“Then you’ll be honest with me and tell me.” He shuffles close and kisses my forehead. “Are our plans for today up in smoke?”
“I think so. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise for being honest. Stay for breakfast?”
I smile. I want to stay all day, but it’s not a good idea. But breakfast? I can do that.
13
JIMMY
We take turns to shower and then make our way downstairs. Flynn is wearing yesterday’s clothes, as he hadn’t been expecting to stay over.
“What do you fancy? A cooked English breakfast, or a quick bowl of cereal?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen.
“Would you let me cook?”
“You’re the guest.”
He dips his chin and rubs his fingertip over the breakfast bar counter. “You’ve taken care of me a lot in the last twelve hours or so. It’s my turn.” He lifts his gaze, meeting mine—a splash of pink warms his cheeks and nose.
Hedidtake care of me, more than he realises. And that blow job! I do a mental chef’s kiss. Not to mention the trust he placed in me to take care ofhim.
“There’s no need. I’ll have you know I’m an expert at cooking breakfast.”
He narrows his twinkling eyes. “I thought you could only cook three meals. Mac and cheese—which was delicious, by the way—pizza, and burgers.”
“That’s right.”
“A cooked breakfast would make four.”
I snort-laugh. “A fry-up doesn’t count as cooking.”
He folds his arms. “On what planet?”
“Planet Jimmy.” I wink and pull a couple of frying pans out of the cupboard. “Sausage? Bacon? Eggs? Beans? Black pudding?”
He screws his face up. “Ugh. No thanks.”
“What do you mean? Black pudding is the food of the gods.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes. I mean, someone must like it, right?”
“I guess.”
“Eggs fried or scrambled?”
“Whichever you prefer. Please let me cook?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got this. How doyoupreferyoureggs?” I know the answer. At least, I used to.
“Fried.”
“Do you want me to turn it over at the end, so the yolk is more solid?”
He smiles and nods, his blush intensifying.
