Putting my elbows to either side of the white plate, I rested my chin on the bridge my hands made. “That’s Ellasbeth’s problem, you know. She feels like she is a broodmare.”

Trent shook out his napkin and put it on his lap. His robe was slowly coming undone to show a pair of executive-looking pajamas. It was somewhat of a disappointment—I’d been hoping for boxers. “Ellasbeth doesn’t want to move to Cincinnati,” he said, unaware that I was sneaking glances at his physique. “Her work and friends are in Seattle. You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at her, but she’s one of the world’s best nuclear transplant engineers.”

My surprised silence brought his attention up, and I stared at him.

“She can take the nucleus of a damaged cell and transplant it into a healthy one,” he said.

“Oh.” Beautiful and smart. She could be Miss America if she learned how to lie better. But it sounded really close to illegal genetic manipulation to me.

“Ellasbeth can work from Cincinnati as easily as Seattle,” Trent said, mistaking my silence for interest. “I’ve already financed the university’s research department to update their facilities. She’s going to put Cincinnati on the map for her developments, and she’s angry that she’s being forced to move instead of me.” He met my questioning eyes. “It’s not illegal.”

“Tomato, tomatto,” I said, leaning back when Maggie set a crock of butter and a pitcher of steaming syrup on the table and walked away.

Trent’s green eyes met mine and he shrugged.

The scent of cooking batter drifted close, heady with promise, and my mouth watered as Maggie returned with two steaming plates of waffles. She set one before me, hesitating to make sure I was pleased. “This looks wonderful,” I said, reaching for the butter.

Trent adjusted his plate while he waited for me. “Thanks, Maggie. I’ll take care of the settings. It’s getting late. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kalamack,” Maggie said, clearly pleased as she rested a hand atop his shoulder. “I’ll clean up the spills before I go. More tea or coffee?”

I looked up from pushing the butter to Trent. They were both waiting for me. “Um, no,” I said as I glanced at my mug. “Thank you.”

“This is fine,” Trent echoed.

Maggie nodded as if we were doing something right before she returned to the kitchen humming. I smiled when I recognized the odd lullaby, “All the Pretty Little Horses.”