Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Before I even sit down, I take a fork and load it with a massive bite.
"What are you doing?" she snaps.
"What?" I ask with the fork paused just a few inches from my mouth. "I was planning on blowing on it."
When she licks her lips, clearly distracted by my words, I toss her a flirty wink.
"It needs syrup on it," she says after blinking a few times, no doubt to clear her mind of all the dirty things we could be doing instead of enjoying this casserole. "And whipped cream."
My mind stays in the gutter as I lower my fork. "Everything tastes better with whipped cream."
My voice is low, layered with sexual innuendo, but she shakes her head with a light smile before walking to the fridge and grabbing the extra supplies.
"Tell me when," she says as she tips the syrup bottle over my plate and begins to pour.
"Drown me with it," I rasp, my eyes on her rather than the plate of food.
The meal is going to be delicious. I know that without a doubt. I'm equally confident that she'd taste even better.
"You seem different his morning," she says, stopping the pour even though I didn't tell her to.
Next, she lifts the can of whipped cream, looking up to meet my eyes as she squirts it on top of the casserole.
"I just slept really well. The bed at the hotel is awful," I explain, taking a seat when she steps away.
Despite insisting that I add syrup and whipped cream to my own meal, she doesn't add it to hers.
"This is made with egg whites only, and the bagels are high protein and gluten-free."
I stare down at the food on my plate, hating that her explanation makes me a little less excited to eat it. Full carb and full fat are both part of my lifestyle.
"Why?" I ask, the disdain in my voice very clear.
She shrugs. "It's healthier."
I nod, guessing that she's trying to explain her choice of breakfast because the woman has some evident self-esteem issues. I refuse to feed them. Giving them life will only make them worse, so I scoop up a huge bite of casserole and shovel it into my mouth like my dear momma never taught me any manners. I'm fully prepared to smile through bland-tasting food, but the flavors coat my tongue and a rumble of genuine approval bubbles out of my chest.
Her smile widens as she lifts a much smaller bite to her mouth. "Good?"
I look down at the plate, wondering if I'm being tricked.
"It's delicious," I answer honestly, the last syllable less than intelligible because I shove more food into my mouth.
Before long, my plate is empty and I'm looking longingly at the casserole dish sitting on top of the stove.
"You're more than welcome to have seconds," she says, reading my mind. I don't waste a second before standing up and scooping more onto my plate.
I return to my stool and pour syrup over all of it before topping it with whipped cream.
"I'd normally have some fresh fruit to go with it, but I forgot it when I went shopping last.
"Fresh fruit?" I moan around another full bite. "That would be amazing."
I chew, chiding myself for being so mannerless, all the while resisting the urge to wiggle like a happy child as I eat.
"Why don't you make this sort of stuff for your business?" I ask, pointing my fork at my nearly empty plate. "It's phenomenal."
"This is my grandmother's recipe," she explains. "I grew up with my grandmother teaching me how to cook. When I left town and went to culinary school, I learned so much about food. I wanted to bring all of that back to Lindell."
"People love this type of food," I say. "My grandmother made something similar, and I'd call you a liar to your face if you told her I said this, but yours is somehow so much better."
She shrugs. "It's just a simple breakfast casserole."
"Exactly," I say around another bite. My stomach is so full it's starting to ache, but I'm not going to leave a single crumb behind. "You're part of a community of simple people. They don't have to have weird shit to eat to enjoy food."
She stands, carrying her plate to the sink before busying herself with finding the lid for the leftover casserole.
"Were you able to secure the contract with the McGees?" she asks with her back to me as she begins to wash the handful of dishes I saw in the sink.
I tilt my head, my neck popping. I'd somehow forgotten for a few minutes that my house is in shambles.
"No. I guess it's a good thing, though," I say. "I won't have the time to do the renovation on the old theater because all of my spare time will be spent repairing my own house."