Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
“I’m hungry,” she says, flashing me a quick smile, “and I think this Gatorade isn’t going to cut it. Can I make you breakfast?”
I snort. “I think that’s supposed to be my line, after what we did last night.”
She giggles. “Oh really? Can you cook?”
I snort again.
“Damn right, I can cook. I make mean oatmeal, didn’t you know?”
She drops her eyes for a moment, looking down, and suddenly it comes crashing back to me. The morning after we found out about Rochelle’s accident, we had oatmeal as we sat together and cried at the breakfast table. Fuck!
But the curvy girl moves ahead.
“No, it’s okay,” she manages with a bright grin. “I’ll do the honors this time, and you can do the honors next time.”
Oh shit, will there be a next time? But as Selena putters around the kitchen, I watch her while seated on a bar stool, and a sudden realization strikes. A peace has descended over me because this feels right. Selena’s hair is a mess, her skin is still flushed from the run, and her hips sway as she moves about, searching for various pots and pans. Yet it feels homey and comfortable, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady my heart.
“I think I’m going to make pancakes,” she says. I smile despite myself. Pancakes are something I haven’t had in years because it’s a load of carbs and I try to eat pretty healthy, but I do allow myself cheat days since I’m only human. This seems like a good opportunity for a cheat day.
“I think I’ve eaten oatmeal and almond milk for breakfast every day since I was in college,” I muse. It’s not quite true, as I’m sure that there have been a few occasions in which I’ve gone out to breakfast with friends and splurged calorically on something like waffles and bacon, but then again, that’s something of an aberration for me. I don’t even have my chef come in until noon because I’m so used to oatmeal for breakfast. Plus, I wake up so early that I think Zelda would quit if I asked her to start whipping up a meal before the sun rose.
“Really?” Selena asks, casting me a sideways look. “Only? That’s so sad.”
I’m taken aback.
“Why? What do you usually eat for breakfast?”
Selena blushes. “Well, I normally just have a cup of coffee and some yogurt before work, but at least I sometimes branch out. On my days off, I like to make French Toast or eggs and sausage.”
I grin.
“It sounds like you really like cooking.”
She grins right back, looking at me over the bowl of flour, sugar, and milk that’s slowly becoming a pulpy batter. There’s a little bit of flour in her hair, and before I can stop myself, I brush it away tenderly. The curvy girl merely shoots me another smile.
“I do enjoy cooking,” she admits. “I think it’s relaxing.”
I grin.
“So how come you just have coffee and yogurt every morning, then?” I ask while putting on a large pot of Joe for the two of us, enough that each of us could have two cups and still have a little extra. I mainline this shit, and after last night, I think I need it. I’ve got stamina, but Selena has youth on her side, and the curvy girl was able to go just as long and hard as me.
Meanwhile, she purses her lips and thinks for a moment.
“I guess I keep breakfast simple because it just seems like way too much work to cook for one person,” she admits. “Plus, I’d rather have an extra half hour of sleep than a fatty, filling breakfast. Don’t get me wrong – I love sausages and bacon, but it’s only for special occasions.”
I smirk. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the occasion today?”
Selena’s dark brown eyes look both wistful and hesitant, like there are things she wants to say that she doesn’t feel that she can. I wish she’d confide in me, but I realize that’s a level of trust that I haven’t earned yet. Closeness takes time, and we’ve been jumping the gun.
“I guess the occasion is a new beginning,” she finally speaks. “And a new running partner too. That’s definitely something!”
We laugh companionably, and I realize she’s right. After all, finding someone you can run with on a regular basis isn’t so easy. There are dozens of track clubs in NYC, but locating a steady partner can be challenging.
Plus, my stepdaughter’s right. This is a new beginning for us, and things will never be the same in this household. Whether for good or bad, I don’t know yet, but in my heart of hearts, I’m praying for good.
Suddenly, Selena startles me from my reverie.
“Alright, how do you like your eggs?” she asks. “We’re going to have the full monte for breakfast. I’m going all out.”