Bea responded in seconds.
How bad?
Like, the pot looks haunted. There’s egg on the ceiling from number two.
On the CEILING?
He cracked it too hard. Physics.
Stella pocketed the phone and watched Tyler drain the pot, refill it, add more vinegar. His jaw was set. His hair had gone flat on one side from running his hands through it. The kitchen smelled like vinegar.
His phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it. His ears went pink.
“Lindsey?” Stella asked.
“She wants to do dinner Tuesday.”
“So do dinner Tuesday.”
“I’m going to be here at the Shack at five AM on Tuesday prepping breakfast for a restaurant.” Tyler picked up another egg. “I’ll have to cancel.”
“You’re canceling a date to poach eggs.”
“I’m postponing a date. There’s a difference.”
“There really isn’t.” Stella watched him turn the egg in his hand. “Text her back at least. Don’t just leave it.”
Tyler set the egg down, picked up his phone, and typed something with his thumbs that took far too long for what was probably three sentences. His ears stayed pink the whole time.
“Do you want to try something else?” she asked. “Scrambled eggs are?—”
“No.”
“Pancakes?”
“No.”
“Toast. You can almost make toast now.”
Tyler put both hands on the counter and looked at her. “I told everyone at that meeting I would do breakfast. Eggs Benedict. That’s what I said. That’s what I’m doing. Because it’s what we order every Saturday and I know what it’s supposed to taste like and I am going to learn this.”
Stella held up both hands. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Should I get more eggs?”
Tyler looked at the carton. Two left. He’d started with a dozen. “Yeah. Get more eggs.”
She hopped off the counter, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door. “I’ll try the market. And we need lemons.”
“For what?”
“Hollandaise. You can’t make eggs Benedict without hollandaise.”
Tyler’s face went blank. “I forgot about the hollandaise.”
“You forgot about the hollandaise.”
