It was from Eng.
I froze, trying to steady my breathing before opening the message.
It was a picture of some horribly burnt bacon and a soggy, overly white piece of toast.
Eng: I tried, but cooking does not come easy to me. Your fried bread, bacon, and coffee are amazing. Mine are not even edible.
My chest tightened and I couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Jacob laughed as well. He’d been eyeing my phone as I’d read the message and elbowed me gently. “That guy is downright sad. Hope he’s got money or he’s going to starve to death.”
“He’s got money. He’s a prince, so he’s never had to cook before. Hadn’t even stepped foot in his kitchen. I’m surprised he figured out how to turn the stove on.”
“Judging from the look of that bread, he still doesn’t know how to turn the stove on,” Jacob replied. “Is that supposed to be French Toast? Or did he accidentally dump a glass of milk on a slice of Wonder Bread?”
I laughed again, telling him how I’d cooked Eng breakfast weeks ago and he’d evidently been trying to recreate the meal.
“Hope he’s rich enough to hire a chef, or you’re going to find yourself cooking all the meals,” Terrance added, joining in the conversation.
“Or just eat out all the time,” Jacob added. “Door Dash is a thing, you know.”
“We’re broken up.” My chest ached again, sharp and painful.
“Does he know that?” Terrance asked. “Because in my experience guys don’t text failed breakfast food attempts to their exes.”
“I think he’s trying to resume the booty-call portion of our relationship, but I want more than that.”
Jacob whistled. “I get it, girl. Before I met your brother I had the mother of all dry spells because I’d decided I was done with casual sex. It’s not easy out there in the dating world.”
“It’s getting harder to ignore him with these texts,” I admitted. “And I’m going to see him every day at work. How long will I able to hold out?”
Jacob slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a sideways hug. “Sometimes it takes two or three times going back to the wrong guy before you can completely convince your heart he’s the wrong guy.”
“Not that he’s saying that’s an excuse for just giving in and having sex with this ex of yours,” Terrance said. “But if it happens, if you slip up, then don’t beat yourself up too much. He’ll screw up, show his true colors again, and the next time you dump him, your heart will be a little harder.”
I sighed, not wanting to go through that, not wanting my heart to be hard even about Eng.
“You’ll find the right guy,” Terrance added. “And you’ll know it’s him because in his eyes, you’ll be a princess.”
I snort-laughed at that, knowing he was referring to my childhood when all I’d wanted was a tiara and for my prince to show up at the door with a glass slipper that only my foot would fit.
But that was a fairy tale. I’d never be Eng’s princess, and from how he’d described his future marriage, I probably didn’t want to be.
Terrance stood. “Anyone else want a beer? Or iced tea?”
Jacob and I both opted for iced tea, and my brother headed into the house.
“You know when I first met Terrance, I figured this whole thing between us would just be a one-night stand. Sex only,” Jacob told me once the door had closed behind Terrance.
“You’re not going to tell me about how my brother’s giant cock convinced you otherwise, are you?” I teased.
Jacob laughed. “Okay, maybe initially I stuck around because the sex was so good, but I quickly realized that Terrance wasn’t just some suave finance-bro. That was the Terrance he showed the world, who he was in the clubs and at parties. When we were alone and not smashing, I saw a very different man—one who believed family and close friends were the most precious gifts in the world. I realized the beautiful watercolor portraits in his home had been made by him, that he had transformed a spare room into a studio and loved to spend Sunday mornings there, listening to lo-fi and splashing his soul across the canvas. But the moment I truly fell in love? It was when he invited me to spend the night and came to bed wearing a bonnet.”
I nearly choked, because Terrance never let anyone see him in his nighttime hair-care accessory, as opposed to me and my sisters who’d occasionally gone out to breakfast wearing ours.
“I knew hair that fabulous didn’t come without a cost,” Jacob continued with a grin, “but I’m a white guy. I never even saw a woman with a bonnet on, let alone a guy.”
It was almost impossible to keep the giggles at bay. “When he wore it short he had a doo rag, but when he decided to grow it out, he needed an actual bonnet.”
