“Too bad,” I said, moving past him. I bent and picked up the coffee, handing it over. “I enjoy making breakfast for mamma too.”
“How did you know?” His voice came out quiet, his eyes on the can.
I shrugged. “I used to make breakfast for Magpie. It’s nice to surprise your mamma. Do nice things for her.”
“You did?”
“Make breakfast for Magpie?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, all of the time.”
“Ah,” he said, like he understood, but clearly, he didn’t. “What was her favorite?”
“Coffee,” I said. “She liked coffee.”
Especially after a long night, but I didn’t mention it.
He turned the can in his hands, the chicory sounding like sand, the smell of it wafting in the air. “What is your favorite?”
“Bacon. Or mamma’s pancakes. She makes excellent pancakes.”
I began to move the bowls around, putting the pans we wouldn’t need back in the cabinets, and then separated the food items into groups. Ones he could work on. Ones I could cook. Bacon was good, but too dangerous for him to try.
“Yes!” he said, his voice going up, but then he cleared his throat. “Eggs. I love mamma’s omelets.”
Nodding toward the book she had sitting on the counter in a holder, I set the skillet down on the stove and lit the gas burners. “That’s her favorite cookbook. She put it together herself. She has all her most used recipes in there. Find one for omelets. What’s your favorite pancake?”
He loved all of her pancakes, but I wanted him to pick.
“The kind made on the stove,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “With butter and syrup.”
He misunderstood my question, and I barked out a laugh, which in turn made him take a step backward, where he almost fell over Max. Reacting without thought, my arm shot out and caught him right in time. Max flew up, looking around, like someone else had affronted him.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
His face had changed, though. It leaned more toward intrigued. Ever since my fight with the sheriff, he sometimes studied me like I was a new species of bug he had to figure out. I expected him to reach up and pluck a hair from my head for testing at any second.
Then a peculiar sensation made my stomach shrink. My laugher had taken him by surprise. Even Luca laughed more than I did.
Clearing my throat, I turned, going back to the stove. But I met his eye. “I meant what kind of pancakes do you like the best?”
He shrugged.
“Go check then,” I said.
He nodded, taking the book and thumbing through it. He stopped on a page and read it over. He flipped a few pages but came back to that one.
“Which recipe is that?”
“King Cake pancakes.”
“What do they take?”
His eyes scanned the page. He read off a few of the ingredients.
