Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He sat on one of the barstools. “I’ll do my best not to. And I’ll make dinner tonight if you’re making breakfast.”
I froze, a slightly panicked feeling surging through me. “Um…okay.”
Gideon rested his arms on the counter and leaned in. “You don’t want me to cook for you.”
“I didn’t say that.” I whipped the eggs.
“You didn’t have to. I can look up veggie shit.”
“Oh my God. It’s not veggie shit. That sounds gross. Please don’t ever say that again.”
“Fine, I see your point, but I can do it. I’ll figure out something I can make for you.”
I sighed. I hated that sometimes I was so picky about things. “It’s not you… I don’t know… It’ll be fine. It’s fine.” Most of the time it was fine, but if I got in a certain mood, it might not be.
“If you really don’t want me to, I won’t,” he replied, and I might have melted a little. I had no idea that was possible or that it would feel good. Melting insides sounded like a sickness one shouldn’t want. “Or I can plan it, and if you change your mind, no biggie.”
That…might work. It was perfect, actually. “We’ll do that. I like that idea.”
“Deal.”
I turned the stove on to heat the skillet, then poured the eggs in. “Do you have any tattoos today?”
“I do. Three of them. They’re all pretty small. I’m meeting Kris for lunch too.”
“This is so bizarre! We’re like a married couple!” I said before smacking my hand over my lips. “I don’t want to marry you.”
“Ouch,” Gideon replied. “You’re always bustin’ my balls.”
“I’m not doing anything to your balls. I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t trying to say I’m in love with you or something. It’s just funny how we’re discussing our day while I cook for you.”
“Hell, I can hardly get you to admit we’re friends. Believe me, I don’t think you’re in love with me.”
“Good.”
“Okay.” He grinned.
“You always smile at me. Not in a mocking way either. It’s confusing. I wanted to ask you why you smiled at me yesterday too. Do you remember? When you were standing in the doorway, watching me at Conflicting Ink.”
“I was probably thinking you’re adorable, which is what I was thinking just now.”
I put the veggies into the pan, and embarrassingly, felt my cock plumping some. Luckily, the counter blocked it.
“You were going to ask me something about Wilma?”
Shit. I’d forgotten to do that last night. I didn’t look at him, just continued to make his food while I spoke. “I’ve been calling her Wilma Allen… I think because that’s who she was in my head. I didn’t even know about her until a week ago, and it’s kind of like it was with you—you were Tattoo Guy until something inside me said I could call you Gideon—but that hasn’t happened with her yet. And it might not ever because she’s dead. That makes me sad because I want to know her or feel comfortable enough to call her Wilma or even Grandma. When I was talking to Rachel yesterday, she said Wilma Allen was like me. She didn’t want to be called Ms. Allen, and now I’m worried that I’m disrespecting her by calling her by her last name. Maybe she didn’t like it? I don’t know Rachel well enough to ask her, so I thought I would ask you. Do you think she would care?”
There was a silence that felt as if it had stretched into a hundred years, so I turned the omelet and risked a glance at him. Gideon was watching me, his brows pulled slightly together, his head cocked just a bit. Not too much, or he’d look silly. He just looked really, really sexy, and maybe a little confused but curious.
“I think the most important thing to her would be your comfort. She wouldn’t want you to call her a name you weren’t ready to use. We used to talk a lot. I’d help her and Gene by working on things at their house or down in the bookstore. I knew her well enough to feel comfortable saying you can call her Wilma Allen if that’s what you want. Also, that’s pretty fucking cool that you care so much, that you would worry about using the last name of someone who has already passed away. I like you, Milo, and I’m glad we’re friends.”
I bit into my bottom lip, my chest and stomach ridiculously fluttery. “I like you, and I’m glad we’re friends too.”
“Good. Now, do you typically burn your omelets, or am I special?”
“Holy crap.” I pulled the skillet off the stove. “I don’t burn things. Ever.”
“Eh, that’s typically my luck. Thank you. For making it.”
I plated the food and handed it over.
“Oh, I meant to ask you, did you call Gene yesterday? You never mentioned it.”