Page 59 of Unlikely
“Found ya,” I call out excitedly into the empty space, holding up the two lids in the air. When both pans are covered, I put bread in the toaster, but don’t turn it on yet, and go back to the refrigerator to grab an avocado.
I’m bent over, reaching for the fruit, when gentle hands settle on my waist. I startle momentarily but am grateful for her perfect timing. Turning to face her, I pull one AirPod out of my ear and take in her barely-there sleep shorts and tank before holding the avocado up between us.
“Do you eat smashed avocado?”
Smiling, she nods before pulling me to her and pressing her mouth to mine. “Good morning.”
Her lips are cool and she tastes like spearmint. “Morning.”
“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing around the kitchen.
“Uh…” I follow her gaze. “Is it not obvious?”
She chuckles. “It is, but you didn’t have to.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “I know I don’t have to. Maybe I just want to.”
“And what if I wanted to make you breakfast?” she challenges.
“You’re going to have to wake up a little earlier than me to make that happen.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she says with a pout.
I smack her lightly on the shoulder with the back of my hand. “Don’t give me that look. You looked so peaceful and I know how hard it is for you to sleep.”
The fridge begins to beep. “Okay, so let’s close this,” I say, shuffling us out of the way.
Zara then tugs at the belt that’s holding my robe together, pulling it until it hangs open, exposing my naked body. Her gaze glides over me like silk on my skin, and I fight the urge to ditch breakfast.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” I warn. “I made you breakfast.”
Her tongue pokes out to lick her bottom lip. “I could eat two meals.”
“Of that I’m sure,” I say with a chuckle.
I wrap the robe around myself, tying it back up, and point to one of the kitchen stools. “Why don’t you sit down and let me finish.”
“Why don’tyousit down and letmefinish?” she counters.
“How does anyone ever manage to do something nice for you?” The question is rhetorical, and she has the decency to look sheepish, but the struggle to be still and let people wait on you resonates with me. “Do you want to plate it up?”
Relief is evident in her posture, and I hate that she feels a little put out when someone does something nice for her. She grabs us both plates and we stand at the stove as Zara dishes us up the eggs and bacon. I scoop out the avocado and smash it in a bowl, adding salt and pepper before finally toasting the bread and then sitting down to eat.
“Thank you,” Zara says, kissing me on the cheek. “I don’t remember the last time someone made me breakfast.”
Despite knowing it’s impossible, I still reply with, “I’ll do it anytime you want me to.”
She kisses me again, but this time it’s interrupted by what sounds like the ringing of her cell coming from upstairs.
“Shit,” she says, holding her egg-filled fork to her mouth. “That’s probably Raine.”
“Do you want me to run upstairs and get it for you?”
She shakes her head as she chews and swallows her food. “I’ll call her back when I finish my breakfast. If she calls a second time within the first five minutes, that’s usually when I stress and there’s a problem. She’s probably calling to see how my weekend with my mystery woman is going.”
My body stills at her words, a cyclone of panic brewing in the pit of my stomach. “What did you tell her?”
Zara cautiously lowers her fork and pushes her plate away so she can move herself closer to me. She places a hand on either side of my legs, turning me on my seat so we’re now face-to-face, my legs bracketed perfectly between hers.