re probably also jetlagged so you may be down for a bit of breakfast right now since some places aren’t even serving breakfast so we could have, like, breakfast together because why not. And I’ve just said the wordbreakfastso much that it no longer has any meaning.”
Nick stared at her and said nothing, first because surprise stole his words, then because her rapid-fire blathering was irritating, and then ultimately because he didn’t particularly have anything to say to her. From the moment he touched down in Sydney, Carly Montgomery seemed to have made it her personal mission to make his life a living hell. Why would a surprise breakfast together at 6AMbe any different?
“I don’t want breakfast,” he said gruffly and watched as her face fell. But then his stomach grumbled loudly, and the ghost of an evil smile curved her mouth. She schooled it quickly and returned to her serious, determined expression.
“Just in case you do want it in the near future, then, can I interest you in some avocado toast? Or a bacon and egg sandwich on a brioche bun?” Carly lifted her arm gently, so that the paper bag swung and the smell of cooked bacon wafted towards him.
Nick’s treacherous stomach gurgled again, and she grinned. Damn it.
“I’ll take the sandwich,” he said. His mouth was already watering.
“You got it. And the coffee? Skim cappuccino with one sugar, right?”
“Yeah,” he said slowly as she nodded and handed him the right cup. She remembered his coffee order? “Thanks.”
Then an awkward silence stretched between them.
And stretched.
And stretched …
“Can I … come in? Just for a few minutes?”
“Why?”
“Please?”
“Why?”
“Please?”
Carly’s voice had ticked up several octaves, and Nick arched an eyebrow, calmly taking a sip of coffee. He was starting to enjoy this. “No, tell me why first.”
With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Carly blurted, “Because I have something to ask you, and I’d feel really stupid laying it all out and asking it here, in the hallway, outside your door when I’m trying my hardest to be nice!”
Nick hesitated for a moment, tempted to take the bag with both breakfasts and slam the door in her face. It was basically what she’d do to him if he were to ask her for any kind of help. But the serious look on her freckled face and the fact that she’d shown up unannounced with a peace offering at the crack of dawn were enough to tip him into the realm of mild curiosity. Nick stepped aside and tried not to notice the smoky floral scent that trailed behind her as she entered his room. Once inside, Carly set the bag down on the desk and fished out a lumpy package wrapped in aluminium foil.
“Bacon sandwich,” she said. He nodded his thanks, then sat down on the bed and unwrapped the package on his lap. When he looked up, it was to see her perched on the desk, watching him.
“I wanted to say that I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said. This time her voice was firm and steady, nothing like the rapid and breathless spilling out of words she’d arrived with.
“Which part?” he said, unable to resist the retort. He bit off a mouthful of the sandwich. Shit, it was good. Another thing the French didn’t do all that well. Sure, they invented brioche, and they knew how to make a croque monsieur, but a bacon and egg sandwich with barbeque sauce just tasted like Australia. Like home.
“All of it. It was nice of you to listen to me vent, and I should have heard you out. I know you were just trying to … help.” She rolled her shoulders back as she said the last word, as though she was trying to wriggle away from it. “I have, uh, a bit of a temper, as you’ve probably noticed. I’m working on it.”
He swallowed his mouthful of brioche fast, because part of him wanted to reply,Work harder.But another part of him realized that this apology, right now, was part of that work. She was trying.
“Apology accepted,” he nodded. He took another bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “But you really do have an Anne of Green Gables–level problem.”
Her eyebrows shot up in question.
“You know, Anne of Green Gables? Red hair? Major temper? Smashes slates on boys’ heads?”
“I know who Anne of Green Gables is,” she said. “I just didn’t think you would.”
“Please. I have a sister who was a big time horse girl. I know who Anne Shirley is.”
“Um, right,” Carly said, with a little shake of her head. She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve been thinking about the promotions calendar problem. And I think I’ve come up with a solution. Well, Heather came up with a solution.”
