“Ach, a terrible stereotype.” He affected an exaggerated brogue that made me giggle. “We also eat deep-fried Mars bars and Irn-Bru.”
“Irn-what?”
“Irn-Bru. It’s a soda. Bright orange, tastes like... actually, I can’t describe it. You’ll have to try it sometime.”
I smiled at the casual way he referenced a future where I’d taste strange Scottish sodas. “I’ll look forward to it.”
I called room service and ordered a feast—eggs Benedict, pancakes, fresh fruit, yogurt, coffee, tea, and orange juice. While we waited, Patrick pulled on his boxers, and I wrapped myself in the plush hotel robe I found hanging in the closet.
“Very fancy,” Patrick commented, tugging playfully at the Ritz-Carlton logo embroidered on the sleeve. “Thinking of taking it home as a souvenir?”
“Don’t tempt me.” I cinched the belt tighter. “Though I’m pretty sure they’d just charge it to your card.”
“Worth every penny to see you wearing it around your kitchen.” He pulled me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You look adorable all bundled up like that.”
I swatted at him. “Adorable is not what I’m going for.”
“No? What are you going for, then?”
“Sophisticated. Elegant. Sexy.”
“Ah.” He nodded seriously. “Well, you’re all those things too.”
“But?”
“But you’re also adorable with your hair all mussed and that giant robe swallowing you whole.” He dodged my half-hearted swat with a laugh. “It’s a compliment, I swear.”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of our breakfast. Patrick answered, tipping the waiter generously. The smell of coffee filled the room as the server wheeled in a table draped in white linen and arranged our feast.
Once we were alone again, we settled across from each other, surveying the spread.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, looking at the amount of food. “We can’t possibly eat all this.”
Patrick was already spreading butter on a piece of toast. “Speak for yourself. I’m a growing boy.”
I snorted. “You’re thirty-five.”
“With six children. Do you know how many calories it takes to keep up with them?” He took a bite of toast, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, I worked up quite an appetite last night. And this morning.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks and focused on pouring coffee for me and tea for him. I added a small splash of cream to Patrick’s mug before handing it to him.
“You take a little cream, right?” I asked, hoping I remembered correctly.
He accepted the cup, his smile spreading slowly as he looked at me over the rim.
“You remembered.” Then he took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Good God, that’s awful.”
I tasted mine and nearly spat it out. “So is this. That is literally the worst coffee I’ve ever had. How does a five-star hotel mess up coffee this badly?”
“Maybe the orange juice is safer?”
I tried it and nodded. “Much better.”
We ate, occasionally offering each other bites from our plates. The pancakes were fluffy, the eggs perfectly poached, the fruit fresh and sweet. Despite my protest, we made a significant dent in the spread.
“So,” Patrick said, setting down his fork. “What happens next?”
I paused, a piece of strawberry halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?”
