Close To Danger (Westen #4)(25)
Finished, he opened the door and stopped halfway out of the bathroom at the sight before him. Chloe stood a foot away—short dark hair tousled from sleep, his red and black flannel shirt hitting her just mid-thigh, bunched wool socks on her feet—looking way too sexy for either of their own good.
“Morning,” he said, stepping out of the way.
“Mmm, hmm,” she mumbled, making her way past him and shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Ookaaay. Definitely not a morning person,” he said with a chuckle and headed for his coat hanging by the door. “Best get the generator working or her caffeine addiction is going to make her like being trapped inside with a bear.”
Once he had his coat, hat and gloves on, he grabbed the shovel out of the hall closet. After one winter of being trapped in the cabin due to drifts piled in front of the doors, he’d started keeping the shovel inside in case he had to shovel his way out again.
It took about thirty minutes of hard shoveling, but he finally walked back inside the warm cabin, his arms filled with firewood. Lights in the kitchen and the aroma of coffee filled the air, letting him know the generator was working just fine. Good thing he always kept it well maintained and near the house. Chloe, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck with a thick sweater overtop that he recognized as one of his, sat cross-legged on the couch in front of the fire.
“See you got the coffee maker going,” he said as she took a sip from the mug in her hand.
She nodded as she swallowed. “Funny, I never figured you’d be into small one-cup servings of coffee. Figured you’d be more of a metal pot over the open fire kind of guy.”
“Have an old pot under the sink. I believe in using the right equipment for the right job. I also believe in efficiency.” He dumped the extra firewood into the holder on the hearth. Shucking out of his coat and hat, he hung them by the door once more. Returning to the fireplace once more, he laid his gloves on the hearth to dry out and picked up the poker. He moved the logs, sending the flames a little higher, the crackle of sparks and the scent of the burning wood wafting over the room.
“And you’ve decided a single cup brew system is the right size for you?”
“Got it a week ago. Still trying to get used to it. Most mornings, that’s all I have time for. So having a pot of coffee getting cold in the cabin while I’m gone all day seemed like a waste.” He rose, brushed off his hands and headed into the kitchen. Retrieving the pan from beneath the oven, he turned on the burner beneath it then pulled bacon and the box of eggs out of the fridge.
Chloe joined him in the kitchen, setting her mug down on the counter and pulling out the boxes of coffee. “I bet I can guess which kind you like.”
“Really?” he asked as he layered strips of bacon into the pan. “You think I’m that easy to read?”
“Sure. Big, alpha man isn’t going to drink anything too fru-fru. So chocolate donut and cinnamon bun are out,” she said, lifting those two and setting them aside. “And I’m pretty sure the Chai-latte is out.”
“And why is that?” he asked with one brow lifted her direction.
“You’re a man who isn’t into flashy fads.”
She was right, he didn’t need to impress people by following the newest trends. Never had. But he wasn’t going to give in to her that easily. He reached for a bowl and began breaking half a dozen eggs into them. “And what makes you think that?”
Waving her hand around the room, she shrugged. “You live out here. A nice functional cabin, but out of the way. No neighbors close for you to impress. You drive an SUV, but not one that stands out in a crowd with all the newest gizmos. It’s a few years old, but well-maintained. You drive it for function.”
Wes focused on scrambling the eggs, adding milk, salt and pepper to the bowl. He had to admit she was pretty good at reading him. Although she was wrong about his vehicle. It had gizmos, such as bullet proof windows and heavily layered steel frame, special issue to protect the riders inside.
“This one,” she said, pulling out the Green Mountain Dark Magic cup.
“Pretty spot on.” He turned the half-cooked bacon and pulled out another pan. Sliding a little butter into it, he set it on another burner. “Why that one?”
“Deep, dark, intense.” She read the label’s description to him then slipped the cup into the coffee maker. “Sounds like it’s right up your alley.”
“Why don’t you start the toast? Bread’s in the box on the counter next to the toaster,” he said, pouring the scrambled egg mixture into the pan. “Just so you know, I like the Folger’s Caramel Drizzle coffee one, too.”
“You’re lying,” she said, popping bread into the toaster.
“Nope. But usually it’s on my day off when I’m still home and want a second cup.”
“So, on your work days you drink only one cup of coffee all day?” The shocked incredulity on her face almost made him laugh.
“I didn’t say that.” He moved the eggs around in the pan, keeping them from getting crispy brown on the bottom while they cooked.
“That’s what you just said. Most mornings, that’s all I have time for.” She repeated his words back to him exactly and in a lower tone, trying to sound like him. He had to remember she was a lawyer and she was used to using people’s words against them.