“We have eggs at home,” he says, with more confidence than he should have, considering how wrong he is.
“I promise you, we don’t.” I grab a dozen eggs and add them to the tiny cart. “We havetwoeggs, which isn’t even enough for your outrageous breakfast spread.”
“Outrageous?” Theo laughs loud enough to turn heads, and he pushes the cart forward. “What’s outrageous about three eggs and two pieces of toast? I eat it every morning.”
“That’s what I find so outrageous. Haven’t you ever heard of variety?”
“Not for breakfast.”
I click my tongue. “Well, we’re about to change that.” I place a bottle of milk in the cart. “It’s time to expand your horizons. I’ll show you a variety of breakfast foods if it kills me.”
“Uh-huh.” He continues, distractible enough that I have to stop him every few feet. “There’s a reason I don’t have a fancy breakfast.”
“Let me guess. You never have time?”
“Exactly.” His eyes sparkle when he smiles at me, though I can’t imagine what he finds amusing. “You know me so well already.”
“Too well.” I tease, lifting a brow. “Your flaws are starting to wear on me, but it’s fine. People can change.”
“I haven’t changed in forty years.”
“Good thing you have me around to help with the transformation.”
“Good thing, indeed.”
Electricity crackles. The shine in his eye nearly turns into a smolder, and I swear he holds the cart tighter, his knuckles stiff and white. It’s getting harder to tell myself these moments are inmy head, and it’s even more difficult to admit I don’t want them to be.
Theodoesn’thave me around—not for long or in any real way—but I don’t mind making him breakfast. I like it. Food is a love language, and it’s the one I speak most fluently.
Not that IloveTheo. We’ve been stuck in a cabin for days, and I still hardly know him. Between watching movies, moments of admiring nature, and talking about work… I suppose I know him on a professional level. I may even say we’re platonic friends.
That’sallwe are. I ignore the electricity and continue through the shop.
“What are you baking tonight?” he asks evenly.
“Croissants, which means I need atonof butter. Don’t worry, I’ll pass the croissants around to the others. You won’t have to eat them all.”
“I wasn’t worried. I can gobble down a croissant like no one’s business.”
“I’ll make you a breakfast sandwich with a fresh croissant.” I drop butter into the cart. The butter here is better than any I’ve ever tasted, and I’m excited to see how it improves my usual recipe. “There’s nothing like it.”
“Thatdoessound good. What else do we need? Bacon?”
“Bacon or sausage. Your choice.”
“Definitely bacon.” He groans and takes the liberty of adding a package of bacon to the cart. “It’s my biggest weakness.”
“Loving food is never a weakness. It keeps you alive.”
My love of eating is often stifled by working in the kitchen, but taking a break from bakery work has reawakened that side of me.
“Are croissants hard to make?” he asks, wandering around idly.
“They’re time-consuming. They take about twelve hours, usually.”
Theo stops moving, and the squeaky cart goes silent for the first time since we arrived.Dramatic. “Yikes. Twelve hours?”
“It’s fine. It’s not all hands-on—a lot of it is waiting around. That’s most of baking, honestly. Patience is a virtue.”
