I clear my throat. “Get the pan heating on medium-low while you whisk the eggs.”
The bowl clatters onto the countertop, and Iwince as he hurries to the range, cranking on the burner.
“Lower,” I instruct.
He adjusts the knob to the right setting.
“Perfect.”
While it heats, he whips the eggs, then adds a pat of butter to the pan.
I pass him a rubber spatula and step up beside him as he pours in the eggs. “Now, keep the spatula moving the eggs around. Small curds will start to form as the eggs heat.”
A red flush creeps up his neck, but he keeps his focus on the pan, stirring until the eggs come together.
I lean closer to check the progress. “You want to pull them off while they’re still a little wet. They’ll keep cooking for a few more minutes.”
His spatula slows, his head turning toward me, and I realize I’m purring. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Is this good?”
“Yeah.” I step back and grab the basket of bread dough as the oven dings. “Plate them up while I get the bread into the oven.”
Jared hovers at my elbow, peppering me with questions about the process, while I pull the hot cloche from the oven and transfer the dough from the boule.
I give him simple explanations at first, but when he seems genuinely interested, I open up more about steam and oven spring.
We settle at the small kitchen table, and Jared cuts off the worst of the burnt edges. “Sorry about the toast. I swear I can cook better than this when I’m more familiar with the appliances.”
I take a bite of perfectly scrambled eggs piled onto my bread slice, which I softened with more butter. “It’s fine.”
He studies me for a beat, searching for the lie, but I keep my expression neutral. The food isn’t terrible, and the effort behind it matters more than I want to admit.
He shifts in his chair, reaching for his water glass. The borrowed T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the collar askew where he tugged at it earlier. His hair has settled somewhat, though one section near his crown still stands at attention.
His gaze wanders around the kitchen, taking in the copper pots hanging above the island, the jars of dried herbs along the windowsill, and the wooden spoons I carved during last winter’s storms.
“Where’s your cat?” he asks out of nowhere. “I noticed the carrier in your truck yesterday, and thepicture in your living room, but I couldn’t find her when I got up this morning.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth before I set it down with care. “She’s not here.”
Jared tilts his head with curiosity. “Is she at a friend’s house? Or the vet?”
I press my fingers against the edge of the table as the contentment of the morning vanishes. “Mixie isn’t with me anymore. Auren took her when he left.”
Jared’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s Auren?”
“My ex.” The words sour on my tongue. “We were…together for a long time.”
It sounds so much less than an entire decade of my life spent on one man who then tossed me aside.
Understanding dawns, followed by anger. “He took your cat when you broke up?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens around words I’ve never said aloud. “I was the one who wanted a pet. He didn’t care either way, but I’d always wanted a cat. Something to take care of that wasn’t work.”
I’d found Mixie at the shelter, a half-grown kitten with one torn ear filled with suspicion. She’d hissed at everyone except me, and I’d felt an instant connection, certain we belonged together.
“I paid the adoption fee. Bought all her things. Took her to every vet appointment.” My fingers trace a pattern in the condensation left by my water glass. “She slept on my pillow every night.”
Jared sits very still, watching me with an intensity that should feel invasive but somehow doesn’t.