When I don’t find anything in the kitchen, I slip out to my truck in the driveway. The world is only beginning to be drenched in morning sunlight, and a cool breeze kicks up, ruffling my hair. I make my way back inside with my own toolbox that I keep in the bed of my truck, and I get to work on that loud, wiggly cabinet hinge.
“All right,” I mumble as the smell of coffee fills the kitchen. “Finally.”
This cabinet door has been crooked since the first time I came over, and now I have the opportunity to fix it. But just as I’m packing up the tools, I notice that one of his sliding drawers isn’t quite closing.
I open it up and find that it’s Eli’s junk drawer.
It makes me smile. Of course, Eli’s the kind of man that has a junk drawer.
I slip my hand to the back, just to make sure nothing’s jammed or hooked up. But when I don’t feel anything, I pull out the flashlight from my toolbox and take a look. I have to open the cabinet beneath it and stick my head under to see that one of the wheels is a little off its track.
Easy fix, no tools required.
After wiggling the drawer out completely, I slide it back in, making sure all four wheels are connected properly to the track. It squeaks a little, but it’s nothing some good ol’ WD-40 can’t fix. I keep a small bottle right there in my toolbox, and a couple of squirts against the small wheels has it opening and closing without a sound in no time.
“Much better,” I mutter as I pack up my toolbox.
After putting my toolbox back in my truck, I rummage around in the fridge. Walker’s mom wasn’t joking about filling this damn thing up. In the freezer are stacks of plastic Tupperware containers that have cooking instructions taped to the top. I pull out a few, smiling at her impeccable handwriting.
I’m not sure Lia’s body will be ready for things like shepherd’s pie and lasagna, though.
“Scrambled eggs with toast it is,” I say to myself.
Just as I’m cracking eggs into a pan, muffled footsteps shuffle down the hallway. They’re slow, and heavy, and I know who I’m about to see before he even breaches the entryway into the main area of Eli’s home.
“Morning,” Walker says as he yawns, scratching at his disheveled hair.
“Morning,” I say as I crack another egg into the pan. “Scrambled, sunny side up, or hard fried?”
Walker looks over at me with only one eye open. “We got toast?”
I nod. “And butter. And jam, too, if anyone wants it.”
“Sunny side up, runny yolk,” Walker grumbles. “That coffee ready?”
I reach up and open the silent cabinet where the mugs are, grinning to myself at a job well done. “Absolutely. Creamer and sugar are on the table.”
“Thanks.”
I hand him the mug and the pot of coffee for him to pour himself some. But after taking the two things from me, he just stares at the profile of my face while I move his eggs around in the pan.
“Salt and pepper?” I ask.
“You’re up early,” Walker grunts out.
I just shrug as I reach for the loaf of bread. “Couldn’t sleep. Too busy having an existential crisis about how I somehow lucked my way into a family.”
His huff of amusement is quiet. “You’re not the only one with that crisis.”
I slide a couple slices of bread into the toaster. Walker pours himself a coffee and places it back on the hot plate. I slide his eggs onto a plate for him and finish it with some salt and pepper just as the bread pops out of the toaster.
“Butter and jam’s on the table, too,” I say as I hand the plate to him.
He takes it from me. “Domestic looks good on you, Knox.”
I chuckle. “Careful, Walk. Keep talking like that and I might never leave.”
“That’s the idea,” he says as he walks over to the kitchen table.
