A rumble of noise distracted both of them and a dimple popped into his cheek. “Hungry?”
Genevieve shrugged. “Guess so.” She sat up and wrapped a sheet around herself. “Let me make something quick.”
“I can help too.”
“Great.”
They set about pulling eggs and ham from her small fridge. Not ten minutes later, Genevieve discovered something new about herself.
She didn’t like anyone in her kitchen.
“That pan isn’t Teflon.”
Alex looked up from the egg he was about to crack. “That’s okay, I can just scrape it off.”
Genevieve stared at him. “Scraping ruins the pans.”
“But if it isn’t Teflon, why do you care?” He cracked the egg and dropped it in the pan, breaking the yolk. “Oops.” He beamed at her. “Sorry, I know you wanted fried. I can eat this one scrambled. I’ll have better luck with the next one.”
“No,I’llhave better luck with the next one. Go sit.”
Alex seemed surprised. “But I’m a decent cook!”
“You said you were a terrible cook.”
“Any idiot can make eggs.”
“Your eggs are burning, smarty.” She stifled a laugh when he swore and lifted the pan from the burner. Edging him aside, she took the abused breakfast away from him. “I’m an excellent cook, Alex, and if I had the choice, I’d rather eat food that’s excellent. So go make us a little place on the ground where we can sit and eat. And cuddle.” She tacked on the end of the sentence to motivate him and snatched the spatula away.
Alex reluctantly returned to the floor and made them a nest of pillows and blankets. While flipping the ham, she prevailed upon him to at least wrap a sheet around himself. Alex grudgingly complied, only when she claimed she would be too distracted to eat, which was half-true. To reward him, she did give him a quick cuddle before sitting down with him and the food.
“Next time, I’ll cook for you.”
Genevieve smiled and spread some egg yolk on her toast. The man couldn’t resist his caretaking streak. “I don’t mind you cooking as long as it’s not in my kitchen. With my pans.”
He pursed his lips. “Well, it’ll probably be safer on your stomach if I order out. I guess I may have stretched the truth a little when I called myself a decent cook. I can do cereal and oatmeal okay, but my brother swears the mac and cheese I made for his birthday picnic made him sick for a week. I’ll put the food on the plates for you, though. Or if you’re good, I’ll volunteer to be the plate.” He bobbed his eyebrows comically.
She chuckled, feeling more lighthearted than she could remember. She tucked away the thought that this could be their last meal together here. In his company, the simple food tasted gourmet, and between the frequent kisses and caresses, it took a while to empty their plates. He started to help her when she picked up their dishes, but she brushed his hands away. “I’ll just soak these and wash them later.”
He relaxed, the happy light still in his eyes. “So I guess next time I’ll be doing the dishes too.”
Genevieve snorted. “Frankly, I don’t mind if you do the disheseverytime.”
She realized what she had said when the silence stretched out. She looked over her shoulder. Alex studied her with a small, knowing smile.
“I didn’t mean to imply…I mean, that we’d be together…”
“I know exactly what you meant, baby. No pressure, remember?”
She returned to her small sink, almost near tears at his gentle understanding. How easy it would be to fall into this routine, to imagine them together, eating meals and doing dishes. But how would she fit into his life when they were in his world?
She looked at the window, where dawn’s light had seeped around the edges of the curtain. She needed some time to compose herself and come to grips with whatever this was between them. She walked over to her bureau, grabbed her clothes and dressed.
“Where are you going?” he asked, scowling as he sat up.
“I know it’s weird, but most people wear clothes even if they’re inside the house, Alex.”
“If you lived with me, that would be the first rule to go.”
