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He waved his free hand over to the pot. “Please. The creamer’s in the fridge by the—”
“Milk?” I ventured.
“How did you know?” he asked, looking over at me as I opened the fridge and took it out.
“Makes the most sense,” I answered, chuckling. “I thought you don’t drink creamer?”
“I don’t,” he confirmed. “Tyler,” was all he said and I nodded. With everything he told me about his friends, I understood.
I poured the cup of coffee and went to add the creamer, but not before reading the flavor. “And white chocolate no less.” I quirked a brow.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand before turning the burner off and reaching for plates to put them in. “Yeah, Tyler has a wicked sense of humor.”
I laughed. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll just be thankful that he has a wicked sense of humor, as you put it. Because I, for one, love white chocolate.”
“I remember,” he said, “the same way you don’t like dark chocolate.”
I took a sip of the my coffee and kept my hands around the mug, sighing. “This tastes delicious,” I said before acknowledging his dark chocolate comment. I remembered the dark chocolates he surprised me with years ago. It was a sweet gesture, but he was right—I couldn’t stand the taste of dark chocolate. “That box of chocolates you brought me was very thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful, but you didn’t eat them,” he pointed out, placing the plates on the counter. He made avocado toast and eggs and it looked almost too good to eat. Too bad I was starving, though, and couldn’t wait to dig in.
I frowned. “Sorry. I should’ve never told you I didn’t like dark chocolate. I should’ve just shut my mouth and accepted the gift.”
He brushed my comment aside. “Don’t even give it a second thought. I was only kidding. I don’t care one way or another about a box of chocolates.”
I laughed. “Good.” I lifted the toast to my mouth and took a bite before moaning and licking my lips clean of the avocado that I felt on them. “This is delicious, by the way.”
When I looked up, he was staring at me. “What?” My eyes widened, fearful I had something on my face. “Do I have food on my face?”
He shook his head, smiling at me. “No. You look beautiful, that’s all.”
I rolled my eyes. “No one looks beautiful when they’re eating. It’s a known fact. Eating across from someone is never pretty.”
“Well, I think you’re beautiful and I could watch you eat all day long, especially when you lick your lips.”
I licked my lips, unable to resist just to see how he’d react.
His eyes fell to my lips. “You really want to do that right now?”
When I didn’t answer, only stared at him, he asked, “Thinking about taking that comment back from last night?”
I cringed. “Oh, the one about you not being able to cook?” I lifted my head. “I can see how I may have been mistaken. One burnt lasagna does not make for a terrible cook it seems.”
“Good to see those classes I took paid off. For another adult, of course, not just the palate of an eight-year-old.”
“You took cooking classes?” I questioned in between bites.
He nodded, swallowing his own bite. “A couple. It really helped. I had to be able to fend for myself and Mason. I can only bring home so much pizza and take-out.”
Before I could get a word in, I heard the voice of said eight-year-old shout, “Did I hear you say pizza?” before running in to inspect the kitchen for pizza boxes.
The mini Lance that ran past me toward his father was singlehandedly the most adorable sight I’d ever seen.
“Daddy!” he shouted, running into Lance’s outstretched arms.
“Hey, buddy,” Lance said. “Did you have fun with Uncle Hunter?”
Mason backed out of Lance’s arms and nodded profusely. “So much fun!” Then he put a hand to the side of his mouth and barely whispered, “He let me have ice cream for breakfast.”
