“Speaking of cooking. I don’t own anything to cook with, so what is all of this?” I asked, waving a hand toward the island and the stove, which featured fancy pots, pans, and even a big mixing bowl.

“This is the result of waking up at five while knowing you wouldn’t drag your pretty ass out of bed until nine, so I ordered some things to get delivered.”

“Some?” I asked, glancing around. “It looks like the entire home goods section.”

“You only had… three spoons. Three spoons. Three forks. Three knives.”

“They were sold in three packs.”

“In three packs? Where is silverware sold in three packs?” he asked, brows pinched.

“The dollar store,” I admitted. “I was there buying gift bags because there’s no way I’m spending ten bucks on those at the normal store. And I saw them, realized I needed them, and got them.”

“Did you also happen to buy these there?” he asked, opening the cabinet where I kept my bowls.

“Yeah. I needed bowls.”

“They’re not bowls. They’re food storage containers.”

“They’re multi-purpose.”

“Oh, Saff. You’re a trip,” he said, smiling. “Well, to make you breakfast, I needed some actual kitchen supplies. Pots, pans, a spatula.”

“Hey, I had a spatula.” At his raised brows, I admitted, “Lore left it here after I hosted book club.”

“Where’d it go?”

“I use it to relocate a spider. Then was too grossed out by the whole situation ever use it, so I let the spider keep it. So what are you making? Challah bread French toast?”

“Belgian waffles,” he said, gesturing toward the contraption sitting on the island, smoke billowing from the closed lid. “And it looks like it has warmed up. Now, the question is: strawberries, blueberries, or chocolate chips?” I shot him a look that had him smiling. “All three. Of course.”

“I’m starting to think you really do know me.”

“What can I do?”

“Depends. Can I trust you to flip eggs?”

“Gee. I dunno. That sounds complicated.”

“Says the woman who cut her way out of restraints, stabbed a man in the hand, then jumped off the stage, grabbed a gun that I’m still not sure how you knew was there, and seemed ready to use it.”

“I was. I would have. I have,” I told him. “I know we kind of… grazed over my life in the family yesterday. But it has involved knives and guns. And all the things that happen when you use them.”

“I’ve seen mob documentaries, Saff. I know how it works. Wait… that day with the cuts on your hands, the ones you said were from a box cutter…”

“Brass knuckles,” I admitted. “They’re kind of shitty to use, but when the people I am up against are usually twice my size, I have to play dirty.”