It was after ungodly hour in the morning sex. After Mace took Juno out. After a slightly later but stil ungodly hour in the morning couple’s shower that I was making eggs benedict from scratch. Mace was hindering these efforts because he was in the tiny kitchen with me, sipping a mug of coffee, his big body leaning against the counter and getting in my way.
He was wearing faded jeans, no belt, no shoes, hair stil slightly damp. He was also wearing a bit greener than olive green short-sleeved henley. It was a sweet henley mainly because it had been made for a normal man, a man without large, defined, muscular biceps. Therefore, the sleeves fit tight, drawing your attention to Mace’s large, defined, muscular biceps.
My attention on Mace’s biceps was also hindering my cooking efforts. Hol andaise sauce required concentration or it would split and when it split you had to throw it out and start al over which sucked (I knew this because it happened to me a lot).
I was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans shorts and a black, racer back tank with a skul entwined with vines emblazoned on the back in charcoal gray. Like Mace, my hair was wet and my feet were bare.
“The boys’l know I’m comin’ to you at night,” Mace told me.
“How?”
“Babe, the cameras,” he reminded me.
Effing hel . How was I always forgetting about the cameras?
Mace went on, “The Rock Chicks need to be kept in the dark.”
I was whisking the sauce like my life depended on it (which was the way with hol andaise sauce) and I looked over my shoulder at Mace in confusion.
“Why?” I asked.
“They got big mouths, that’s why.”
He was not wrong about that. The Rock Chicks definitely had big mouths.
“Okay,” I repeated. Then something about the cameras hit me, I saw the sauce had thickened and I pul ed it from the burner, trying to keep my cool as I began to feel uncomfortable. “Mace, those cameras –”
“Yeah?”
I set the sauce aside and fished the poached eggs out of the water and put them on the waiting toasted English muffins and gril ed Canadian bacon while I said, “They don’t watch when we, um… you know. Like this morning?”
“Internal cameras are shut down when the men are home.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
Thank God for that.
I poured the sauce over the eggs and set the pan aside. I handed Mace a plate (three eggs, three thick pieces of bacon, three muffins, it was a lot of food but he was a big guy) with a fork and knife and turned my attention to my own plate (one egg, I wasn’t a big breakfast type of person).
We stood in the kitchen, plates on the counter, bodies sideways, eating standing up (I real y needed to consider investing in a dining room table, how I was going to do that and send money home, I had no idea but I figured it was time to start pushing the guitar lessons gig).
I was busy eating and my mind was busy thinking.
Instead of feeling relaxed and happy that Mace was there and we were “good”, not to mention we’d had great sex (twice), I was tense and slightly freaked out. I couldn’t shift from what had gone down the last week, my despair of the last year, straight into back together with Mace al is hunky dory.
First, I was worried about our conversation this morning, not only the “more” Mace told me we had to talk about but also I was worried for him and whatever he was going to tel me about his sister.
And second, my life was stil a shambles.
With my head fil ed with these things, it took awhile for me to feel the pleasant warmth sweeping up the back of my neck.
I lifted my gaze to see Mace’s eyes were on me. They were warm and sweet and his lips were turned up at the ends.
“What?” I asked.
“Missed your cooking, Kitten.” Came his soft answer.
“Don’t know anyone who can whip up eggs benedict like she was makin’ toast.”
I was guessing he liked his eggs.
There it went, freak out obliterated.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
He had a great smile.
Why did we spend a week fighting with him? My brain asked me.
Oh shut up, I told my brain.
Mace’s attention went back to his plate and he forked into another egg. “Hank’s started a col ection.” I was chewing so I swal owed, chased the eggs with some coffee and asked, “A col ection?”
He didn’t answer my question, instead he said,
“Everyone’s in, including Marcus, Malcolm and Tom. Hank’l go after Tod and Stevie and Shirleen when you and I come out. They got about fifteen large so far.” I was confused and not fol owing. “Fifteen large what?”
“Fifteen large dol ars.”
I stared at him.
“Sorry, Mace,” I explained. “I’m not fol owing.” His eyes went from his plate to me. “For your folks.” Gut kick. It wasn’t unpleasant but for a moment it was paralyzing.
I jerked out of my temporary paralysis and asked, “Hank did a col ection for my Mom and Dad and, in one day, they’ve got fifteen thousand dol ars?”
Mace nodded, eyes back to his plate, he kept talking.
“Luke’s loaded, so is Lee. Darius has got money put away.