Strong.
Fresh.
And something sweet underneath it.
Pancakes.
He frowned, still half asleep, then pushed himself upright.
The farmhouse was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes downstairs.
For one second, he forgot Izzy was there.
Then he remembered everything at once.
The gala.
The men from Florida.
Tessa Quinn confirming they belonged to Varga’s detail.
The black SUV parked outside City Limits Café yesterday while those same men watched Caitlin and Izzy through the window.
Watched Izzy.
Grant’s teeth clenched once.
He shoved out of bed and headed downstairs.
The second he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped cold.
Izzy stood at the stove in soft morning light, flipping pancakes while bacon crackled nearby. She wore one of Caitlin’s oversized Bridlepath sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up, dark hair twisted loosely on top of her head.
The kitchen looked…alive.
Coffee steaming.
Butter melting.
Plates stacked on the table.
Home.
Grant stared longer than he meant to.
Izzy glanced over her shoulder. “Morning.”
He blinked. “What is all this?”
“Well,” she said lightly, “I figured if you and Burke are going out to hunt down Hollis properties all day, the least I could do was make sure you had an actual meal first.”
Grant looked at the table again.
Pancakes.
Eggs.
Biscuits.
