Page 67 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell (Rock Canyon, Idaho 7)

Gracie sniffled as she started to cry. “Not lately.”

“Then I’m sorry for that. Do you have pictures of Pip? I’d like to see her.”

Gracie eagerly grabbed her phone and as she settled in next to her mother on the couch, scrolling through pictures. She was glad it was just the two of them, because she flashed back on all the times her mother had been there for her, supporting her, teaching her. Sure, she might be overbearing and makes Gracie nuts, but there was always love there. She was really lucky.

She laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I love you, Mommy.”

“What brought that about?”

“I just do.”

“Well, I love you too.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I love seeing people about town with their pets…although, it’s a little disturbing when a guy admits he borrowed the dog to pick up chicks. Does that even work?” - Miss Know-It-All’s Gossip Column.

Eric woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of loud music blaring from the direction of his kitchen. Bleary eyed, he stumbled out of bed and down the hallway, stopping in the doorway. Gracie was in one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers, her little bare feet kicking up a storm as she mixed something in a bowl. She was singing loudly, and he could tell from the back of her hair that she’d only run her fingers through it. He looked at the oven clock and saw it was a little after nine.

Normally when someone woke him before eleven, he’d be ready to throw their asses out the door, but he couldn’t even dredge up an ounce of irritation. She was just too damn adorable to stay mad at.

He moved behind her and slid his hands up under the T-shirt and over her belly. She started a little, then leaned back against him. He tilted his head down so he could see into the bowl. A creamy, off-white batter was spinning around the metal mixers, and he frowned. He didn’t have a hand mixer.

“What are you making?”

“Belgian waffles.” She tipped her head back and pursed her lips for a kiss. He chuckled and obliged her before she turned back to her work.

A woman’s whiny voice came out of his stereo speakers, and Eric squeezed her. “You know, if you’re going to cook in my kitchen and use my stereo, the least you could do is not play chick music.”

She ignored his comment and started singing loudly again.

His hand came up and clamped over her mouth. “Okay, you can listen to the chick music, just don’t sing it.”

She extracted herself from his embrace to take the bowl over to the waffle maker, kicking him in the shin as she passed.

He was rubbing the abused area when he realized he didn’t have a waffle maker either. “Where did that come from?”

She closed the lid gently. “You didn’t have anything besides eggs, so I got up and went to the store. Then I stopped by my house for my waffle maker. You like waffles, don’t you?”

“Sure, love them, I’m just usually waking up for lunch, so I hardly eat them. What did your parents say when you swung by and didn’t invite them to breakfast?”

“They were already gone. They had plans with some friends in Twin Falls this morning.”

“Ah.” He looked at the counter and several grocery sacks scattered across it. “That looks like more than just waffle items.”

“Well, I figured since you were letting me crash here, I might as well contribute to your food stores.” She smiled. “Want some coffee?”

She had gone out to get stuff to make him breakfast and made him coffee? Most women he slept with wouldn’t have bothered.

Is that really all she is, though? Just another hookup?

As he watched her move around his kitchen, opening cupboards like she belonged there, he knew she wasn’t just a convenient fuck, but was too scared to analyze his feelings further.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asked.

He jumped at her question. “What?”

She was standing at the coffeepot, holding a cup in one hand and the pitcher in the other. “You didn’t answer. You want coffee or not?”