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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Colt grinned back, “Sully, you’re so full of shit. Raine isn’t half as curious about the state of affairs as you are.”

“What?” Sully threw out a hand. “You’re my partner.”

Colt shook his head but said, “Tell Raine Feb made a frittata for breakfast this morning.”

Sully slammed his palm down on the table and gave a shout.

“Damn, man, you must be the master. Morrie tells me only thing better than Feb’s frittatas is being touched by the hand of God.”

Colt took another drink of coffee.

“They that good?” Sully pushed.

Colt thought of the best breakfast he’d ever had in his life. Jackie was no slouch in the kitchen, Melanie loved to cook gourmet crap and was always trying out a new recipe, and Frank’s specialty was breakfast and his restaurant was known throughout Indiana as a place you needed to have breakfast before you died.

Feb’s frittata beat all of them.

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