He grins, and I feel the memory of last night’s giddiness all over again.
We get out of bed in a surprisingly coordinated fashion, as if we’ve done this mutual unentangling a million times before. I’m last up, and I wrap a blanket around my shoulders as I shiver.
“Does it matter that we’re late for work?” I ask the question as I pad into the kitchen.
“Nah, we’re the bosses,” Beck says as he starts rooting through the fridge. “Why the hell does Adrian have three different types of orange juices? I didn’t even know therewerethree kinds of orange juice.”
Caleb rolls his eyes and laughs. “Just pick one.”
“Pulp or no pulp?” Beck asks me. “You pick for me.”
“Mmm… Pulp?”
“Solid choice,” he chuckles, and then eyes Adrian, who’s just walked in and is staring at the coffee pot like it’s an employee who’s not doing their job correctly. “You know glaring at the machine isn’t going to make it come out any faster, right?”
Adrian mutters something incoherent and then rubs his eyes.
“You’re clearly not a morning person,” I say, shocked at the realization. “I seriously thought you’d wake up in full-on work mode.”
“Ha ha,” he eyes me, a half-smile on his face. “And, aren’tyoujust the early-morning comedian?”
I giggle as I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, unsure what to do. Then Beck appears behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and drags me to the island.
“You’re in charge of taste-testing,” he says. “My hangover pancakes have been accused of tasting horrific.”
I snort. “How can you screw up pancakes?”
Beck leans in, lips brushing my ear. “I have no idea. Which is why you’re responsible for taste-testing and reporting back what the problem is.”
“I think that may be above my paygrade,” I joke.
He bites my neck in response and then releases me, grabbing a bowl and cracking eggs into it with a newfound energy. He adds in the mix, measures out the milk, and I can tell from the way he’s not looking at the instructions that he’s made these pancakes a hundred times.
I turn to see Adrian watching us, sipping his cup of coffee that has finally finished brewing. He sees me staring, just as Caleb places my own coffee in my hand.
“We should probably not all head into work at the same time.” His voice is commanding, as his eyes bounce from mine to Beck’s to Caleb’s.
“I need to shower and get dressed anyway,” I point out. “But isn’t it already going to be weird that we’re all late?”I immediately think of Marissa and what passive-aggressive comments she might make.
Ugh. I hate her.
“It’ll be fine.” Beck starts heating up the skillet, his bare chest on full display. He catches me looking, flexes, then immediately ruins the effect by dropping pancake batter on his foot. “Fuck!” he laughs, and Caleb is already there with a paper towel, dabbing at the spill.
I sit on the counter and watch them all interact. The energy is weirdly peaceful and comforting. There’s an easy choreography to the way they move around each other—Beck is like a ray of sunshine, Caleb is like the doting parent, and Adrian looms over everyone trying to orchestrate the whole thing.
If this is what mornings are like in this strange fever dream, I’m not sure I ever want to wake up alone again.
The first plate lands in front of me, the pancakes golden, topped with strawberries and powdered sugar.
Beck wriggles his brows. “Alright, babe. Taste test ‘em.”
“Got it,” I laugh. I taste the first bite and almost moan. “Oh shit, this is so good. I thought you said your hangover pancakes suck.”
Beck winks at me. “I was just kidding. Nothing I do sucks, but you already know that, don’t you?”
Caleb makes the rest of the pancakes, and we’re all wolfing them down like starving animals.
“So,” Caleb says, after swallowing a huge forkful. “Maddy has a good point about us all going in late at the same time. What arewe going to tell people? You know… about what this is.”
