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22
“Breakfast’s ready!”
The male voice calling up the stairs jerked Ian from his sleep, and he burrowed into the bed, reluctant to wake. The dream he’d been immersed in, all softness and silk with a hint of a spicy floral scent…was Sofia. And it was no dream. His eyes blinked over to find her right where she belonged, in his bed with him, just as she had been every night for the past two weeks since that heart-stopping raid on the processing factory to get her back.
He’d rescued her, just as she had him.
“Mr. Campbell! Ms. Popov!” the voice called again.
It wasn’t Gavin, but Scotty Wagner, visiting and hanging out with Gavin…and Ian and Sofia. Ian had intervened on his behalf since the raid, and as soon as he could, had taken him under his wing.
“Dad? Sofia?”
Thatwas Gavin, leaving them no choice but to get up.
“Mornin’, beautiful.” Ian leaned over and kissed Sofia.
“’Ning, handsome,” she got out on a yawn. “Does it have to be morning? I’m so cozy…” Nevertheless, she stretched, swung her feet to the floor, and was up and about.
He loved her adaptability. Well, no, Ian corrected himself, it was just one of the many things he loved about her. He discovered about ten new ones a day. And each one had him smiling, like he was doing now, merely walking behind her down the stairs. “But what a behind,” he murmured, eyeing Sofia’s rear.
She stopped and turned.
“Yes, I was ogling,” Ian confessed.
“Not that. You always are, anyway.” Sofia pretended to slap his arm. “I just realized it’s two weeks since… I mean, today’s the deadline. Scotty…” She spoke in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the kitchen.
Ian nodded. He knew. What he didn’t know was how it would play out.
“He’ll do the right thing,” Sofia told him, squeezing his arm.
Ian hoped so.
“He’s got us,” Sofia whispered.
“But we’re leaving it up to him.” Ian was reminding himself as much as Sofia, even though he itched to intervene. “Come on. I believe breakfast awaits.”
“Oh my!” Sofia exclaimed on entering the kitchen and seeing the food. “I thought it smelled good, and it looks good too!”
“We did it between us,” Gavin said, elbowing Scotty. And surprisingly enough, the kitchen didn’t look as though a hurricane had swept through.
“Poached eggs?” Ian asked, pulling out Sofia’s chair for her, then sitting himself.
“They’re called buttered eggs,” Gavin told him, setting a plate of what looked like a poached egg on thick bread in front of him. “They’re cooked with mint and lemon.”
“Ms. Popov’s still not good with frying or meat smells in the morning, and she likes eggs,” Scotty added.
Ian hadn’t realized until Sofia came to live with them that Gavin had any interest in cooking and baking, but this week, he and Scotty had tried out several dishes on them, a lot of them egg-based, now Ian came to think of it.
“And I like this one.” Sofia was already tasting it. “It’s good.”
“Oh, and I made you this.” Scotty produced a small dish of blended purple berries, with a swirl of yoghurt and seeds and berries making a topping. “For extra vitamins and fiber.”
“And there’s banana muffins for after,” Gavin said to Ian, indicating the oven.
“They smell delicious too. I’ll have one after the berries.” Sofia flicked her napkin open, her expression daring them to argue. No one did. “Thank you, Scotty and Gavin.”
“I never had eggs with mint before,” Ian said, cutting into it. “Nice mixture. Good idea.”
