“Yes,” I said, “but I want you to come over.”
Ask her to move in with you.
No, that’s weird.
“I’d like to have you over there a lot. For long periods of time.”
Brea seemed uncertain.
Get it together.
“So,” I said, hastily swiping pictures. “How do you like this kitchen?”
* * *
I showedBrea pictures while she finished cooking the brunch.
“That converted warehouse is nice,” she said as she handed me a plate. Along with the broiled asparagus and eggs Benedict, she had also made hash browns with big chunks of potatoes and onions and, of course, the muffins. She bit into a chocolate one.
“You’re eating your dessert first,” I teased.
“You ate yours first!” she retorted.
I cut a piece of the eggs Benedict and held it out to her. She was about to take it off of my fork when the doorbell rang several times in rapid succession. Brea jumped, smearing hollandaise sauce all over her face.
“Crap!” she exclaimed, wiping at it. “So much for a sexy brunch.”
Carter was on the other side of the door when I opened it.
“Go away.” I slammed it in his face.
There was more ringing and furious knocking. “Mom just called me!” my brother hollered.
I opened the door again. Carter grinned a sheepish grin as if he’d fucked up and needed me to rescue him.
“I kind of sort of told her about Brea and your dinner with her yesterday,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “and she said that you had to come by for a casual dinner on the terrace.”
“No, Carter, you didn’t!”
“Dude, she weaseled it out of me! She knows when I’m lying!”
“It’s not hard!” I shouted. “You’re always lying! You should have just stuck to your guns. What kind of a brother are you?”
Brea popped up beside me. “Is something wrong?”
Carter sniffed. “Did you make brunch?”
“You are not invited, especially after you sold me out to Mom,” I said, slamming the door and hauling Brea back into the living room.
“He can have a muffin,” Brea insisted and then proceeded to wrap up several of the glossy baked goods on a plate and bring them to Carter.
He was still standing outside the door, and he grinned when he saw her. “You definitely need to put a ring on her, Mark,” he told me, eating half of a chocolate muffin. “I could get used to this. You’re going to see me out here every morning, begging for food.”
I shook my head as Brea came back into the living room, giggling.
“See?” I complained. “This is why I have to move!”
* * *
