“That’ll take way more than one breakfast,” Fletcher himself mutters.
“You his life coach?” General Daniel asks.
“Oh, no. My client roster is full.”
He studies me.
Again, I’m not getting theyou’re full of shitvibes that I got the last time I told my own father about my job, so I’m willing to continue giving him the benefit of the doubt until I have reason not to.
Fletcher slides a cup of coffee across the countertop to me, and follows it with a small plate of cheese.
My heart thumps so loudly, I’m surprised it doesn’t startle either of them.
“You want the cheese spicy too?” Fletcher asks me.
“No, I’m a cheese purist. But thank you.”
He sets four bottles of hot sauce on the counter in front of me. “If you change your mind…”
There’s a sizzle at the stove.
My eggs are cooking.
I smile at Fletcher, even though he’s not looking at me, then take a sip of the coffee.
And nearly die ofoh my god, that’s delicious.
He glances back at me.
“Is this what they teach you in Europe? How to make orgasmic coffee and where to buy the best mattresses?”
“No.”
“Dammit. My hopes are now dashed. What kind of beans are these?”
“Guatemalan. Present from my sister and her wife. Fresh-roasted yesterday.”
“Who roasted them?”
“Me.”
“You’re hired. You can stow away in my luggage on the way to London and make me coffee every day.”
He rolls his eyes and goes back to the eggs.
“London?” his dad repeats.
“Oh, that.” I flap a hand. “I’ve been selected as the coach in residence for a quarter for the Worldwide Coaching Association’s intensive training at the University of London. I start in a little over a week.”
I sip my coffee again and stifle another moan.
Then I take a bite of cheese.
Room temperature.
Oh god.
Fletcher pulled my cheese out. He let it warm up.
