“Starving, actually,” I tell him.
“Then you’re in luck because I make a mean breakfast.”
“Is that so?” I ask as I settle in next to him on the bed. I slip back under the covers, seeking out his heat, as I’ve cooled off with being out of bed.
“Yep, so stay here and I’ll go make us some breakfast,” he tells me, dropping a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Breakfast in bed?” I question. “A girl could get used to that,” I tell him as I watch him pull on a pair of sleep pants before heading into the bathroom. While I lay here wide awake, I realize I should have grabbed my Kindle from my bag and ponder if it’s worth getting out of bed to grab it.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” I ask Drew when he comes out of the bathroom a moment later.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Grab my Kindle for me so I can read while you go make us breakfast.”
“Sure,” he says, finding it fairly quickly and walking it over to me. “What are you reading, anyway?” he asks as he hands it to me.
“A romance novel,” I tell him, blushing just a bit as I answer him.
“Is that so?” he asks, picking up on my slight embarrassment. “Lucy is always reading those and telling me all about the inspiration she gets from them. I try and block her out, not really wanting to know about her sex life,” he says, shuddering like he’s trying to rid his brain of the memories. “So, if anything inspires you, I’ll gladly listen to you about it,” he says, a cocky grin on his lips.
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him as I flip the cover open and punch in my password, laughing at his request. After last night, I can only imagine the fun we could have recreating scenes from one of my books.
I get lost in my book while Drew makes a ruckus out in the kitchen. For how much noise he makes, I’m almost scared to see what condition the kitchen is in once I get out of bed.
“Breakfast is served, milady,” he says playfully as he holds up a tray to place across my lap. I finish my sentence and save my location, then tuck my Kindle under the edge of my pillow. I sit up and, once settled, he places the tray over my lap.
“This looks amazing,” I tell him excitedly, looking down at the plate filled with two eggs, some hash browns, a couple sausage links and two pieces of toast. He’s added some butter and jelly packets, along with a glass of orange juice and coffee that is still steaming it’s so hot.
“I told you I’d cook a mean breakfast,” he says.
“Where’s yours?” I ask.
“Still out in the kitchen,” he says, pointing behind him and out the door.
“Well, go get it. I don’t want to eat alone or let this go cold,” I say and he takes off to get his own tray. He joins me a minute later and we both quickly eat the breakfast he cooked us.
“Did you get enough?” he asks once I move the tray away.
“Um, yeah. You keep feeding me like that and I’m going to need bigger clothes. Where’d you learn to cook like that?” I ask.
“Breakfast and grilling are my specialties. Dad and I would always get up on the weekends and cook Mom a big breakfast. It was our thing, how we’d spend time together. We’d discuss our week and what was going on. When Tyler was in his sickest days, Dad would still spend Saturday mornings with me cooking breakfast while Mom was at the hospital with Tyler. On those days, we’d just cook for the two of us, but when Tyler and Mom were home, we’d cook for them, as well,” he tells me, opening up just a bit more.
“I love that. Such a special bond between the two of you, and something for just the two of you.”
“It really was. When I first went off to college, I got up on my first Saturday and felt almost lost because I wasn’t starting out my day cooking breakfast with my dad. I got used to it over the years, but we still get together some weekends when it works with our schedules.”
“I bet the two of you together can cook some amazing things.”
“We’ve experimented over the years,” Drew says, laughing as if he’s remembering different times.
“Do tell.”
“One time, we made something,” he says, pausing as he thinks back on the memory. “I was probably six, maybe seven, and it called for a cup of sugar. I accidentally grabbed the salt and Dad didn’t notice until we had it finished, and he took a bite and got the shock. It was quite comical. He knew right away what the issue was. I was so upset, but he told me not to worry about it, that we’d start over, and that time he made sure that we used sugar.” By the time he finishes telling me the story, I’ve got tears rolling down my cheeks I’m laughing so hard.
“Oh my, that must have tasted so bad!” I say between giggles.
“It was. I still remember it to this day and that was twenty-six or so years ago,” he says, laughing right along with me. “What about you, do you have any traditions with your parents?” he asks as he gets up to move the breakfast trays from the bed.
“Nothing on a weekly basis like that. Whenever I’d be in the hospital, Mom would always bring in puzzles for the two of us to work on for hours at a time. Every December, we’d have a huge baking weekend. I’m talking hundreds of batches of cookies and candies would get made between my mom, both grandmothers, aunts and cousins. Then they’d get handed out to people at church, or taken to the fire station and police station, teachers and my physical therapists.”
“Sounds like a great time and a diabetic coma waiting to happen,” he jokes.
“So much sugar, oh my God, you have no idea. Well, sugar and butter.”
“I can only imagine,” he says.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Nothing specific, we can go explore the area if you want out of the house, or we can spend the day on the deck enjoying the fall weather while we kick back and read or relax. We can go to the movies, or something else. Whatever you want to do to decompress.”
“Sitting out on the deck, watching the waves, sounds heavenly,” I reply.
“Then get up and dressed and we’ll move this party outside. I’ve got finger foods in the kitchen for lunch, so when we’re ready for that it will be easy to bring outside. You won’t even need to lift a finger if you don’t want to,” he says.
“Keep spoiling me and I won’t want to go back home and to reality.” Since we arrived here at his family’s beach house, I’ve felt a shift in our relationship. I know we were both ready for sex, and it was everything I could have hoped it would be. I feel like it’s deepened our connection and made it just that much stronger. I’m excited to see where we can take this as things continue to get more serious between us.
“That can be arranged,” he says, leaning over to kiss me.
I do as he suggests and toss on a sundress. I stop in the kitchen and fill my water bottle up from the fridge dispenser, then join him out on the deck. He’s moved some of the furniture out of the way, pulling two reclining deck chairs out with a small table between them.
“I can help you transfer if you want to lay out, otherwise, I can move the chair out of your way,” he offers. I roll to the edge of the deck and look out over the railing. The deck has a couple steps that float off each end, down to a brick pathway that leads out to the sand a few feet away.