He set his plate on the ottoman to wipe his eyes. “Yes! So many times. Do you remember Dylan and me practically bribing you to go seeBTB: Warrior Seasonswith us on opening weekend?”
Her face lit up. “Yes! That’s right! You guys bought me Starbucks for a week after that.”
“So the great Finn Carey has succumbed to the charms of Griff the time-traveling dragon. What season are you on? Or are you into the movies?”
She navigated through the menu. “I’m in the final season with the original cast, then I’ll do the movies, and then I’ll start on the reboot. I take it that means you’re okay watching it with me?”
“Always. And particularly any season that has Marita Leonard on-screen in body paint.”
Seven
Finn slept late and woke the next morning to the smell of coffee. After slipping into yoga pants and a fleece, she made a stop in the bathroom to tidy up (including a tiny bit of lip gloss— vanity, thy name is Fiona) and mentally reviewed the options for the day that she’d planned out while trying to fall asleep the night before. But when she padded into the kitchen and found an appealingly sleep-rumpled Tom with stubble darkening his jaw, all other thoughts flew from her head.
“Happy Saturday! I snooped.” He held a sheet of paper aloft. “Huckleberry, are you telling me that you inventoried the contents of your pantry and made a list of all the possible meals you could make from those ingredients?”
She yawned and slid into one of the kitchen chairs. “And?”
He ran his eyes down her notes. “And I’m honestly impressed. You could cook a meal for this whole apartment complex or make sure you and I survived in here for three weeks. It’s incredibly comprehensive.”
She refused to be pleased by his enthusiasm. “I like being prepared.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” He plunked a mug of coffee in front of her, into which he’d added her preferred splash of cream. “You must’ve been thrilled when I crashed your blizzard party of one.”
She held the mug to her mouth rather than answer. Hehadthrown her for a loop, but now… Well, it wasn’t so bad, having him here.
He changed the subject before she succumbed to the temptation to be honest. “So you’ve got eggs on here. Do you have specific plans for them?”
She had a feeling Tom was about to go off-list with a menu suggestion. In fact, she had a feelingeverythingTom did was pretty much off-list. “Food plans or life plans?” she hedged. “Because I’ve been saving up to send those eggs to college. But a state school, not an Ivy.”
Tom rolled with the nonsense emerging from her sleep-muddled brain. “Oh, not Yale? In that case, they’d be better off in the omelets I was going to offer to make.”
As was becoming common when it came to Tom, she was equal parts horrified and intrigued. He wanted to make a mess in her meticulously organized kitchen? Yet at the same time, there was no sense lying to herself; she really did want to see him make a mess in her meticulously organized kitchen. “You’re right. An omelet is the kinder fate. Do you need any help?”
He was already pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Not if you don’t mind my rummaging wantonly through your stuff. I assume you’re not morally or allergically opposed to any of the ingredients on your list?”
“Not at all,” Finn said after another long slurp of coffee.
“Bacon it is,” he said. “Your job is to observe and shout helpful suggestions.”
God, it was easy to forget about her anger the longer he was around. And so she let herself, for the moment anyway. She lounged in a chair and pointed out where he could find bowls and pans and knives, teasing him when his diced veggies came out uneven and complimenting him when the beautifully cooked omelet slid right out of the pan in a way hers never did. If having Tom back in her life meant restaurant-quality breakfasts, she could be into that.
“I saw online that the city hopes to start plowing the major thoroughfares this afternoon, and then they’ll start working on the smaller streets,” he said as he forked a piece of omelet into his mouth.
Ah, of course. He wasn’t actually back in her life long-term, and he certainly wouldn’t be cooking her breakfast in the future. “Well, this is definitely one of the smaller streets, but I don’t think we’ll need to ration our food.”
“I read your list. We should be fine. I mean, your ice cream stash alone could keep us alive for weeks.”
So he’d discovered her vice.
“Apparently heavy snow’s snapping power lines all over the city and causing outages,” she said. “All I’m saying is this is an old building with old wires, so stashing ice cream in the snow is high on my list of survival plans.”
“Speaking of plans,” he said. “It sounds like we have to coexist for another day at least. So I figure we’ve got two options.”
“Two options,” she parroted, choking back a laugh that she’d come to the kitchen armed with plans for the day, but roll-with-the-punches-Tom had beaten her to it.
“Yes, two options,” he said. “One, I still have a mountain of editing, so like we’ve been doing, we can work until it’s time for dinner, TV, and bed. Or two: We declare today a lazy day and lounge.”
His fork clinked against his plate as he waited for her response.
