Page 59 of His to Keep
Ellis shakes his head, and we both glance toward the couch. Sure enough, it's sitting on the cushion.
I curse under my breath. “It's probably dead.”
“You're in luck. I have outlets and electricity. Plug ‘er in.”
I press my lips together, barely holding in my laugh. “You're an idiot, but thanks.” I grab my cord from my bag and plug it in at the island.
“What sounds good for breakfast?”
“As long as there's caffeine involved, I don't care.”
“That's a given.” He grabs a matte black cannister and pops it open. The aroma of coffee beans fills the space between us, and I inhale deeply.
“You don't use like a Nespresso machine or a Keurig?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head as he grabs a small scale and weighs out a portion of beans before pouring them into a grinder. “I grind my own beans and make it with a French press. It's the only way.”
This time, I do try to hold in my laugh. “Aren't you bougie?”
“You say bougie; I say a man of impeccable taste.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” I plop down onto a barstool and power my phone on.
“It's fine, Princess.” He pours hot water from a kettle into his French press, swishing it momentarily, before pouring it out and adding the ground coffee. “When you taste it, I'll accept your apology.”
I mock the words back to him as he stirs the grounds and liquid with a wooden spoon. “Apology, my ass.”
“Stop being a brat. Do you want French toast or omelets?”
I rub my hands together. “French toast, definitely.”
After a few minutes, he presses down the plunger, grabs two mugs, and pours us each a cup of coffee, once again doctoring mine to perfection, with just the right amount of cream and cinnamon.
I bring the mug to my nose and inhale deeply, groaning in delight as the scent reaches my nostrils. “Smells good,” I say before taking a sip. “Oh, holy shit,” I moan. “That is amazing.”
He smirks as he sets to work making an egg concoction with vanilla and cinnamon before grabbing a loaf of brioche bread from his pantry.
“What?” I ask, even though I already know damn wellwhat.He wants to gloat about his superior coffee making skills.
“No, nothing.” He’s going for oblivious, but it’s not working.
“Ellis.”
“I’m not saying I told you so, but yeah, I fucking told you so.”
“You did. But I’m too lazy, so Nespresso it is for me.”
Before I know it, he's plated up a whole stack of fluffy, perfectly grilled French toast, complete with powdered sugar, fresh sliced strawberries, whipped cream, heated syrup and a side of crispy bacon.
“This is really good,” I say around a forkful of food. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” It’s honestly annoying, because is there anything the man is bad at?
“My mama.” He cuts off a piece of his French toast and pops it in his mouth. “Now less talking, more eating. We’ve got shit to do.”
NINETEEN
SCARLET
After we cleanup from breakfast, I repack my bags, and head for my house with Ellis following behind me. I don't know if it's because I'm worried he'll make fun of my driving or if it's because I know he used to be a cop. Either way, I'm hyper-focused with my hands at ten and two, my eyes never leaving the road.
