Page 47 of Rafe’s Future

Their eyes became locked, and for a fraction of a moment, it was as if they were the only two in the room. The spell was broken when Alice cleared her throat with gusto.

“So, Lena,” she began. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Is that a trick question?” Her attention shifted to the pretty blonde. “Because you’re in no condition to cook.”

“Oh, I’m not cooking.” Alice laughed as if the thought alone was positively absurd. “That’s his thing.” She motioned to her father.

To which Rafe chuckled. “I’m afraid she’s right. My daughter is a woman of many talents;, however, cooking isn’t one of them.”

“I burn everything.” The tech genius unabashedly shrugged. “That’s why God created delivery.”

Lena’s soft laughter was still a bit scratchy. “I actually love to cook.”

“You do?” Rafe’s handsome head tilted slightly to the side. “How come you never cooked for us while we were in Syria?”

“Because if I had, y’all would have expected me to feed your butts every day.”

“Mighty confident in your cooking abilities.”

Her lips curved. “Only because I’ve got the skills to back it up.”

“I don’t know, Dad,” Alice chimed back in. “Sure sounds like a challenge to me.” To Lena, she added, “Before you came downstairs, he asked if Slade and I wanted to stay for breakfast.”

“Perfect.” Lena stood before double-checking with Rafe. “Unless you have any objections to me taking temporary control over your kitchen.”

“By all means.” He waved a hand to the space behind her. “Show us what you’ve got.”

Be prepared to be amazed.

“Copy that.” She gave Alice a sideways wink as she turned and walked away.

An hour later, Lena was placing the final platter of food onto the table.

“Don’t be shy,” she instructed. “Go ahead. Dig in.”

Fluffy, from-scratch pancakes were stacked high with a light smattering of butter already melted in. Eggs had been scrambled with a touch of butter, diced chives and a dabble of sour cream.

The pile of bacon was crispy but pliable, and a few slices of lightly browned toast finished off the selection. To the side was a small bowl of warm, raspberry sauce as an added topping.

“Holy crap, Lena.” Alice’s wide eyes scanned the small feast. “This all looks absolutely delicious.”

Sitting on the woman’s right, her husband nodded his head with a grunt. “Looks great.” He flashed a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Now, go on.” She returned to her previous seat. “Eat up. Before it gets cold.”

The next hour was spent in conversation while the four of them ate. Their conversation shifted from one topic to another. What started as small talk turned into a discussion over Alice’s shooting and the events of the previous day. By the time the food was all but gone, they’d reached a natural lull.

Rafe started to stand and reach for one of the empty dishes, but Lena beat him to the punch. “I’ll get those.”

“You cooked.”

“And you’re letting me crash at your house while we figure out a way not to end up dead.” She held his stare steady. “Cleaning up after a mess I made is the least I can do.” Lena stood and began gathering as much as she could carry in one trip.

“I’ll help.” Alice stood ever-so-slowly.

“Uh . . . I appreciate that, but no. You really shouldn’t be⁠—”

“The doctor said some movement is good.” She looked to Slade next, whose expression was stern. “And I promise I won’t lift more than five pounds.”