When she came back from the bathroom, she’d gotten dressed. Reality was quickly intruding, but her mussed hair and beard-burned neck had me whistling to the tunes I’d put on.
Mumford & Sons’ quick beat matched the sun streaming into the kitchen.
“Am I holding you up?”
I shook my head and held out a mug for her.
“Thank you.” She brought the mug right up to breathe it in. “That smells divine.”
“Yeah, I’m a sucker for flavored coffees. You good with an omelet?”
“That sounds amazing.” She climbed on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I didn’t know you knew what a day off meant.”
“Feels like it.” I flicked the pan to coat the eggs around the sides to keep it thin to add the veggies and cheese. “There’s not much we can do until the cement cures. Since everyone has been working their ass off, I figured a few days off would help boost morale.”
She propped her head on her fisted hand. “You’re a good boss.”
“Thanks. Why do you say that?”
“If they hated you, they wouldn’t have stayed that late to hang after the parade.”
“I did feed them.” I folded in some cheese and mushrooms along with some caramelized onions.
“They’d take it and run.”
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ve worked for a lot of shitty bosses. I definitely don’t want to be one.”
“No worries there.”
I added some bacon to her plate and slid the omelet beside it before setting it in front of her with a fork.
“Did you get chef lessons too?”
I laughed. “My mom said I had to learn how to cook three things when I was a teenager. I found out that I actually liked cooking. I’m pretty basic, but I won’t starve.”
“If this is basic, I can’t wait to find out what you call trying hard.”
“I do make a mean shrimp scampi.”
“Sold.” She took a bite of her omelet and crossed her eyes with a moan. “Also this, daily.”
I laughed and finished up my own and we ate together at the kitchen island. “What are you up to today?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. I’m not used to having a whole day to myself. I usually have interviews or end up in the studio. I’m not really good at being bored.”
“Do you have studio space around here?”
She shook her head. “But I have a music room at my parents’ house so if I feel the itch I can always work on something there. Have iPhone will travel with the notes app.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. More than half of my songs are from me messing around at the piano or with an acoustic. I just blather on into my phone. Sometimes it’s great, but most of the time it’s crap.”
“I can’t imagine anything you do is crap.”
“Oh, it really is.” She licked the tines of the fork to get the cheese off and my chest tightened remembering just what that tongue did to me the night before.
I leaned on the counter when she held out a piece of bacon to me and took a bite.
