A few minutes later, the creak of a door caught my attention, followed by the jingle of Pancho’s collar soon after.
“Hey, boy.” I laughed as he pranced up to me, immediately jumping up on my leg.
“Pancho!” Sierra scolded him from the hallway. “Sorry, we’ve been working on that.”
She stepped into view, and my heart skipped a beat. Her hair, braided back into two plaits, hung over her shoulders, and she wore an oversized T-shirt that fell mid-thigh.
My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out, despite how hard I tried.
“Morning?” She raised an eyebrow in what seemed to be amusement at my tongue-tiedness.
“Morning good.” Heat rose to my cheeks at the mistake. “Er, good morning.” I internally groaned.
Why? Why was I like this?
“Pancho, come here.” She called over her dog before asking what I was making.
“Cinnamon roll French toast, eggs, and bacon,” I answered as I scrambled the eggs.
She hummed. “Sounds good.” Without another word, she led Pancho out the front door.
“Get it together, Hayden,” I muttered to myself. “You’re friends, got it?”
Yeah, fucking right.
Pigs would fly, the ocean would dry up, and hell would freeze over before I’d ever be “just friends” with her. The cold, hard truth, though, was that Sierrawantedto be friends. I didn’t know if she wanted to be more, given our history. I had to respect that, even if it cut me up from the inside.
I finished making the eggs, plating them up with a couple slices of French toast and a few strips of bacon. Reaching into the pantry, I pulled out a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of maple syrup, setting them next to Sierra’s plate on the kitchen counter.
A few minutes later, the front door opened, and Pancho came barreling inside. He ran a few circles in the living room then collapsed into a heap on the kitchen floor with a loud sigh. Snores immediately rose into the air from the direction of the dog.
“A bit dramatic for someone who doesn’t have a job,” Sierra muttered, despite looking at the animal with all the love in the world. “Fucking freeloader.”
I laughed, and her head whipped toward me, embarrassment creeping across her features like she didn’t think I could hear her.
“The things we do for our pets, right?” I shook my head before gesturing to her plate. “Here, eat up. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Milk? Orange juice? Water?” I listed off all the options.
She slid onto one of the stools at the counter. “Uh, coffee’s good, thank you.”
“Still milk, sugar, and a spoonful of peanut butter?”
“You remember that?”
“How could I forget? I always thought that combination was the weirdest thing about you,” I teased, pouring her a mug, adding a splash of milk, a couple sugar cubes, and a spoon with a healthy amount of peanut butter on it.
“God forbid a girl have taste.” She grinned, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Strange taste, but I like it. It’s very you, Sierra.”
Instead of responding, she took a bite of her French toast. Her eyes closed as she chewed, a low groan rising from her throat. As quickly as it happened, her eyes flew open with a rosy tint creeping into her cheeks.
She pulled on the end of her braids. “Um…breakfast is really good. Thank you.”
My lips curled up, a million thoughts after the sound she made—only a few of them decent—rolling through my mind. “You’re welcome.”
“So, the fair is this week?” she mumbled between bites.
“Sure is. Have you kept up your skills in carnival games? I’ve improved my game, by the way,” I added, a little glimmer of hope rising in my chest that she remembered.
