“I hope there’s enough for seconds,” Wes managed to get out around the mouthful of food he was chewing. “These are delicious.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s not wrong. I’ve never had French Toast that I liked before, but this is not that.”

“I enjoy the flattery, keep it up,” I insisted as I added another slice to each of their plates. “The secret, beyond cooking at the right temperature, is to have the right proportions of vanilla to cinnamon and…” I glanced up to see their eyes were glazed over as they chewed. They really didn’t care about the secret to making a good French Toast. I laughed. “I’m just going to leave you to your food.”

Wes reached for another, but I smacked his hand away. “Mine!” I declared as I finished plating my own food. “If you want more, you should know how to make it yourself,” I offered since neither of them had really been paying attention to me when I told them about how to do it.

“I see what you did there,” Wes stated as he got up and started cleaning his plate and utensils.

“I see what you’re doing there too. Thank you.” It was normal around my house growing up that we all cleaned up after ourselves, but I knew that wasn’t how it worked for most people.

“You cooked, we clean,” he offered pointing between himself and Tucker.

Tucker laughed though. “She cooked, you clean while I go make sure Mina knows how much she’s appreciated,” he offered while winking at me. I just shook my head as I finished stuffing my face. My husband moved closer to me though, so that our legs were touching under the counter. “Thank you, I mean it. This was actually good. I don’t like most breakfast foods.”

“That’s just not normal, you realize this, right?”

He chuckled as he took the last bite of his food. “That is what I’ve been told my whole life by just about everyone.”

“He’s not lying. I almost didn’t trust him as a friend when I realized he doesn’t even eat bacon,” Wes informed me.

I gasped. “What? That can’t be! Who in the world doesn’t love bacon? It’s only the best breakfast food known to man, and seriously, some genius out there even started putting it on burgers and other foods because it was just too good to be relegated to breakfast only.” I scooted my stool further away from him. “You know, I was going to try to stay married to you, but now I’m not so sure.”

Tucker didn’t say a word. Instead, he stood up, moved over to where I sat on the stool and lifted me up in his arms when I had my fork halfway to my mouth. I squealed in surprise. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you why you’ll stay married to me,” he stated and then we were marching through the apartment, me in his arms, a fork-full of forgotten French Toast in my hand, and Wes’s laughter trailing us from where he remained in the kitchen.