I get to work on scrambling the eggs. I sigh, feeling content. Everything is just so easy with Olly. The truth is, it’s always been, even when we bickered all the time. Well, we still do, but there’s a lot more sexual tension behind it.
Just the other day, we got into a fight about what to get Mazie. Olly wanted to get her a cute dress with ruffled bottoms, and I wanted to get her a trench coat.
I add some cinnamon to the eggs, then hunt for a pan.
“You know, you’re really no help.”
“Hey, you said you were going to make me breakfast. I was to not lift a finger, remember?”
I finally find a pan and place it on the stove.
“My sister called the other day,” Olly says as I dip the bread into the egg mixture and place it in the pan. “I guess she has a photo shoot next month and will be in the States. She’s thinking about bringing her husband and my niece, Phoebe.”
I wrinkle my nose at that. “She’s like a baby, right?”
“She’s two.”
“Close enough.” I wave my hand dismissively.
“Anyway, since they will be in the States, they are going to come visit. I was thinking maybe…”
“Oh, kinda like a meet-the-parents situation.” I swallow down. My heart beats rapidly as panic sets in. I’ve never met the parents before, like ever.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Olly says, coming around the counter from where he was sitting. “You don’t have to. It was just a thought,” he says, turning my chin so I look at him.
“No, I want to. I really do. It’s just that… I’ve never met anyone’s family before. What if she doesn’t like me? And we already know how Phoebe’s gonna feel about me.”
He laughs. “You’re too freaking cute.”
“Shut up,” I say, trying to hide my grin by concentrating on flipping the French toast.
“They are going to love you, Jasper. Just like I do. How can they not?” he says, kissing my cheek.
There’s that word again. It doesn’t feel weird, but maybe just different? But as it settles deep in my soul, it takes root.
“Okay,” I say softly. “I would love to meet them.”
He kisses my cheek again before rounding the counter and sitting back down.
I add a few more pieces to the pan before rummaging through his refrigerator again to find us something to drink. I grab a couple glasses and pour us each some orange juice. Once I have everything plated, I set it down in front of him.
“I hope you like it,” I say, taking a seat. “It’s the only thing I know how to make.”
He laughs, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be great; you added cinnamon.”
“Who doesn’t like cinnamon French toast?” He nods and we clink forks in agreement. “Did you always know you wanted to be a baker?” I ask Olly, curious about how he went from cooking greasy diner food to baking.
“Not really,” he says. “I mean, at first, I just wanted to try something different from working the grill like I had been doing ever since I started working in The Diner as a kid. By then, my grandmother had passed, and I thought it would be a cool way to feel close to her, by learning the thing she loved to do. Then I realized that baking did something for me and complemented the things I needed to calm my brain. I always thought it would be a side hobby, nothing I would make a living on because I had The Diner.”
He takes a bite and moans, making my cock twitch and I have to bite back my own moan. “What about you? Did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”
I look down at my plate, thinking about how to answer. Did I want to always be a tattoo artist? No, does it host part of my love for art? Yes. “No, I didn’t want to be a tattoo artist. I always knew I wanted to draw or paint, and I didn’t know how to do that, because who can make a living out of that? But it was actually Marcus who planted the seed that I could do the same thing with tattooing.”
“Have you ever thought about selling your art? You’re really talented, Jasper. Your pieces should hang in galleries.”
“No,” I scoff. “I’m notthatgood. It’s just a way for me to get my emotions out.”
“That’s not all it is. You’re amazing. Every single person who looks at your work knows that.”
