38
Tiff
Iwoke to the soft sounds of music (odd) and the smell of coffee (sweet Jesus, what a wonderful invention).The coffee I found still steaming on my side table, within reach.With greedy hands, I sat up in bed and grabbed it, thankful that it had cooled enough to drink, and I gulped down at least half of it before I threw on shorts and a tank and shuffled out of my bedroom in search of the music.
What I found was … unexpected.
Sam was in the kitchen, his back to me as he cracked a few eggs into a bowl.Music was playing softly from his phone, and ...
He was humming.
Delight bubbled up through me, sparkling, waking me quicker than the coffee had.With the cup still cradled in my hands, I walked over, silently basking in the beauty of the moment.Like the most vivid dream or a memory I would replay.
Since neither of us had planned this impromptu sleepover, he had stuck simply to his boxers and t-shirt.I’d seen him lots of different ways, but something about this; the softness of him, the music, (the humming!) … was nice.
Homey.
I brought the cup to my lips, hoping the steam would excuse the heat I felt building in my cheeks.They were already a little sore from the strength of my smile.“What are you making?”
Sam pulled a whisk from a drawer and set to work beating the eggs.There was a half loaf of bread next to him and a finished cup of coffee beside it.He’d been up for a while, then.“French toast.At least, I’m attempting it, but I can’t promise it will be very good.I’m better with dinner foods.”
My smile widened, taking in his bedhead, the disheveled clothes (was his t-shirt inside out?Fuck, that was so cute), and the awkward way he eyed the pan like he was afraid of it.I’d never seen him unsure of himself before.
Throwing back the last of my coffee, I hopped up and sat on the free space along the counter.“What have you added to the eggs?”
A crease appeared in his brow.“Added?”
Fuck, I was about to start swooning.
“Ok,” I said, biting back a giddy smile.“First question.Sweet or savory?”
“Sweet.”
“Good choice.Second drawer on your right, you’ll find the spices.”I watched him open it.“Grab cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla.”
He did, placing them next to the bowl.
“Just add a pinch of all three.”
He opened the cinnamon, then paused.“How much is a pinch, exactly?”
I so desperately wanted to kiss him right now.“Just a little bit.Don’t worry about getting it exact.It’s not a science.”
His dimple looked even better in the morning.“It’s exactly a science.”
“Shush.Just add them.”
He did.I tried not to explode from happiness.
“Great.Now a little salt to bring out the sweetness.”The salt was next to me, so I threw it in myself.“And now soak the bread and cook.”
“It’s that easy?”
“Yes.Just make sure the pan isn’t turned up too high.”
He checked the cooktop and made an adjustment.“Ok.”
From my perch on the counter, I watched as he trialed a piece, quickly growing more confident as he cooked.After the third slice was placed on a waiting plate, he stepped over to the coffee pot and refilled both of our cups before returning to cooking.
