Page 63 of Drowning in Darkness

“Yes.”

“So it doesn’t go soggy.”

“Yes.”

“And you buttered it afterwards.”

He sighs. “Stephanie.”

“It’s just… it’s exactly how I like it.”

His hand stills on the handle of his mug. For one tiny moment, neither of us speaks. Then he shrugs. “It makes better toast.”

“No.” I look up at him. “You noticed.”

“I’m observant. Don’t get excited.” The words leave his mouth before he seems to realize he’s said them.

Silence settles over the kitchen. He looks away first, reaching for his coffee. I frown. “But you’ve never made me breakfast.”

“No.”

“You’ve never seen me make toast.”

“Correct again.”

“You’ve never...”

“I’ve watched you eat.” The admission hangs between us. Not creepy. Not embarrassing. Just... honest.

I think back over the times our paths have crossed, and my mind finally isolates the moment. Ten months ago, Christmas at my brother’s. Hunter made breakfast.

James not only watched, but he learned. Not because he was invested in toast, but because he was interested in me.

“You remember things,” I murmur.

“Important things.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. I pick up a triangle of toast before I say something ridiculous. It’s perfect. Crisp around the edges, soft in the middle, with just enough butter and exactly the right amount of strawberry jam. I close my eyes. “You’ve just ruined every future breakfast another man might make me.”

“How?”

I flick my eyes open to find him frowning. “Now I’ll compare all toast to yours.”

He exhales what might almost be a laugh. “I’ll try to live with the guilt.”

“I don’t think you appreciate the severity of the situation.”

“I’ll add cereal to the grocery list.”

I brighten because toast is dangerous in the hands of a man who knows what he’s doing. “Really?”

“If it stops you looking personally offended every time you open my cupboards.”

“It might.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

I take another bite, trying very hard not to wonder what else he’s noticed about me over the last ten months.