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Color me intrigued. What do you need? I’m getting into the shower. Are you home?

If, by home, you mean at Thatcher’s bungalow, yes. If you mean that I have a drawer in his dresser and I’m sleeping with him, then yes. I need you and your guitar to come to the blue bungalow. Put on your melody-writing hat and come over, please.

River sent me back the wow emoji, an okay emoji, and a guitar emoji. He was too cute with those emoji.

I went to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans from my drawer, choosing to keep on Thatcher’s T-shirt. After brushing my teeth, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee from the warm carafe on the white coffee maker. The other one was a black coffee maker. I smiled at the idea that Thatcher was as lonely as I was, so he had two coffee makers so he could pretend someone else had started his morning coffee. From now on, I’d be starting his morning coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, River pounded on the back door as he rinsed his feet. I opened the door for him to come in and handed him a towel so he could dry them. “Thank you for coming.”

“I smell coffee.” River came inside and dropped the towel into the laundry basket by the door.

I went to the counter and grabbed a mug, filling it for River.

“Got cream?” he asked.

I went to the fridge and pulled out the creamer I liked, grateful Thatcher had stocked it for me without me having to ask.

“Where’s your guitar?” I didn’t see him carrying anything.

“It’s on your back porch. You need to tell me what the hell is going on, JD. You and the firefighter are a thing?” Riv seemed surprised.

“What? You don’t think I can get a hot guy like Thatcher?”

“No! Not at all. I just haven’t seen you interested in anyone since I’ve known you. I like Thatcher, hon. Kit thinks he’s a great guy, so we are totally Team Thatcher. What do you need me to help with?”

“I need to be able to make him something more than toast, Riv. Can you teach me how to make a hearty breakfast for a firefighter?”

“No. Sadly, I can’t, but I know someone who can. Why did I need the guitar?”

“Because I have a new song that might be stupid. It’s written for Thatcher, so nobody else will probably hear it, but it needs music.”

Riv exhaled. “Okay. Can I call Kit? He’s the cook in our family. He can teach you to make anything you want.”

I lifted an eyebrow at Riv’s comment. “Wait, you led me to believe you were the cook in your relationship. I’ve been jealous of you all this time because the pancakes you said you made were amazing.”

Riv smirked and shrugged. “To paraphrase Miss Stephenie Meyer, ‘I lied, and you believed me so easily.’ That’s a quote from New Moon.” He had an irrational obsession with a stupid vampire-wolf shifter love-triangle book series turned movie franchise from several years ago.

I rolled my eyes at him. “You should ask a psychiatrist about your obsession with that stupid fucking movie. So, if you can’t cook, do you think Kit would agree to come teach me? Thatcher will be home in the morning, and I want to greet him with a nice breakfast.”

“Let me reach out to Kit and see where he is. He was going to see Nate in Santa Monica, but he’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Why is he going to see Nate? Is there something wrong at Sound Wave?”

Riv smiled. “No. They’re family, remember. I think it’s because Kit’s worried about Leif, his father. Leif was married to Nate’s sister. They check in every few months.”

“And you can’t make anything on your own?”

Riv laughed. “Not anything more than a ham sandwich. I doubt that’s what you’d want to make to sweep your man off his feet.”

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of eggs Benedict or stuffed French toast with a berry syrup. Can he teach me about those things?”

“Uh, if he can, I’m going to kill him because he hasn’t made those things for me. Do you have any cookbooks? We’re smart. We can figure this out, right?”

I wasn’t so sure, but as we nosed through the cabinets, River found some cookbooks in the pantry. We grabbed both of them and searched for breakfast dishes we thought we could attempt.

We settled on an Italian frittata. After searching through Thatcher’s cabinets and refrigerator, we made a grocery list to check for the listed ingredients. He had a few, but we definitely needed to go to the grocery store.

As we were about to leave the bungalow, the scanner Thatcher listened to while he sat on the back porch at night blasted.