I know he won’t care if I mess it up and have to try again, but I really want to impress him.
I keep my eyes locked on the egg as it settles and breathe a sigh of relief. It looks okay. No, it looks better than okay.
He might be silent behind me, but his presence is unignorable.
I repeat the process with a second pan, hoping that I’ve got my timings right, before leaving the eggs unattended for a couple of minutes. After placing his toasted muffin on the plate, I delicately lay slices of smoked salmon across them before returning for the eggs. The moment the timer goes off, I lift the first egg from the pan and set it on the salmon. I repeat with the second before topping them both with my sauce and garnishing with freshly ground black pepper and chopped chives.
Spinning around, I proudly place the dish before him, buzzing that I’ve pulled it off the first time.
“Wow,” he breathes. “And to think, you were worried about poaching eggs.”
“Luck was on my side,” I say as I return to the stove to do one more.
My stomach has been growling for hours, but I refused to eat. I’ve missed having meals together, and despite knowing it was probably safer to eat before he got here and leave the second he did, I couldn’t help myself.
“It’s not luck,” Cole says as I get the water spinning again. “It’s talent.”
I mumble a response that kinda sounds like agreement. Cooking comes naturally to me. It always has. I just never knew how much I enjoyed it, how much I enjoyed feeding others, until I had the option taken away from me.
“Freya,” he warns, clearly seeing through my lack of confidence.
Ignoring both him and the tingles his deep voice send skating through my body, I finish plating up my food before joining him at the island.
“So, how was your trip?” I ask, turning the conversation on him.
“Good. We won both games, as you know.”
“You look tired.” I gasp the instant I realize I made that assessment out loud.
But instead of being annoyed, Cole just barks a laugh.
“Traveling is exhausting. It doesn’t matter how many years I do it. It never gets easier.”
“Yeah,” I muse, understanding exactly what he means.
He studies me, his eyes searching mine for the words I’m not sure I’m ready to say.
“I was in a relationship with a musician,” I finally confess. “I travelled with him on and off for two years.”
He nods, taking in that information, and surprisingly, he doesn’t follow it up with a million and one questions.
“That makes sense.”
“What does?” I ask, my brows pinched.
“Your understanding. Most people think that we must be having the time of our lives while on the road. Don’t get me wrong, we have fun. But honestly, there’s nothing like coming home and being in your own space.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Although, I never actually had my own space to return to. We lived out of hotels no matter where we were. The only homes I’ve ever known have been my parents’ place or my apartment in Vegas, and that was about the size of a shoebox. It was mine, though. And after a long night shift, it was heaven. “I’ll head out once I’ve had this. Let you settle back in and have some peace.”
“It’s okay. You’re welcome to stay. I…uh…I actually quite like having you here.”
My heart beats a little faster at his confession, and I duck my head as a smile pulls at my lips.
“I like being here. It’s…it’s not like I was expecting.”
“Oh? What was that?”
I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat. “A bachelor pad.”
