Ethan slid a plate in front of Emmaline’s sketchy napkin, breaking the train of the memory before Tony could wreck that, too.
She looked up because he’d made her eggs and a waffle. He’d even added a pad of butter and a drizzle of maple syrup. Honest as hell, he practically styled the plate for a food magazine.
The breakfast was simple, no doubt. There was nothing fancy about the egg or the waffle—other than their aesthetic perfection. But as she lifted a bite to her mouth, the realization hit that this was probably the best egg she’d ever eaten. In. Her. Life.
“How did you do this?” she asked, savoring the flavor.
“Do what?” he asked. But the sly grin on his face did nothing to convince her he didn’t know. This guy understood precisely what he was up to.
“These are the best eggs I’ve eaten.” She went in for a second bite.
“High praise.” The lopsided grin did it all for her. Every little single thing. Done. Done. And done. All with only that trace of the edge of his mouth.
“Share your secrets.” Because she’d been eating eggs wrong her entire life, if they could taste like this.
“The secret is a hot pan, salt, pepper, and take your time.” He went back to another batch, cracking with one hand and tossing the shells into the trash.
“No.” She shook her head. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Let me show you?” he asked, the question an invitation.
Well, yeah. Because she had to see this. There was no way that was “all” there was to it. If her kitchen could produce eggs like this, she damn well had a right to know how.
She snagged her plate and moved closer, so she had a better view of the stove.
“Low heat,” he said, turning down the flame on her stove. “Then you let it do its thing. Add a little salt and pepper.” He did this with a quick movement. “Wait some more.” He stared at the eggs in the pan as though they were a serious test, and he was not about to risk failure.
“Still waiting,” he said, the timbre of his voice low and husky and—
He flipped the egg in one shocking swoop, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement and the egg sliding clean off the spatula to cozy right back up with the pan.
“I think I want eggs.” Barbie raised her hand. “Those eggs.” She pointed for good measure.
“I’ll take some eggs, too,” Lauren agreed, holding her hand up.
“Count me in,” Cress added, hand also in the air.
“We all want eggs,” Em agreed.
“I’d like an omelet if we’re placing orders,” Mom said from the doorway.
Em gave Ethan a sly look. “Cooking lessons for everyone.”
“Ladies.” Ethan held up his spatula. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“I should’ve gone to cooking school.” James moved beside Barbie, shaking his head.
“Don’t worry, James,” Barbie said. “I’m sure you’ll find some other talents someday.”
Lauren snort laughed at this.
Cress just frowned and glanced between the two of them.
“Dad!” Annie burst through the door, Fiona right there with her. “My hair came out.”
Her French braid was more than a little lopsided, as though she’d climbed out of the tube slide straight into the rose bushes, rolling around for a bit. Annie skidded to a halt when she caught sight of Emmaline standing so close to her dad. Her smile stretched across her face.
“Hey, Annie.” Em suddenly had an intense urge to scoot away from Ethan just to avoid feeding Annie’s hope.
