I want to shake their parent’s hands, personally thank them for producing these two fine specimens of men.Bravo.
The younger Macomb brother grins at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “That was fun.”
I nod, laughing as I turn back toward the stove. I crack another half a dozen eggs into the pan and start another waffle.
Plating up the waffle when it’s done, I scoop some of the already done eggs and bacon onto the plate and hold it out between the two brothers. “Wanna arm wrestle for it? Rock, paper, scissors? Fight to the death?”
Zach leans his hips against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest like a giant, sullen, brutish toddler. I roll my eyes, keeping the plate suspended between them.
Finally, Joel reaches for it, taking it out of my hand. He shrugs, then rounds the counter, where the girls are still seated finishing their meals and lifts Chloe out of her seat. He sinks into the chair and puts her in his lap. She grins up at him and he ruffles her hair.
“You take the next waffle,” Zach says to me then, stepping close beside me at the stove where I’m scrambling the next pan of eggs. “The cook shouldn’t eat last.”
I huff out a laugh, looking up at him where he’s standing next to me. “Oh no, that’s not how that works. You were the one up late last night being a hero.”
“You were up late, too. And then up early taking care of my girls,” he reminds me, his words gruff and low. The growlytimbre of it settles low in my belly and I clench my thighs together where I’m standing.
Just his damn voice makes me wet.
I’m still on edge from last night.
I was not about to take care of that problem lying on this man’s couch.
But that means I’m achy and jittery and I can’t wait to get home and pull ‘ol faithful out of the drawer for some very necessary self-care.
Sneaking home before the girls got up this morning to change out of my very skimpy pj’s, I’d hesitated, staring at the drawer in the bedside table next to my bed. It wouldn’t have taken long, that’s for sure.
I was responsible though, and changed quickly, fixing my hair and brushing my teeth.
Might have put on a little makeup for a glowy ‘no makeup’ look. You know. Just because.
And then I’d hightailed it back to Zach’s to wait for the girls to start waking up.
Flipping the waffle out of the iron onto a plate, I dish up the fresh eggs and load it up with bacon, and then turn, holding it out to Zach. My eyes meet his from beneath the brim of my hat, and my breath stalls in my throat when his fingers graze the backs of mine when he takes the plate from me.
“Thank you, Louise,” he says, still in that low, gruff growl that makes my insides feel all fluttery.
“You’re welcome.”
I can barely breathe, let alone speak aloud. His eyes are so captivating it makes it nearly impossible to concentrate when he looks at me. Especially like the last thing he wants to eat is the food on the plate between us… and like he wants to eat me instead.
Umm. Yes, please.
Lowering my eyes to release myself from the trap I’ve found myself sinking into, I turn back to the waffle iron, ladling another scoop of the batter into it. “Does anyone want seconds? I have enough batter to do a couple more waffles, if anyone wants another.”
Bailey and Joel both nod in affirmation. “I’ll take more eggs if there’s any left after you get your plate,” Joel says, nodding toward the stove.
“I can always make more,” I say over my shoulder, then look up at Zach. “How is it?”
He’s leaning his hips against the counter to my left, plate held at chest level as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Delicious.”
“Would you like more?” I ask, grinning. He nods, eyes flitting over to Joel. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This sibling rivalry is quite amusing.
Zach extends his plate to me, and I serve another scoop of the scrambled eggs onto it, then carry the pan to the bar counter and pile the last of it on Joel’s plate. He beams at me, winking.
I can’t help it.
I blush.
