Page 85 of Finding Storm

“Coming,” I call back.

If only.

“He probably wants breakfast,” I say to Gran, who’s just washing up the dishes from our breakfast.

We ate early with Dad and Beck, who were up and out so they could get a start on Nick’s car.

I walk through to the dining room, and he’s standing there in the middle of the room, looking like a dream.

I’m pretty sure he’s gotten even better-looking since I saw him last night.

“Hey.” He smiles, and it reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Hi.” I tuck a stray hair behind my ear, giving him what I’m pretty sure is the goofiest smile known to man. “Did you sleep okay?” I ask through my cotton mouth.

“Better than okay. That bed is seriously comfy.”

Nick. Bed.

Dirty thoughts incoming.

“Good. Great,” I croak. I clear my throat. “Glad to hear it.”

He’s staring at me, and I’m staring at him, right into those blue eyes of his. And I’m starting to feel all hot and giddy and turned on.

Sweet Jesus. Pull yourself together, Stevie.

“Breakfast,” I blurt.

“What?” is his response.

“Breakfast,” I repeat. “What can I get you?”

“Oh. Right. Sure. Well, what’s on the menu?”

Me.

“Waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs any way you want them, fruit, toast, cereal …” I reel off.

He thinks for a moment. “Can I get waffles topped with fruit?”

“Sure. Any particular fruit?”

“Strawberries.”

“Whipped cream?” The words are out before I even register them.

Then, I do.

Gran’s suggestion …

I can feel my chest and face going red.

“No. No whipped cream.”

Thank God.

“So, just waffles topped with strawberries. You want coffee too?”