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“What can I do?” I immediately offer to help with breakfast to get the conversation off me ogling Marc.
“You’re my guest.” He retorts.
“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
What does me being a guest have to do with helping?
As if reading my mind, he chuckles.
“In my family, we have a funny yet weird saying. At first you are a guest, then a pest, and finally family.”
That doesn’t make any sense.
I squint my eyes and try to fit the pieces to this puzzle together but come up short. “Huh?”
“So, the first time someone comes over, you treat them like a guest. You cater to them, so to speak,and don’t accept their help with anything, including cooking and cleaning.”
When I nod, he continues.
“The second time, they are a pest. We will cater to you, but we might huff and puff a little. After that, you are family, and you can get everything your own damn self.”
I laugh harder than I have in a long time. It takes me a while to catch my breath. “Oh, I love that! Who came up with that?”
“My mom. She was joking about always having to cater to our friends and one day she declared that they were all family because they had been to our house more than twice.”
Marc smiles at the memory.
“That is hilarious yet endearing. She knew your friends were close like siblings, so she made them honorary members of the family.”
It must have been awesome to grow up with a mom like that.
That isn’t how my childhood was. Sure, I had friends, but no one was allowed to come over. My parents were strict, and I knew better than to ask if I could have friends over.
“So, that is why I am cooking for you and cannot accept your help.” Marc chuckles as if another thought or memory popped into his mind.
“Fine, but only one more time and then I can help.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I thinkabout the future. Will I be here two more times to be classified as family?
Do I even want to?
Yes.
The answer pops into my head before I can even finish the question.
I love being around Marc. He is like a ray of sunshine in my dark and cloudy life. He gives me hope I can truly be happy again.
Not to mention the panty melting kiss from last night. I definitely want to have a repeat of that, but I should probably deal with Jared first.
While I am having an internal argument with myself, Marc fries the eggs, cooks the bacon, toasts the bread, and plates it all.
“Thank you.” I say shyly.
How long was I having my internal battle?
Long enough for him to cook breakfast. He must think I am weird to not talk to him that long.
How rude of me to continue this internal debate.