I rolled my eyes to the ceiling then brought them back to him. “I’m going to have coffee, make you French toast for breakfast and you’re going to take me back to Tex’s. Then I’m going to get my car, find Annette and go.”

“French toast sounds good.” He obviously felt like ignoring the rest of what I said.

Whatever.

“Do you have bread, eggs, maple syrup?” I asked.

His head dipped and went to my neck. With his lips there, he said, “Probably.”

“Powdered sugar, cream cheese?” I went on.

“Probably not,” he answered, mouth still at my neck.

Oh well, I’d make do. “Move back, I’m going to get started.”

His head came up and he was grinning at me.

I rolled my eyes at him and heard him laugh softly.

He let me go and stepped away.

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Let me preface this by saying there are people in the world who know what frittatas are. I don’t. I call this a frittata probably because I vaguely remembered some cookery show and whoever was cooking was making a frittata. And I took nothing from it except the eggs, the grilling and the cool as […]

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