30. Second Breakfast
SECOND brEAKFAST
CHLOE
By the time I pad into his kitchen, the smell of mango and brewing coffee hits me. “I knew it.”
Sawyer turns around, meeting my gaze as he pauses while slicing a mango. “Knew what?”
I make myself at home at the island, Captain settling in at my feet like he owns the place already, the morning sun streaming through a big window overlooking Sawyer’s yard. “That you could cook.”
“I’m slicing a mango, woman.”
“And doing it well,” I say, nodding to the artfully arranged fruit on the wooden cutting board. He’s not only cut the fruit open, he’s scored it. Juicy little perfect cubes are attached to one side of it—no easy feat. “Do you know how hard it is to score a mango?”
He meets my gaze with a smug grin. “I don’t. Because it wasn’t hard.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so cocky.”
“Just good,” he says, then nods to the array of food he’s taken out of the fridge.
A carton of free-range eggs. A basket of blueberries.
Some mushrooms that look fancy. And a couple of peppers—orange and red.
No boring green peppers for this man. A loaf of bread and some avocados sit next to the peppers. “Do you eat eggs?”
“I do,” I say.
“Then sit down, and I’ll cook you an omelet.
With mushrooms and peppers. I already let your dog out at six, then took him for a run while you were sleeping.
Excellent running companion, by the way.
And,” he says, stopping to peer at the clock on the kitchen wall—a minimalist steel thing—“I should be able to feed you and still get you to work on time for your first training session. And my meeting.”
Sparks shimmy through me. He’s so…on top of things. “Why does your efficiency turn me on?”
He sets down the knife, leans across the shiny white counter, and drops a kiss to my nose. “Because I turn you on.”
He’s right. I should say yes, you do. But this is part of our game. “A little,” I say, feigning indifference.
He arches a brow. “Watch it. Or I’ll make you come again before you go into work.”
I shoot him a look like he’s gone mad. “So I should sass you?”
He pauses, stares at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, you should.”
“It’s on,” I say with a pop of my lips as I stare at the spread, then nod at him. “What’s your meeting for, and will you wear a tie that you’ll tie me up with later?”
His eyes glimmer with filthy thoughts as he cracks an egg into a glass bowl. “Of course I’ll wear a tie. And slacks and a button-down. And it’ll make you hot.”
Dammit. He’s right. I’m turned on thinking about him dressed like that. “We’ll have to test that theory.”
“Fine by me,” he says, cracking another one. “And the meeting is with the parks and rec department. About sponsoring the upcoming Dog Day Afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s next week! I love that event, and so does Captain,” I say, glancing down at my dog. “He loves to swim in any pool but especially the community one when it’s open only to dogs.”
Sawyer looks over the counter, catching my dog’s attention and saying in a voice people use for their pets, “Then I’d better ink a deal for the sponsorship, right, buddy?”
Captain’s tall ears prick higher. Sawyer’s whisking the eggs as I point at the bowl. “This tracks. Like I said, I pegged you as a cook.”
“And why’s that?”
“You like to be capable. You like to fix things. You like to be a knight in shining armor.”
“You think I’m cooking for you because I have a knight-in-shining-armor complex?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug.
Shaking his head, he pours the eggs into a saucepan, and they sizzle softly in the butter. “You’re wrong.”
“That’s not why you’re cooking?”
“I’m cooking for you because I fucking want to.” This time it comes out a little harsh—but in a way that I like. It’s an admission from him. And I don’t know if it was hard to say, but I’d bet it was.
I rise, round the island, and move behind him, catching a whiff of the peppery scent of the omelet, then the soapy, citrusy cedar scent of him. He’s cooking, so I don’t want to disturb him too much. I press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “Because you look hot in the kitchen.”
Briefly, he leans his head against me, sighing softly, indulging in my touch for a second or two. Then he says, “It’s the mangoes, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
And that’s the truth. The man bought mangoes for me because I love them.
Because he listened to one random comment about the fruit.
Because he planned for last night before it even happened, and that thought makes me feel…
bubbly. But I don’t want to get too caught up in the good feelings or to mistake them for something neither one of us is ready for.
I want to make sure I’m clear on the rules.
“You’re going to drive me back to my house, and we’ll go to work in separate cars, right? ”
He turns around and meets my gaze. There’s no apology in his eyes. Just certainty, a man who’s weighed the situation. “I think that’s for the best, don’t you?”
