While I’d been passed out, the fire crept close to my body, giving me third-degree burns on the right side of my stomach. When I woke up in that hospital bed, the pain had almost been unbearable.
Two years later and I’d never so much as lit a candle in my house. Just the thought of fire burning made my side hurt. Remembering it still caused goosebumps to break out all over my body, just like right now.
Hopping into the steaming shower, I stood under the warm water for what felt like an eternity, letting the heat wash away the soreness from my body. Who knew hot water and a bottle of soap could make a girl so happy?
Wrapping a clean, fluffy towel around my body, I stepped out of the shower onto the cool bathroom tile. My stomach growled so loudly that I was sure my neighbors would hear it, so my next destination was the kitchen. Most mornings, I didn’t have enough time to make myself a hot breakfast, so I was going to take the chance while I still had it.
Rounding the corner of my hallway, I stepped into the living room, stopping dead in my tracks when I realized there was a large man asleep on my couch. Not just any large man––Jace.
What the hell was he doing here?
I thought he left after tucking me into bed last night. How had this man slept on my couch all night without me even knowing it? How did I not hear this snoring all night either? Based on how loud it was, he was very tired.
He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt from the night before. His cowboy hat covered his face as he lay there asleep.
No pillow. No blanket.
Why didn't he ask for some? What if he was supposed to be elevating his broken foot while he slept?
I stepped back slowly, trying not to wake him, tiptoeing down the hallway back into my bedroom, quiet as a mouse. I stood there in the middle of my room.
Should I wake him up? Should I let him sleep some more?
Pulling on some old blue jeans and a white T-shirt, I decided to be nice and let him sleep. My original plan had been to head into the kitchen and make some French toast, so I guess I’d be making French toast for two now. Surely this would get me some brownie points with the man upstairs. I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling as if I looking at Jesus himself.
Are you watching this? Me being nice to Jace McKinley?
I tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible while I searched for all the ingredients. After I set everything in aneat row on my countertop, I got to work, whisking the eggs and milk, adding a dash of cinnamon, heating up the pan, and so on.
As I cooked, the delicious aroma filled the kitchen. If this wonderful smell didn't wake Jace up, nothing would. And if he walked in here and told me he didn't like French toast, I’d change my mind and kick him out after all.
Sorry, Jesus.
As I continued cooking, the smell of cinnamon and sugar mixed with the fragrance of a man’s cologne. When Jace jumped up behind me, trying to scare me, I didn't flinch.
“What the hell? How did you know I was there?” he asked, frustrated that his no-good antics hadn't worked.
“Your cologne gave you away,” I said, trying not to laugh.
He stood in the doorway of my kitchen, wearing just his blue jeans and T-shirt—no cowboy hat, barefoot except for the medical boot. He looked simpler than he had last night. More relaxed, as if his guard was down.
“I’m sorry about passing out on your couch. I meant to stay long enough to make sure you fell asleep and didn't start throwing up. My plan was to be gone by the time you woke up,” Jace explained, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m making French toast if you want some,” I said, extending a peace offering so he’d know I didn't care that he’d crashed on my couch.
“Is that the smell that woke me up?” he asked, scooting onto one of the wooden stools that allowed the other end of my kitchen island to serve as both my junk pile and the occasional dinner table.
“Yup,” I replied happily. If there was any way to get into my good graces, it was by complimenting my cooking or my coffee. My two passions.
“Just so we’re on the same page, we’re even now, right?” I asked, eyeing him from across the marble slab.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his country drawl mixed in with his groggy voice that I was finding a littletooappealing. “What can I help you with?” he asked, standing back up, as if he got bored quickly and needed something to keep his hands busy.
I stood there for a moment, caught off guard. I wasn't used to anyone asking whattheycould do forme.
“It’s fine, I’ve got it.”
“Cassie I’m not standing here in this kitchen empty-handed while you do everything. If my momma saw this, she would kick my ass. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll see to it.”
