Okay, this was totally next level.
“You have breakfast-in-bed trays?” I asked groggily.
“No, my neighbors do, and I borrowed one. Push up so I can set this down.”
I pushed up but did it asking, “How do you know your neighbors have breakfast-in-bed trays?”
“Because sometimes I train with Remy, and I went over to get him so we could take off, and Paul was still in bed with a breakfast tray.”
“Ah,” I murmured as he put the tray over my lap.
I stared at what was on it.
Then I looked back up to him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Awhile,” he pointed out the obvious, doing this climbing over my legs and settling in, propped up on his headboard at my side.
“You made eggs benedict for me while I was sleeping in the same room and went to your neighbors’ pad to get a breakfast-in-bed tray, all without waking me up?”
He took up what I was now seeing was one of two forks on the tray and answered, “No, I made eggs benedict for us.”
He then speared a strawberry that was part of a side dish of fruit salad that included strawberries, blackberries and kiwi. There were also pan-roasted potatoes, two mugs of coffee, and two little glasses of OJ.
“My God,” I whispered. “Maybe you are superhuman.”
Boone burst out laughing.
He then leaned in front of me, twisted, and kissed me hard.
He tasted of strawberries.
Um.
Yum.
“Welcome to Sunday brunch at the Sadler loft,” he said when he moved away.
“We’re doing this every Sunday,” I declared.
“I’m in,” he agreed as he righted himself and reached for a knife.
I looked down at the tray. There were two plates and a bowl. One plate with four eggs benedict, one with the potatoes and the bowl with the salad.
We were sharing.
He cut into an egg.
I had never had breakfast in bed, so suffice it to say, I’d never had breakfast served to me in bed.
I slowly turned my head Boone’s way.
“Baby,” I called softly.
He shoved egg, Canadian bacon, muffin and sauce in his mouth and shifted his eyes to me.
They came to me in query.
The second they hit my face, they changed.
“I never wanted much with a guy. Just that he’d get who I was and like it. How has my life, that has been mostly coasting on the love of my mom, a few good times, and the ability to keep on trucking, led me to you?”
“I think Lottie had something to do with it,” he said.
“I’ve just decided she’s getting one a hell of a bachelorette party and that’s all going to be me.”
“Yeah,” he replied. Then he said, “Tuck in, Rynnie. It sucks if it gets cold.”
I usually needed to brush my teeth first thing in the morning.
I did not move from my spot.
I grabbed my utensils and tucked in.Chapter SeventeenLet’s DanceRynI was leaning into Boone’s kitchen countertop, clicking through stuff on my laptop, and doing this with frustration.
Boone was making us breakfast.
It had been almost a week since breakfast in bed.
Now it was Friday morning, and I was glad for it because Boone had the weekend off.
Outside of us managing to go a whole week without fighting, and me and Chaos being out of my house since the plumber was doing his thing (for the now, there would be more later when I actually had sinks and tubs and shit), nothing much had happened.
Except Brett had disappeared.
He wasn’t even taking my calls.
This part worried me/part relieved me.
Seemed a good idea to me that he took a long vacation, let things perhaps get resolved without him around mucking up the works and maybe inadvertently putting another unsuspecting female in the path of danger.
But Brett had hung around for a while, seemingly intent to clear his name, so even though I didn’t know him hardly at all, this seemed out of character.
So, okay, him disappearing mostly worried me and only a little bit made me feel relief.
With Brett not taking my calls, however, there was nothing I could do about it and thus life was moving on.
That day, Boone had a day of doing possibly nefarious things for Hawk’s clients.
I had a day where Hattie—seeing as she was a classically trained dancer, and the rest of us weren’t—was going to work with me, Pepper and Lottie on our new routines.
If I ever got back to work, that was.
And speaking of that…
“I need to get back onstage. Smithie’s pay packet wasn’t light, but I could use about a dozen lap dances. Or maybe a hundred of them,” I muttered, scanning pricing on the kitchen cabinets I wanted for the house, and scratching numbers down on my list. Numbers that seemed impossible to achieve.
“Think about me buying in,” Boone said.
I didn’t get up from my slouch onto my forearms on his counter when I turned my head his way.
“What?” I asked.