Three Wishes(97)

Then she stunned him by sliding her hands around his waist and tilting her head to the side, the disappointment fading as she gave him one of her quirky smiles. At the sight of it, he sucked in his breath and he felt every muscle in his body tense.

Her smile was exactly as he remembered. Not wary, not watchful, not closed in any way. Open, happy and one of the sweetest sights he’d seen in his life.

She leaned slightly into him, her br**sts brushing his bare chest, her chin forced to tilt back further so she could look into his eyes.

“I was making you breakfast in bed,” she informed him cheerfully.

He glanced over her shoulder at the evidence that, indeed, he had interrupted her in the middle of preparing food.

With the knowledge of her intentions and understanding that her earlier disappointment was not directed at him, Nate didn’t know what to do. Nate was not the kind of man who didn’t know what to do and he didn’t like it.

No woman had made him breakfast in bed, no woman had even made him breakfast. Not a single one of his lovers had done anything for him, given him a present, brought over a bottle of wine or prepared dinner for him. They were happy for him to buy dinner, presents, even holidays but the women in his life were used to being taken care of, being spoiled. Nate had played the game mainly because if he didn’t, they’d turn whiny and demanding. He’d learned it made life far more peaceful and furthermore, he could afford it.

This was an entirely new experience.

Lily seemed not to notice his surprise.

“Once I got started, though, I didn’t know what to do. You never remark on your food, say what you like. You just… eat.” Her smile hadn’t faltered, in fact, her voice sounded almost teasing. She gently pulled away from him and threw her arm out towards the food on the counter. “I decided bacon, eggs and toast was my best bet. Everyone likes bacon, eggs and toast. Then I realised I don’t even know how you like your eggs!”

She laughed softly, finding this amusing and came back to him, casually putting her arms around his waist again and resting her entire torso heavily against his tightened chest.

“You know, I feel like I’ve known you for years but I’ve really only known you a few weeks. Isn’t that funny?” She drooped her shoulders and tipped her head back to stare up at him with her extraordinary eyes, the blue so clear, so deep, so open, Nate felt lost in them.

Lost in her eyes, lost in her mood, lost in Lily, so lost, he didn’t answer.

“So,” she whispered, “how do you like your eggs?”

Her question took him away from his silent contemplation of her. She sounded as if his answer meant everything in the world to her.

He looked warily down on her, his body tight, not knowing whether to give into the relief he felt at her new attitude or worry at what she was hiding behind it.

“I’ll like them any way you cook them,” he answered, noncommittal.

Something he could not read flashed in her eyes, something that looked strangely like determination and her arms tightened about his waist.

“Scrambled?” she asked.

“That’ll be fine,” Nate replied.

Her smile came back. “How about fried, do you like that better than scrambled?”

“Either,” he answered.

“Poached?”

“Fine.”

At this, her eyes lit and she shook her head and laughed, her entire body vibrating with it. For a second she dropped her forehead against his chest, giving in to her bizarre moment of amusement then she flipped her head back again, nearly clipping his chin. She lifted her hands to either side of his face, pulling it to hers and she stunned him further by kissing him briefly, the laughter still on her lips. She hadn’t touched him of her own accord outside of bed since they’d been reunited.

“What am I going to do with you?” she mumbled, clearly not wanting an answer as she carried on, her voice very soft. “How do you like eggs best, Nate? Please tell me.”

This trivial piece of information did mean something to her and he sighed then responded, “Poached.”

Both of her hands went straight up in the air as if she was calling a goal in an American football match. With this gesture, her back arched, pressing her front closer against him.

“Success!” she cried happily and loudly, her face alight with triumph and Nate felt the brittle edge go off his morning at the sight. Then an instant later her face fell dramatically and she exclaimed, “Oh no!”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know how to poach an egg.”

It was then that Nate started laughing, all tenseness gone, the edge smoothing out and his arms tightened around her as her hands dropped to hold him at either side of his neck. She leaned up and kissed him again.

“Never fear,” she declared, pulling away from him and turning, all business, toward the counter, “I saw someone do it on a cookery programme once. I think you have to get the water going in some kind of centrifugal thingie-ma-bobbie and crack the egg in it. I’ll figure it out.” She opened the bag of bread.

Nate allowed himself a moment to let his relief show. He allowed it because, with her back to him, Lily couldn’t see it. She seemed so happy, so much the old Lily he wanted time to revel in it. He reached out and pulled her back into his arms, burying his face in the hair at the side of her neck.