“Um. I’m not picky.”
His lips curved up in a smirk. “Most people would argue that you are. How does beans and rice on tortillas sound?”
“Good?” It came out more like a question than an answer.
He chuckled, turning away and pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
It took me a minute—and the appearance of a tortilla press—to realize that he was going to make it from scratch.
“Where did you learn to cook this?” I asked. In the year we’d dated, I’d seen him cook a grand total of twice.
“When I was in Europe the second time, I met a couple from Costa Rica. They made this for breakfast every morning.”
“Can I help?”
“Nope. Go sit down.”
“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”
He shot a grin at me. “Always.”
“He seems to be in a good mood,” Miles muttered when I slid onto the stool beside him.
“The same can’t be said for you. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m absolutely loving the love-fest that is this family vacation,” he said with heavy sarcasm.
“Shut up. Also, that’s a gross overstatement.” His parents certainly weren’t the lovey-dovey type, and he knew as well as I did that my and Hayden’s relationshipwas nothing more than a show. “Why didn’t you bring Jessica?”
“She wasn’t invited.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“This trip is family only. We’re not married.”
“That’s stupid. She’s your girlfriend.”
He shrugged. “I don’t make the house rules.”
Before I could push the topic further, Hayden placed a plate of homemade corn tortillas and a bowl of seasoned beans and rice in front of me on the breakfast bar.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
He took the seat beside me, his hand moving to my thigh as if the action was automatic. Maybe it was. He used to do stuff like that all the time when we were together; it satisfied his need to visibly claim me.
“Something smells amazing,” Maggie said as she came down the stairs. “Since when do we have Mexican for breakfast?”
“It’s not Mexican, and it’s notyourbreakfast,” Hayden said, swatting her hand away as she reached for the plate of tortillas. “Get your own husband to make you food.”
Her brows climbed up her forehead. “You made this?”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
Our first fullday with Hayden’s family passed quickly.
Scott and I spent the morning watching the Blakechildren play some video game they’d apparently played every summer they spent here growing up.
There was something fascinating about watching them interact with each other. They reminded me of how Nate, Sam, and Joriel had been with each other before we lost Joriel. The teasing, the inside jokes, the bickering that mostly lacked any real heat.
