I toed the door open, my saliva production quadrupling the minute the smell of frying bacon smacked me in the face. “Holy shit, that smells amazing.”

It looked like he’d listened when I said I had a big appetite, and he was cooking up an epic breakfast-for-dinner feast. There were scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage patties, bacon, and toast, and a metric shit-ton of all of it.

Garth smiled at me over his shoulder, then went back to work flipping strips of bacon with a fork.

I carried my not-so-pleasant burden into the living area and looked around. “Where’s the washer?”

“Over there,” Garth said, nodding to a long closet on the other side of the entryway. “Careful when you open the door. The cat carrier has a habit of falling off the shelf.”

“Will do.” I got the laundry started, making a pit stop at my backpack to grab the rest of my clothes and adding them before shutting the washer and closet alike. I headed into the kitchen, poking my nose in here and there around Garth. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Throw a couple plates and some silverware up on the counter? Unless you want to eat at the table . . .” The way he said it made eating at the table sound like the most foreboding thing in the world.

I shook my head, rummaging through his cabinets and drawers. “The counter works for me.” I pulled a couple of plates from the upper cabinet next to the fridge and found the silverware in the drawer directly below it. How logical. Heading around the island, I set the plates in front of two barstools, arranged the silverware, glanced at Eva, who hadn’t moved from her perch, then headed back into the kitchen for glasses—the water kind, not the booze kind. They were in the next cabinet over from the plates. Like I said, logical.

“What do you want to drink?” I asked Garth, opening the freezer in search of ice. I found the ice trays in one of the shelves on the door and pulled one out.

“Orange juice would be great, thanks.” Garth glanced at me again, a secretive smile curving his lips.

I twisted the ice tray, freeing the ice cubes. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

I set the tray on the counter and picked out five ice cubes, dropping each into my glass with a clink, my gaze straying back to Garth between each one. He was still smiling, almost looking like he was holding in laughter. “Seriously, Garth. What?”

He chuckled. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just—you look like a kid in my clothes. It’s cute.”

I scowled, returning the ice cube tray to the freezer. I opened the fridge and grabbed the carton of orange juice and a pitcher of filtered water. I could feel Garth watching me, but I didn’t look his way.

“That bothered you,” he said, not asking. The amusement was gone from his voice. “Why?”