Page 13 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Hey, you two, come have some breakfast," Marcus interrupts, waving us over with spatula still in hand, before Zachary can finish his sentence.

Saved by the kitchen implement.

Zachary sighs and gestures into the kitchen. "After you."

I give him a tight smile and walk up to the breakfast nook, impressed by the spread: toast, eggs, a bowl of fruit, two tubs of yoghurt, a jug of orange juice. I don't usually have breakfast; I'm lucky if I wake up early enough to grab a cup of coffee before making a mad dash to the bus. Early bird, I am not. Night owl, I very much am. But something about the smell of the cooking eggs and the food in front of me has my stomach rebelling and I hug my arms around my midsection before the gurgling I feel becomes the growling they can all hear.

Marcus plops a cup of black coffee onto the counter in front of Zachary. "Hey, what are you doing up so early? Other than when we have to catch an early flight, I can't remember the last time I saw you before noon."

Zachary takes a sip of his coffee and flicks through the newspaper sections Rhys has finished with. "Hmm? Oh, no real reason, just thought I'd go to the bar to make sure all the things we discussed yesterday are being implemented smoothly."

Marcus frowns. "Hunter's got it sorted. I mean he's already there to meet the plumbe⁠—"

"I'll feel better if I see it myself. Can't a guy check on his own business?" Zachary snaps. The impatience in his voice isn't something I'm used to hearing. From grumpy Rhys, sure. From the ever cool and even-tempered Zachary? Never. Apparently I'm not the only one who notices. Rhys glances at Zachary over the top of his paper. His eyes then accidentally meet mine and he immediately goes back to his paper.

Marcus lifts his hands in surrender and takes a step back, gesturing with his head towards the pan of eggs.

Zachary shakes his head. "Nah. Just the coffee. Thanks," he says with a tilt of his lips, almost in apology.

Marcus finally turns to look over at me. "Eggs?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I answer.

I don't know why, it feels safer not to ask for anything, expect anything, rely on them for anything. Once bitten, twice shy.

"I don't usually have much more than a fruit cup or cup of tea for breakfast, not usually awake early enough for anything more than that," I overexplain.

He ignores me completely and makes me a full plate anyway — eggs, toast, two rashers of crispy bacon — sets it on the island and gestures at the stool. My mouth floods. I can't remember the last time I had a full breakfast. Years.

"He's a great cook," Zachary says, watching me looking down at the food in front of me. "I mean, I know he looks like he'd burn cereal, but he's actually become pretty good in the kitchen."

Marcus scoffs, joins us with his own heaped plate, hip against the island, shovelling food into his mouth. "That's because if I wanted to eat well around here, I had to learn myself. You're all useless in the kitchen. Don't think we used the microwave that first year."

I take a tentative bite of the eggs. They're excellent, which is surprising and annoying.

I look up to see Marcus watching me and he grins. "Good, huh?"

Ugh. Still cocky beyond compare. But I'm no longer the naive, starry-eyed, nineteen-year-old I was when I last saw him.

Making a show of taking another bite, I then slowly put down my fork and give him a nonchalant shrug. "They're okay. A little bland but maybe you meant for them to be that way?"

"Lies!" He grabs my fork, scoops up some egg, tastes it himself, as if checking for a bad batch. "They're amazing. Do you know how many scrambled egg recipes I've tried?" He stares at me, incredulous, and I return the look with another shrug. "This is Gordon Ramsay meets RecipeTin Eats. I'd beat them both in a cook-off."

I swallow down the urge to smirk, even as Zachary snorts under his breath next to me.

"If you say so," I say flatly, and grab the toast to take a bite, giving a little sound of appreciation. "The toast is good at least. Is it Wonder Bread?"

This time Zachary doesn't even bother trying to hide his response; he spits out the coffee in his mouth.

Marcus almost chokes, sputtering at my response. He rounds the island and stands next to me, picking up a slice of bacon and holds it to my lips. "Firstly, I made that sourdough myself. Now, take a bite of this and tell me it's not the best bacon you've ever had."

His arm grazes mine as he leans in closer, hovering the bacon right up against my lips. I get a waft of his body wash, and it takes everything not to close my eyes and let myself be enveloped by it. It's mingled with his aftershave, and it's something quintessentially Marcus. And it yanks me into the past, a moment six years ago when he was standing about as close to me as he is now.

My cheeks suddenly blaze with heat, and my eyes flick up to meet his. Hazel eyes pinned to mine, looking right through me.

But before I can say or do anything, there's the sound of metal on tile, a stool screeching on the kitchen floor before it clangs loudly to the ground. I jump back, hand to my chest, as we look over to see Rhys on his feet, also looking down at the stool now rocking back and forth on its side on the ground.

"Sorry, must've gotten up a little too quickly." He clears his throat as he reaches for his glass of juice and downs it in one gulp. "I'm late for work."