Page 74 of Not Looking
The pain behind those words cut me to my core. He’d expected me to disappear in the middle of the night.
“I’m not the man alphas keep around.”His words from the day before hit me a second time.
“Of course, I’m still here,” I murmured, lightly squeezing his arms where I still held him. “Where else would I be?”
“You… didn’t have to.” He glanced toward the floor.
I sighed, slid one arm up, and tucked a finger under his chin, feeling the softness of his beard against my hand. I lifted so he was looking at me. “I stayed because I wanted to.”
He blinked several times, though the motion did nothing to hide the wetness gathering along his lashes.
“May I kiss you?”
He nodded, and I slid my hand back to cup his jaw as I leaned in for a kiss. It was tender and sweet, the opposite of the frenzied desperation our kisses had been the day before.
“Beautiful Randy,” I murmured, tipping my forehead against his as the kiss ended.
He shivered under my touch.
I shifted and kissed his forehead. “Breakfast is almost done. I just need to know how you like your eggs.”
“Over easy,” he whispered.
“Ok. Do you want me to get your coffee, or…?”
“I’ll make it,” he replied. “A-and yours.”
I smiled. “Plain black for me, please.”
“Ok.”
I released him and started toward the eggs.
“Other basket, please,” he said.
I turned and blinked at him.
“Those are sorted to go out to the stand. The ones in the other basket are the ones I’m keeping.” He paused. “Make sure to wash them.”
I blinked and spotted a second basket of eggs on the far side of the counter. “Ok. How many?”
“Two.”
I nodded. It was as I passed the bacon that I remembered Russy’s polite begging. “Russy was hoping for some bacon earlier, but I didn’t know if he was allowed any.”
Randy shook his head. “It’s not good for them. But I’ve got some of those bacon-shaped treats. I’ll give him one of those before we sit down.”
“Ok.”
I turned on the burner so the grease could get hot again, then grabbed four eggs from the basket. I washed them off, and by the time I returned to the pan, it was ready.
A sense of domesticity washed over me as the eggs sizzled. I remembered my dad cooking eggs and bacon for the family on weekends. He’d made sure me and my brothers knew how to make a good breakfast—and cook in general—so we could always help our mates.
I plated the eggs a few minutes later, split the bacon between us, and put a couple biscuits on each plate. I carried everything to the table and saw that Randy had put out silverware and butter.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
His eyes were downcast, and that wouldn’t do.
