Page 54 of Fever Dream
My cheeks flush unbidden, and I try to cover them by lifting my mug up and taking an overly long drink.
“Does that not ruin your sleep?” He nods toward the plain white mug I’ve wrapped both hands around.
“Nah. Not anymore. I think I’m immune. I’ve spent almost every night here for the past couple of years studying with a steady stream of the stuff.”
“Almost every night?”
“Not since I took this job. But to wrap up my master’s program? Yeah. Seven nights a week, basically. After working at the ice cream shop in the afternoons and evenings. Unless I was sick.”
“That’s an exaggeration.” He sounds amused.
I press my lips together and raise one shoulder. “Not really.”
“So you bring all your dates here?” he quips with a flirtatious wink.
Dates.“No. I avoid that like the plague.” Now it’s my turn to look out the window with a rough laugh.
Confusion graces his features. “Dating?”
“Yeah. Too busy. You know how it is. Don’t need the distraction.” I flash him a quick smile. “Wait. No, you don’t.”
Emmett doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, he looks at me with a little too much keen interest.
Luckily, I’m rescued from his scrutiny by Martha swinging past with our food. “Okay, kids. Two Julia specials.”
She plunks the oversize omelets down in front of us. Emmett’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as he takes in the portion sizes.
“More coffee coming up,” she announces before taking off.
“Julia special?” Emmett asks.
I lift a shoulder in response as I spear my fork into the perfectly cooked eggs.
“What’s inside?” He eyes it suspiciously, like maybe Martha and I have conspired to poison him.
“Ham. Cheddar. Bell pepper. Green onion—”
“Hell yeah. Sounds great.” Emmett lifts his utensils to dig in.
“And pineapple.”
He stops midcut.
“You put pineapple in your omelet?”
The horror in his baby blues is somehow… satisfying. After all, he’s basically invited himself every step of the way tonight.
“Yeah, why?” I ask innocently.
“I…” He eyes the dish with something that borders on disgust.
“Will acquire the taste?”
His responding laugh is rich and warm. It wraps around me like a favorite blanket as his gaze meets mine and he points his fork in my direction. “Exactly.”
With that, he digs in. And I find myself watching him more than I’m eating my own meal.
“You know what?” he announces after several minutes of silence. “This is pretty good. I can see the appeal.”
