“Gotcha,” I said. “Probably a good strategy.”
“Work smarter, not harder,” he said.
I shook my head. “Next time, text her.”
“Really?” he asked.
“What do you mean ‘really’?” I said, confused.
“You told me to always text you. I don’t even know if I have her number.”
“Oh, right.” Shit. I really was a control freak. A boring, predictable control freak. “I’ll send it to you.”
“Can’t wait to start bugging her.”
I laughed.
“FYI,” he said, “you might want to do an inventory of the kitchen. Not sure if that’s been done since you’ve been gone. I think you’re ordering way too many potatoes.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I carried a box inside Friday and added it to, like, four other unopened boxes.”
“Yeah, take that off the list for your next delivery this week.”
“Will do.” I ended the call and forwarded Raya’s contact info to Mac, then opened my email. Along with a whole lot of spam, a message from a call center company about reserving the patio for a team dinner waited. I leaned my butt against the edge of the counter. To my left, the coffeepot bubbled and hissed as I replied, offering available times. Next, I started an email to the team about inventory.
“It’s too early to be working,” a low voice to my right said.
I glanced over to see Elijah standing in the entryway to the kitchen, watching me. He was fully clothed and I was weirdly disappointed by that fact. I should’ve kept his shirt on.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, time stops for no one.”
“Do I need to sneak out of here?” he asked, looking down the hall and then back at me.
“Soon,” I said.
He walked closer until he stood in front of me, then braced his hands on the counter on either side of me. I still had my phone up, thumbs on the screen, email not quite composed.
“Personal space,” I said with a smile.
He kissed me on the forehead. “Who’s even awake at six thirty in the morning to be conducting business with?”
“Delivery drivers, food suppliers, restaurant owners.”
He smirked.
“Is the boxing gym not open this early? People don’t go before work?”
“It is. Our front desk person is there, opening. But I don’t go in until eight.”
“The perks of running the place.”
“So many perks,” he said sarcastically. He kissed me. His mouth tasted like toothpaste. He must’ve found my tube on the counter in the bathroom. Or maybe he carried a travel toothbrush on all his late-night booty calls.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, straightening up, then turning in a circle.
“What are you looking for?”
