Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Let me help. I’m in here all the time,” Beau said, giving a long jaw-cracking yawn. I didn’t deny his help. The biscuits weren’t even in the oven yet. He took care of that oversight first thing.
“This is your coffee.”
Beau reached around, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Is the milk out to make gravy?”
“Yes, but that might be a more significant challenge than I’m ready for.”
Beau’s mom had spent time with us years ago, teaching Beau and I how to make the homemade country gravy that Beau enjoyed. I hadn’t made it since.
“Let me.” Like a pro, he went through the steps, eyeing how much flour and milk to use rather than using any measuring device. I picked up my cup and leaned against the counter, sipping and watching Beau work. Of course, I noticed a difference in our relationship. Neither one of us depended on the other to get through the days. I attributed that to growth and maturity. But right now, I sensed our old bond sliding back in place.
I chided myself for not making more time for my guy since he was better than all the ice cream in the world. I smiled and sipped my coffee as I decided to take more ice cream breaks too. Ice cream on top of Beau’s sculpted body… Now, that was a treat that deserved all my attention. My gaze locked on his profile. With age and relationship time under our belts, Beau had grown more reserved, quieter. It took effort to extract his thoughts. He’d always been my toughest challenge.
“Do you have plans today?”
“No, not exactly. I had fishing in mind, but the weather isn’t great for it.” While he spoke, he continued stirring the gravy, never glancing at me. I wasn’t thrilled about that. “But we can go anywhere. I’m in.”
His enthusiasm bordered coma levels. “With as thrilled as you are, I must be lagging in my partner duties,” I said teasingly, taking another longer drink of my coffee and scooting closer to Beau.
“I’m barely awake and making the most delicious peppered country gravy you’ll ever eat in your life. Get the pepper grinder and keep grinding until I tell you to stop. Hurry, it’s beginning to thicken up.” Following his instruction, I felt like I added more pepper than there was gravy before Beau told me to stop. He removed the sauce from the heat and continued stirring. “I think the biscuits are done. Can you pull them out?”
We had switched roles. I’d been making breakfast for him. Now, he was preparing mine. I opened the oven door to see Beau’s sniffer was on point and pulled the sheet pan out. He held out a plate for me, and filled his own, right down to tearing the biscuits apart to top with a good helping of the pepper gravy.
“Where’re we eating?” Beau asked, grabbing the silverware then picking up his coffee cup.
“I thought we’d eat in bed, but how about by the window to watch the sunrise?”
“Perfect.” A few years ago, Beau purchased a small dinette and placed it by the large windows. I envisioned him sitting there for any meal eaten in the house. He placed his plate and coffee down and went back to the kitchen to pour two small orange juices.
For the first few minutes, we sat in awkward silence. Him staring at me through the bites, then vice versa until I finally said, “I need to treat you better.”
That declaration seemed to catch Beau’s full attention. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve failed at reminding you how much I care for you. How I want to know more about your work and your hobbies,” I explained, then dug into the biscuits and bacon, taking my first bite. It reminded me of southern living and better times.
“What makes you say that?” Beau asked between bites, dropping a pretty decent size of bacon into his mouth.
“You’re quiet,” I said, restating the obvious feeling of distance between us.
“I’ve been quiet lately. There’s not much to say that you don’t already know,” Beau said, distracted by eating. “Best reason to climb. I’m virtually alone. The meal’s excellent.”
When did being a loner become his thing? We ate the rest of our meal in silence. As the sun rose over the lake, it drew Beau’s attention in that direction. He was such an outdoorsman. Nature fueled him in every way. I suspected the sunrise set his mood for the day.
The constant calculations and arguments that occupied my mind were as foreign to him as relishing a sunrise was to me.
“I’m probably going for seconds,” Beau said, pushing his chair back and lifting his coffee mug to his lips. He lifted his brows and looked at me. I translated the look to a question about whether I wanted him to bring me more. I shook my head no.