After buttering the toast, he picked up the plate and the syrup and set them on the table in the kitchen. He’d already moved the file folder to the windowsill and put out forks, knives, and—
“Is that my orange juice?” she asked.
He gave her an um-yeah look. “I promise to make a store run tomorrow and replace everything.”
She laughed and waved his offer away. “Don’t worry about it.” She moved toward a chair with “It’s the least I could contribute to the best night of my life.”
She’d meant the comment to come out flippant and sarcastic, but as she approached the table, Ian grabbed her arm and yanked. Savannah fell off-balance with a squeak and dropped into his lap sideways.
“Really?” he murmured. Something soft flashed in his eyes. “I keep wondering if my head’s in the clouds, thinking it’s been a-freaking-mazing.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes. Really. Hands-down best ever.”
He lowered his head and kissed her. Then kissed her again. He pulled back and tilted his head to kiss her deeper…and his stomach rolled with a thundering growl, stopping him cold.
“First things first,” she said with a laugh.
When she patted his chest and leaned forward to stand, Ian held her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” He picked up a fork with his free hand. “This is a full-service joint.” He drizzled syrup over the French toast, cut a piece of the bread with the side of the fork, and held it dripping over the plate. “Open up.”
“Ian—”
The toast was in her mouth, syrup dripping down her chin before she could say any more. She was laughing when he licked the syrup off her chin, then kissed her.
Savannah chewed and was surprised by a burst of flavor. The exterior of the bread was crisp, the inside warm and soft, and a mixture of sweet syrup, rich vanilla, and spicy cinnamon coated her mouth.
She made a sound of surprise, then relished the bite by chewing slowly. While she took her time, Ian dug in, eating an entire piece in the time it took Savannah to finish one bite.
“That,” she said, eyes wide, “is amazing.” She licked her lips. “I thought the café had the best French toast, but Karen’s obviously got some competition. What did you do?”
He gave her a comically stern look and pointed at her with the fork. “Never leaves this kitchen?”
“Deal.”
“Pinky swear?”
She laughed. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Jamison.”
The walls around her heart were taking a serious beating right now. “Pinky swear.”
“Vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, and cream in with the eggs.”
“Decadent,” she said. “Sugar, huh? Never would have thought of that.”
“It caramelizes and creates the crunchy coating,” he said, feeding her another bite.
“Mmm. So good.”
They continued to eat in comfortable silence, Ian feeding her another bite as soon as she’d finished the one before, until she held up a hand. “I can’t eat any more.”
“Good,” he teased with a sparkle in his eye. “More for me.”
She let him finish off the toast in peace while she ran her fingers through his hair and caressed the planes of his forehead, nose, jaw.
With one piece of toast left on the plate, he put his fork down and looked at her with a furrow between his brows. “I’ve been thinking.”
Her stomach fluttered. “I don’t know if I should be excited or terrified.”