Zayne wasn’t talkative when he first woke up, something I was learning. After grabbing a glass of OJ, I took a sip and then placed it on the island next to the plans for the school. The paper was still unrolled.

I heard the shower turn on and hoped Peanut wasn’t in the bathroom being a creep. I went to the couch and turned on the TV, settling on a news station, and then folded the soft gray quilt and draped it over the back of the couch before going back to the island. I finished off my OJ and had moved on to a can of soda when Zayne finally stepped out of the bedroom. Nervous energy had me chewing on my thumbnail again as I wondered why it took him double the time it took me to shower. His hair was wet and slicked back and he was, thankfully, fully clothed in a pair of navy blue nylon pants and another plain white shirt. His feet were bare.

He had nice feet.

“Soda for breakfast?” he commented as he strolled past me, catching my hand and gently tugging it away from my mouth.

I sighed. “This is dessert.”

“Nice.” He made his way to the fridge. The wintery scent that always clung to Zayne lingered. Was it some kind of bath wash? I didn’t think so, because I’d already scoped out the bottles in the shower.

I swiveled around. “Do I need to remind you of our water conversation yesterday?”

“Please, God, no.” He opened the fridge. “Want some eggs?”

“Sure. Can I help?”

He looked up as he placed a carton of eggs and a tub of butter on the island. “Aren’t you the person who almost burned down Thierry’s house trying to make fried chicken?”

I snorted. “Aren’t you the person who said you’d teach me to make grilled cheese?”

“You know, you’re right.” He picked up an egg and pointed it at me. “But I need to feed myself first.”

“Priorities.”

“And I really don’t want you to do the eggs. Even though they’re hard to mess up, I have a suspicion you might do just that, and then I’ll be embarrassed for you.”

“Really?” I muttered dryly.

He grinned, and I was sure I got a little goofy in the face as I watched him. “Scrambled okay?”

“Sure thing, Chef Zayne.”

That got me a low chuckle. “You know, you can sit on the couch. Got to be more comfortable than the stool.”

“I know.” And it probably was, but Zayne slept there, and for some reason, I felt like that was his space.