Page 4 of You'll Be the Death of Me

Mariana crossed the entryway and beelined for the granite island, all business. She plopped her tote on a velvet stool. She then went to the elaborate coffee maker imported from France while Dell retrieved a bowl from the cabinet and proceeded to fill it with Raisin Bran. They moved like a well-oiled machine.

“You are trash for that cereal,” Jason said. “An award-winning chef and you eat sugar-coated bran flakes for breakfast.”

“Keeps my palate humble.”

“You should consider incorporating it into the menu at the restaurant: Raisin Bran crème brûlée.”

“That actually sounds delicious.”

“If you made it, it would be. I’ve actually been thinking about the menu lately—”

“How’s the weather today?” Dell spoke at the same time, not meaning to cut him off.

Jason corrected course. “Foggy with a frigid wind out of the northwest that feels like an ice pick in your ear. So, you know, summer in San Francisco,” he said, and sat on a stool beside Mariana’s tote.

“Perfect. I like jogging in the cold.”

“Well, then, you came to the right place!” Jason dramatically sang. His loud voice first thing in the morning always helped wake her up. He took the coffee Mariana offered him and sipped. He adjusted the headband holding back his mane of wavy brown hair tightly enough to pull his forehead and thick eyebrows up into a startled expression. “Where’s Prince Charming?”

Dell frowned at him, knowing the comment was sarcastic. Her best friend and her fiancé were not, to put it mildly, close. Not yet anyway, but forging their bond was an item on her to-do list. It just wasn’t one that could be accomplished with the ease of, say, renovating a kitchen or being named best restaurant in the city. She’d been whittling away at it for what felt like forever, and with her and Tommy’s legal union on the horizon, damn it, she was going to succeed in making them friends.

“Two shots, extra hot,” Mariana said, and handed Dell her coffee just the way she liked it—the other thing that helped wake her up first thing in the morning.

“Thank you, Mari,” she said, and happily took it.

“So, what’s—?” Jason started right as Tommy cut him off.

“Babe, have you seen my Stanford T-shirt?” He came down the stairs wearing only a pair of sweatpants.

Jason sat with his back to him, facing into the kitchen, and rolled his eyes so hard, Dell thought he might sprain an ocular nerve. He mockingly mouthedStanford T-shirtand sipped hiscoffee again. Tommy liked to slip mention of his alma maters into conversation, and Jason made it known he found this pretentious.

Dell shot Jason another smirk before she turned a smile to Tommy. “I haven’t, sorry.”

He padded into the kitchen, and Dell wondered why he was shirtless after the infamous underwear incident, which had left everyone blushing. She suspected it had something to do with the fact her best friend, despite his protests, had a tiny crush on her fiancé, and Tommy knew it.

“Maybe it’s in the hamper next to your Yale onesie,” Jason said, and snorted at his own joke.

In some bizarre show of retaliation, as if to provehehad claim over Dell now, Tommy scooped Dell into a gratuitous kiss. One verging on inappropriate in front of her assistant. Though Mariana was in their kitchen first thing in the morning making them coffee before Dell had even showered, so her fiancé stealing a smooch in his pj’s wasn’t too out of place.

“I’ll have to wear something else to the gym, then,” Tommy said once he released her. His bare skin was warm against her body, even through all her spandex.

“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Moratto,” Mariana said, totally unfazed by the scene. She handed him a mug.

“Thank you, Mari. And how many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Tom. Also, you don’t have to make me coffee.”

“I get paid to make coffee, Mr. Moratto,” she said.

“And you’re damn good at it,” Jason said with a smack of his lips and a satisfied exhale.

Tommy turned to him with a sour look. “And what exactly doyouget paid to do?”

“Satisfy your fiancée in ways you can’t.” Jason did not miss a beat.

Dell shot him another death glare. “Not necessary, Jay.”

“It’s true though,” he muttered.

Mariana mercifully broke up the banter by pulling out her tablet and reciting the day’s schedule. “Final dress fitting at nine, confirming the cake at ten.”