Lucy is now in the kitchen, making breakfast by the sound of it, talking on the phone.
This is when I realize something rather important. I don’t know anything about her.
Who is she missing? A boyfriend?
I don’t dare ask, and I don’t think it’s fair that I’m standing here, trying to listen to her conversation. My family is full of nosy people: my grandma and sisters are the worst. But here I am, doing my best to keep up with them.
I clear my throat and walk loudly the rest of the way down the hall. Heel-to-toe, thumping like an elephant, rattling the glass vase on the floating shelf that my sister Ainsley deposited there the last time she was here.
I cough like I just sat in front of a fog machine at a concert.
It’s loud enough that Lucy wraps up the conversation quickly.
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” Lucy turns and smiles at me when I walk into the kitchen. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing a matching set of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. And she’s looking at me like she’s happy to see me.
“Good morning. I didn’t know you were here.” She points to the coffeepot. “I made a fresh pot. I hope that’s okay and that I didn’t mess up your timer. I bought a dark roast from a local coffee shop called Grind On.”
She looks so proud of herself, like she’s discovered something new. Except I own that coffee shop with Kingston.
Instead of spoiling it for her, I just smile. “Dark roast sounds great.”
I head over to the cupboard and reach for my favorite mug; it’s not there. I glance at the counter and see that theStud Muffinmug is already full of coffee with a lip gloss impression glistening on the rim. I feel a little bit of annoyance and wonder if maybe I should tell her that it’s my favorite mug. That’s the one that fits my hand the best.
Yes, I have about thirty others, but it’s not like they hold the right amount of coffee and keep it warm like that mug does. But it’s not really important in the grand scheme of things. I can share my mug—but only this once.
This is our first time in the kitchen at the same time. She doesn’t know that mug fits me just right. And her hands are way smaller than mine, so it’s not like it would fit her hand the same way it does mine.
She should go for a mug with a smaller handle.
Not my ginormous one.
Oh well. I’ll let it go. I’ll be the bigger man. The better roommate.
I find a mediocre mug, whose handle I can only fit three fingers into, and fill it full of the dark roast coffee.
“How’s everything going at the clinic?” I ask as I blow on the hot coffee.
“Good so far,” she replies as she flips an egg in the pan. “The vet techs in that office are great, and the other veterinarian isn’t too bad to work with.”
“What does ‘too bad’ mean? That could cover a wide range of things,” I say with a chuckle.
She slides the eggs onto the plate beside her. “He’s been doing it for a long time, so he’s fairly particular about how he wants things done.” She chuckles. “Things like exactly where to set the glove box—two inches to the right of the sink. And organizing the medicines in the fridge in a specific way. A way that does not make sense to me.” She shakes her head at that andthen slowly adds two more eggs to the frying pan. “Do you want some eggs?”
“Um, sure! Thank you.”
She pops open the oven, revealing biscuits, which explains the delicious smell.
I sniff deeply. “Wow, that smells good.”
I don’t know how she had the time to make these. I thought she had just walked out of the room, but I must have slept through her cooking earlier.
She nods. “They are good. I promise. These are the best buttermilk biscuits you’ll ever eat.”
I stare at her. “You mean to tell me those didn’t come out of a can?”
“No, that is blasphemy to buttermilk biscuits.” She looks affronted that I even asked.
“When on earth did you have time to make these?” I ask.
