Page 77 of East

I gather the ingredients—flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, eggs, milk, butter, and the blueberries—and get to work on the batter. Dry ingredients separately from the wet.

Following a recipe is nice. Someone else has already gone through the trial and error. If I do exactly as they say, my dish will turn out the way it’s supposed to.

If only this situation had an instruction manual. A how-to guide to get me from Point A—Thea being accused of the murder of one of my employees—to Point B, a lifetime of happiness with her.

Once Thea’s awake, we can figure out our next move. For right now, all I have to worry about are the pancakes. I fold the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients, mixing just until they’re incorporated, and lay them out on a griddle over my open-flame cooktop. Once little bubbles appear in the corners of each pancake, I flip them over.

I haven’t made pancakes in years. They’re full of sugar and empty carbs, but after last night, Thea deserves a treat.

A treat for my sweet.

I’m stacking the finished flapjacks on a plate when Thea walks in. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt she must have found in my dresser.

And fuck if that isn’t sexier than the gown she was wearing last night.

Her eyes are swollen—she must have cried at some point during the night—but there’s a glow around her. I can’t help smiling as she enters the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here.”

I gesture to the stack of pancakes. “I figured you’d enjoy something indulgent after the night you had.”

“No fucking kidding.” She grabs a plate. “Do you have syrup?”

I open my fridge. “Let’s see. I’ve got some real maple syrup from Canada. Got that from a friend. And I also have Mrs. Butterworth’s.”

“Mrs. Butterworth’s, no question.” She laughs lightly. “Give me that lab-made high-fructose corn shit that’s never seen the light of day. I need something chemically designed to hit every reward center in my brain right now.”

“Done.” I bring out the woman-shaped bottle and plop it on the counter.

She smiles as she looks at it. “My dad used to call this Mrs. Buttersworth, with an extra S. He said it was because you got your butter’s worth.”

“Nice. Does he live nearby?”

Her smile vanishes. “No. He died when I was pretty young. But the memories are nice.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head. “You didn’t know. You would have found out eventually. Why not rip the band-aid off now? Both my parents are dead. Mom died in childbirth. And then Dad died later. I was raised by my stepmom.”

“Sounds like a difficult childhood.”

“You could say that.” She stares out the window for a few seconds before blinking and turning back to me. “But anyway. That’s not relevant right now. All I want to do in this moment is stuff these pancakes down my gullet.”

I grin. “Done and done.”

I love a woman who’s not afraid to eat in front of a man. Thea is exactly who she appears to be. No added airs, no pretense. What you see is what you get.

We sit in my dining nook and dig in. The pancakes are fluffy and not too sweet.

“These are great, Aus,” she says. “What’s the recipe?”

I chuckle. “The first thing that came up when I googled ‘blueberry pancakes.’ Glad you like them, baby.”

“They’re fantastic.” She pours another glop of syrup on her stack of pancakes and makes quick work of them. She leans back in her chair, folding her hands behind her head. “Okay. So…now what?”

“I was thinking that through as I made breakfast.” I lean toward her. “First thing we do is get you a lawyer. Not just to guide you through the process and make sure that you’re not saying something that could get you in trouble, but I also want to look into that warrant. There’s something fishy about a search warrant being produced that quickly.”

“Agreed. At the very least, I’d think they wouldn’t have shown up in the middle of the night.” She frowns. “It’s weird, though.”