“Why are you working so early on a Sunday?”
He chuckles. “Eleven is hardly early.”
“I’ll admit, I thought it was earlier,” I say with a laugh, leaning in to kiss his neck. I rest there, enjoying his warmth. “I love the way you smell”
“How do I smell?”
“I can’t even explain it.” I take in his scent. “Past the soap and cologne, it’s just you. Something I’ve never smelled before and couldn’t begin to explain. But I love it.”
He squeezes me tighter.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I know it’s nearly lunch, but have you eaten?”
“I had breakfast already. Yours is in the warmer, though, by now it’s probably no good.”
“I do know how to cook, you know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, which will come in handy when we have our house because I don’t want a chef.”
“No chef? How will I deal with that?”
“You’ll just have to learn.” I smirk. “My cooking skills may not be Michelin Star worthy, but I can make a mean grilled cheese.”
His laugh is deep and husky.
“I look forward to home-cooked meals more than you can begin to understand.”
“I do understand, though,” I say. “Because I didn’t get them either. I’ve grown up eating cereal and cheese sandwiches because sometimes we didn’t have electricity for the stove to work. Sometimes I’d eat a bowl of plain rice because it’s all we had.”
“I’m sorry, Cassius. You didn’t deserve to grow up that way. You deserved a mother who loved you and cared for you.”
“So did you,” I add.
He nods. “My mother… tried. She did her best with what she had. It’s not her fault.”
I grab his chin and make him look at me. “You still deserved better.”
His smile is sad, and he leans in to kiss me.
“Go eat something. I’ll finish up in here and meet you down there. I have a surprise for you.”
“For me?” I ask as I get up. “What is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Now go,” he says playfully.
I roll my eyes as I leave the room and go to the kitchen. I’ve been here many times, but I’ve never had to cook anything. All I’ve done is grab the food from the warmer and set it up for him to eat. I glance at the food in there now, and he wasn’t wrong. The waffles are like hockey pucks, all dried out. I do eat the fresh cut fruit in the fridge though and grab the eggs to scramble. I make a cup of coffee and clean my mess when I’m done, along with dumping the old food so it’s not sitting there.
It’s nearly twelve when I’m done, and it hits me… the chef isn’t here.
He is usually here by now, making lunch for Harmon, who likes to stick to a strict schedule. I wonder if this has something to do with my surprise.
Harmon isn’t in the dining room when I get there, so I head back to his office. I stop when the doorbell rings. Frowning, I go to it and look at the screen beside the door.
“What the—” I pull the door open. “What are you doing here?” I ask my sisters.
“Harmon had someone bring us here. He said we’re going out,” Chrissy says.