He says it like the boss, the manager, the man who knows how to navigate any situation.
And while it’s not against any sort of rule at our shared workspace to date—or to bang—a co-worker, I have my reasons for not wanting to get tangled up in something.
He does too. His reputation. His appearance.
The way people see him as a professional.
That’s important to him, and I want to honor that.
“I agree,” I say with a crisp nod. “But there is one thing I want.”
He rolls his eyes as he plates the eggs. “You and your blackmail.”
“I think you’ll like it.”
“Hit me.”
I take a deep breath. “I want to put your rose tattoo on you tonight.”
His smile is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
It’s boyish. Surprised. Like I’ve touched some part of him simply from wanting to help apply the temporary tattoo that helps transform him into Sam Silversmith.
Last week’s has already faded. “Come over beforehand and you can. I need an hour for the color to set in.”
I shimmy my shoulders. “I’m going to help the rock star get ready tonight,” I say, or really, I sing it.
He rolls his eyes and sets the plate down. “Eat, woman.”
I grab my fork, but I don’t tuck in yet. “Did you know you’re a cuddle monster?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please. You wrap me up like I’m the insides of a burrito.”
He snorts out a laugh. “And I’m the tortilla?”
I nod. “Yup.”
He shakes his head in disbelief but then winks. “And you love it.”
“You love it,” I toss back.
He blows me a kiss that says yes as he makes himself some avocado toast to go with his eggs.
At last, I dig in, moaning around the forkful. When I’m done, I say, “I was right. You can cook.”
“I can cook, and I can…eat.”
“I know, Sawyer. Trust me, I know,” I say, before taking another forkful. It’s delicious. Especially the mango.
When we’re both finished, he says, “I’m claiming dessert rights.”
“Wait. How does that work? You just claim them?”
“Like this,” he says, then moves around the island, scoops me off the stool, and carries me to the living room. He sets me down on the couch and has me for his second breakfast.
“Mmm. You can have dessert rights anytime,” I say.
His smile is wolfish. “Good answer.”
* * *
After breakfast and a fast shower, I help clean up in the kitchen, then hop into Sawyer’s car. He gives my dog a pat on the head. Their friendship makes my heart twist. “I think you like me for my dog,” I say when Sawyer slides into the driver’s seat.
I meant it as a joke, but as I replay it…I think it came out more cutting than I’d intended.
Sawyer narrows his eyes. “Seriously?”
I gulp. “No, but, well…you seem to like him.”
He takes a beat as he pulls out and heads down the road. “And this is a problem?”
I wince. Shit. I’m an idiot. This is a good thing empirically. I’m just taking it the wrong way because I’ve been burned. “Sorry. It’s not you. It is a good thing. August was never that good with Captain, and I know it’s good you like him. I think I just got…”
I don’t want to say it—wary. That’s too much to share. But then, I flash back to the first night we spent together when we aired all our dirty laundry. Sawyer has to already know. “I have trust issues,” I say with a forced smile as I try to make light of his comment.
He reaches a hand across and sets it on my thigh. “Me too. I get it, Chloe. Sometimes they make you second-guess everything.”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief, feeling both silly and seen.
“Yes! Exactly. The whole thing with my ex and the job, not to mention the stupid decision I made to marry him on a dare, makes me think…well, that my radar is off. I mean, not with you,” I say, backpedaling, because I just insulted him too.
I groan and drop my face into my palm. “I’m messing this whole thing up. ”
He squeezes harder. “Sweetheart, I thought you were stalking me when you showed up with coconut bread. I get it. Trust me. I truly do.”
I manage a smile this time as he nears my street. “Trust? What even is that?”
He smirks. “No idea. I think it’s a thing some people do when they’re in a—involved,” he says, correcting himself before he says too much.
Because we aren’t in a relationship. We’re simply getting the sex out of our systems. Sneaking around. Enjoying a delicious secret like we share the Sam Silversmith one.
“I’ve heard that it’s this big hurdle that some people are able to get over, but I don’t know how that would work,” I say dryly.
“Don’t ask me,” he says as he reaches my home and pulls into the driveway, then parks next to Roxie and turns off his car. After he blows out a heavy breath, he says, “Katya would say her cheating was my fault. She told me she felt alone when she was with me. That was a bitter pill to swallow.”
I grimace, my heart hurting for him. “I’m sorry. But for what it’s worth, I’m sure she’s wrong. I never feel that way with you.”