He frowns. “You’re not going to eat?”
“I’ll have some dry toast later.”
Gross.
“I’ll have all of that now, please.” I bat my lashes at him, then aim a greedy grin at the display of fluffy eggs and veggies. “Thank you for cooking, sweetheart.”
“Of course, kitten.” He scrapes a generous portion onto my plate. “For my beautiful bride.”
He sneaks me a smile.
Yep. We’re employing our lay-it-on-thick strategy.
But now that we’re on the same page, I waste no time diving into breakfast. “Oh, wow. This is incredible,” I groan, because it’s true. “You’re incredible, honey.”
He drops into a chair and serves himself next. “You’re not so bad yourself.” When he winks at me, I press out a giggle that may or may not have sounded fake. So I cast a covert peek at Margaret, politely sipping her coffee.
Be careful, Loren.
“I do hate to interrupt your little mutual admiration society,” she says, “but what are our plans for the day?”
Ourplans? As in all of us hanging out together?
I scoop up more eggs to stick in my mouth and try not to choke.
“Great question,” Bridger says, dousing his food with hot sauce. “Loren and I usually start the day with a good old-fashioned staring contest, don’t we, kitten?”
I look up from my plate, almost gagging.
Staring contest? What on planet Earth is he talking about? I get that he’s teasing his mom, probably trying to make her feel awkward enough to leave, but does he have to drag me into his little game?
This family’s going to kill me.
“I'm eating,” I mumble with my mouth full of cubed peppers.
He shrugs. “Just use your eyes.”
“Okay, sure.” I swallow and set down my fork. “If you’re ready to lose again, bring it on, sweetheart.”
“Is it honey? Or sweetheart?" Margaret asks drily. “You keep switching back and forth.”
“Quiet, please,” Bridger says. “My wife and I need to concentrate.”
My gaze lifts to his, and we lock in, the contest beginning.
For more than a minute, his focus stays trained on me, unwavering as he examines my face. Like he’s taking inventory. Each tiny detail catalogued, every inch of my skin memorized. Warmth floods my neck, leaking downward, traveling to my core. And yet, he keeps silently drinking me in. Total control. Pure, unflinching connection.
My insides are officially fluttering.
After another minute, I finally clock some movement below his chin with my peripheral vision.
“I win!” I chirp.
His eyes continue to bore into mine. “Nope.”
“Except I do.”
“Objection,” he says. “I didn’t blink.”