Then I exhale to steady my nerves…and maybe to give myself time to wonder what in the fuck all I’m doing.
She stole from me.
Hit me.
And all the reasons I walked away still exist.
But—
Scars on the back of her legs.
Flinching when I moved too fast.
The disguise tonight…
The fucking fact that she broke into my house—our house—and stole from me.
I grab the eggs, bring them to the counter, along with the cheese and bacon, green onions and mushrooms. It’s instinct to gather the ingredients, to snag the right pan from the drawer beneath the stove.
I don’t spend much time here—when I moved back to the States, I preferred to be at the estate. After pretending for so longthat the hole inside me I created by leaving her didn’t exist, all I wanted was to spend time in the place I had her. To fill that void with memories.
Good.
Until they turned bad.
The footsteps stop.
I open the carton, start cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Knife and cutting board are there and there”—I nod at the block and then a drawer—“and you’re more than welcome to keep the spray you have in your pocket, but I think that a knife will be a better weapon.” I shrug. “Though, those boots are pretty damned good as they are.”
She doesn’t move, not for a long moment.
Then she sighs quietly and moves to the drawer, pulling it open, snagging a cutting board. A moment later, she has a knife in hand.
And is turning toward me.
I can’t lie. I definitely feel a blip of discomfort with that shining blade in her hand.
But she doesn’t plunge the knife in my back.
She folds a towel and places it beneath the cutting board, starts slicing the mushrooms and green onions.
I scramble the eggs.
She dices the bacon, tosses it in the pan.
And then we’re working like we always used to, side-by-side with crisp efficiency.
Frying the bacon, sautéing the mushrooms and onions.
Setting them aside.
Eggs in the pan. Fillings joining the party along with the cheese and salt and pepper.
Five minutes later, I’m sliding her omelet onto a plate and starting on mine.
“I don’t understand,” I say as I pretend to focus on the eggs in the pan, but really I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye, watching as she slowly takes a bite, chews, and swallows.
