“Why? Were you jealous?”
“I didn’t like him touching you,” Brooks growls.
I can’t hide the smile that spreads across my face. I feel it down to my toes. “You were jealous.”
Brooks tries to step out of my hold, but I don’t let him get far. “Don’t let it go to your head, Charlie.”
“I won’t be dancing with him. But I do need to get back to the bar.”
“When will you be home?” Brooks asks.
“Not until late.”
I have never hated the fact that I work late more than I do right this very second. I want to steal Brooks away, hide at my house, and spend all night kissing him.
Learning what he likes and doesn’t like. Memorizing the feel of his lips beneath mine.
I want it all.
“I’ll see you at home then?”
Brooks takes a few steps back, and the cool air fills the space between us.
“Try to stay awake.”
The smellof cinnamon wakes me. Grabbing a sweater, I hop out of bed and follow the sweet scent. The sight that greets me is one I want to remember.
Brooks, standing at my stove, whistling a Christmas tune, and flipping pancakes with Comet at his feet. A tight T-shirt clings to his back.
I’ve seen Brooks cooking before. This certainly isn’t the first time. But something about it feels different. It’s quite the sight.
By the time I got home last night, it was almost two. A few regulars were having too good of a time for me to kick them out. Brooks was passed out in his room, and I didn’t want to wake him.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me all morning, or do you want some breakfast?”
“Pancakes?” I ask, sitting down on the barstool at the counter, rubbing a hand through my messy hair.
Brooks gives me a warm smile. “Your favorite.”
“I could get used to waking up like this.”
“To me making you pancakes?”
“To you.”
Brooks winks at me before setting down a plate of pancakes in front of me with a steaming mug of coffee.
Black. Just how I like it.
I fight another smile realizing just how much we know about each other. It’s the simplest of things, but it has me reaching for the syrup to drown my pancakes so I can stuff my face.
No need to let Brooks see the ridiculous smile there.
I groan. I forgot how good Brooks’s pancakes taste. It’s been years since I’ve had them.
“Good?” Brooks peeks over his shoulder at me.
“The fucking best.”
