Page 81 of Perfect Assumption

“See, and I was going to attempt toast.”

“Amateur,” I scoff, before shoving out of the piles of blankets.

“Where are you going?” Ward calls out.

“I would think as a lawyer you might have heard of a thing called privacy.”

“You’re going to freeze outside in that. Took me forever to warm up,” he warns. He scrapes the pan to get the eggs nice and fluffy.

“You went outside?” I ask, astonished.

“There’s no power,” he again reminds me.

“Ward, all that means is there’s no power. We still have water.” To prove my point, I go over to the kitchen sink and turn on the cold water nozzle. “In fact, be grateful for it or I’d be worried about a busted pipe.”

“You mean I went outside and…”

“Drew pictures in the snow for no reason? Yes.”

I honestly don’t know if his face is flushed from cooking so close to the fire or if he’s blushing. But I decide to give him a reprieve. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll make us something for after the eggs and bacon.”

He flaps a hand, and I dart out of sight.

By the time I get back, I have a can of cooking spray and a can of biscuits in my hand. Ward’s just scooping the eggs into a bowl. “If you don’t mind serving, I’ll get these ready. Coffee too.”

He pauses, a scoopful of eggs held in midair. “You have coffee?” The hope in his voice is almost too much.

“Oh, Ward. I don’t just have coffee—I have good coffee.”

“That’s just not possible.”

“Ye of little faith.”

“Actually, when it comes to you, Angie, I don’t just believe in faith. I believe in miracles.”

He finishes what he’s doing, and I carefully lay the biscuits in the pan, making sure they’re not directly over the flame. It’s a good thing he’s walking into the kitchen so he can’t tell how much his words affect me.

“Should I cover these with foil?” he yells from the kitchen.

“Yes. And go in the pantry for the white teakettle,” I call back.

“Why not the one on the stove?” Ward appears in the doorway.

“’Cause that one’s new? I prefer to keep it in good condition.”

“Oh. Do you want water in it?”

“As long as you’re not going to use the snow from outside,” I inform him sweetly.

“Cute. Real cute.” He turns back to the kitchen.

“Just remember who’s making you coffee!” And after I shout that down the hall, I realize how easy this all seems. Especially the part where I slept in his arms.

Now, if I knew if I could handle the rest without flipping out.

Intimacy.

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