Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Speak not another word,” I cut him off and turned to the room. “No offense, Prue, but I’m not sure that’s healthy to eat.”
“I didn’t want them to be overdone,” she replied.
She achieved that.
“This is why we’re all sitting here, starving, waiting to see if you two would unearth yourselves from Battle’s room to ascertain if we should try to find somewhere open to serve us breakfast,” Tempie said. “Or if we should send Battle to the grocery store for American muffins or something, seeing as someone ate all the croissants.” She narrowed her eyes again, this time on Battle.
“It wasn’t us,” Battle replied.
“I got peckish yesterday afternoon,” Chassie mumbled.
Good God, this lot wouldn’t last a day on Naked and Afraid.
“Right, consensus,” I announced. “You get one thing. Pancakes and bacon? Eggs and bacon? Or French toast and bacon?”
“American pancakes?” Prue asked.
“Obviously,” I answered.
“That’s my vote,” she trilled.
“That sounds amazing,” Chassie said.
My eyes homed in on her.
Something was…
Different.
“Is it much effort for you to toast me a muffin?” Tempie requested.
“No,” I said distractedly, attention still on Chassie. Then I informed them, “It’s going to take about thirty minutes.”
“I can wait,” Prue said.
“Can I help?” Chassie asked.
“You can flip bacon.”
I noted Battle took his seat, reached for the coffee pot and didn’t say a word.
Men.
I grabbed my cup and Chassie and I headed for the kitchens.
Once there, it took a second to get the lay of the land.
Then I set about making the batter so it could rest for a bit. After that, I toasted an English muffin for Tempie and sent Chassie up with that and a tray of accoutrement for the pancakes. While she was gone, I got the oven warming and the bacon frying. When she got back, I gave her a set of tongs and instructions and set up the griddle to heat.
It was then I realized this was the first time I’d spent any with Chassie alone, and knowing what I now knew, I was at a loss for anything to say.
Though, glancing at her, she seemed content with silence.
I rarely was, so I asked, “Did you have fun in London?”
“That restaurant Battie took us to for dinner was really good,” she said. “And I haven’t seen Mrs. Pattinson for a while. It was nice to see her.”
She said this.
She didn’t whisper-say it.
That was what tweaked me about her earlier.
She still had a quiet voice, but her words no longer practically disappeared the minute they left her lips.
“Well, I had a blast,’ I replied. “François was hysterical.”
As she nudged bacon, she gave me a shy smile. “He was pretty funny.”
“I loved how he was with Prue,” I remarked.
“He’s got a crazy-big crush on her,” she replied with a teeny smile on her mouth.
He didn’t, since I highly suspected he was gay.
I wasn’t falling into a stereotyping. He wasn’t effeminate or anything like that.
It was just that he was so comfortable around women, especially four attractive, interesting women (says me), which would immediately make a straight man go on the prowl with at least one of us.
Though, one could say he did go on the prowl with Prudence.
Hmm.
I poured batter.
She watched.
“I used to cook a little when I was in Bath,” she offered.
I fought hard not to show a response to this throwaway comment that was far from throwaway.
Okay, was it good she was talking about her other life?
I didn’t know.
And it was so hush-hush, I didn’t think to ask.
Then again, I’d spent time with her, and she’d never mentioned it before.
“Just ready-meals and such. Take and bake. Things like that,” she went on. “So not real cooking, like this.”
“My grandmother used to say that every woman should have a month’s worth of meals in her inventory that she can cook without a recipe.” I leaned toward her and said sotto voce, “But she was from a different generation.”
“Do you have a month’s worth of meals in your inventory?” she asked.
“Yes. My lasagna, which I’m thinking of making you all tonight. And spaghetti with meat sauce. Tuna casserole. Tacos.”
“Oh, I love tacos,” she said.
“Do you want those tonight?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, because one of Battie’s favorite things is lasagna.”
“Then lasagna it is,” I decided, seeing the bubbles forming on the pancakes so I flipped them. “You can turn the bacon over,” I told her.
She started turning.
“You like him loads, don’t you?” she asked the bacon with more than a small amount of hope in her voice.
“He’s infuriating.”
She looked to me.
“And maybe the most interesting, kind, thoughtful, generous man I’ve ever met,” I finished.
She smiled.
And this time, it wasn’t teeny.
God, I’d never seen that come from her like that. So easy.
And free.
Could her quiet reflection and Battle and Tempie’s not-so-gentle-anymore nudging be working?
We cooked in silence—or stared at the food cooking and did it in silence, because there was nothing more to do.