Crazy in Love (Blue Lake #3)(27)

“That’s a beautiful song.” She tightened her robe. His gaze followed her hands. “What was it?”

“It’s not a song.” He set the guitar in its case and locked it up. “It’s nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

He exhaled heavily and nailed her with an irritated glare. “What’s for breakfast?”

He must not have liked people eavesdropping on unfinished projects.

“Corned beef, hash, and eggs. I should get started.”

For a moment, she’d forgotten her place. She shouldn’t have come downstairs in her robe and slippers—she never did that. She must’ve been getting used to the calm and stillness of the inn without the abundance of guests walking down the halls. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to get comfortable this way. The halls wouldn’t stay empty; three couples were checking in Sunday afternoon and another handful on Tuesday.

She ran upstairs, gathered her hair into a ponytail and dressed in jeans and a black sweater. She pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks. Brushed her teeth and splashed cool water on her face. As she raced downstairs and into the kitchen, she caught sight of the roses Joey had given her. They were on the hardwood near the front door, lying flush against the baseboard. She scooped them up, fluffed the buds and turned.

Cole stared, a pad of paper on his lap, a pen in his hand. Only the pen wasn’t moving. His expression was blank, his jaw clenched tight. Why was he glaring at her that way? As if she’d done something wrong.

“Breakfast will be ready in thirty,” she said, and scurried into the kitchen.

She cut the stems short and put the flowers in a Mason jar on the center of the table. Taking two Advil from a cabinet beside the sink, she swallowed them back, and palmed four more. She set those on the kitchen table with a bottle of water. Her head was pounding—Cole’s probably was, too.

As she set the corned beef on the frying pan and chopped bell peppers and onion, Cole entered the kitchen and slid into the seat facing her.

“These for me?” he asked, pointing to the Advil.

“Yeah, thought your head might hurt.”

He didn’t respond. Had she not spoken loudly enough? Spatula in hand, she turned and met his gaze. It was questioning. Tender. Gripping her from across the kitchen.

“Thank you.” He dropped them back and then stared at the flowers, a pained expression on his face.

He must’ve had a headache as nasty as hers.

Rachael took the reprieve from his prying eyes and dove into breakfast. She made a pot of coffee, flipped the potatoes and splayed three eggs on the grill. As the coffee finished brewing, she filled his cup and set it on the table, and then heaped food onto his plate.

Cooking for one was odd. When the inn was full, she’d make a dozen eggs, three pounds of potatoes and countless slabs of corned beef. It felt much more personal this way. As if they were a couple. Husband and wife, maybe.

She could almost picture it now: she’d get up early, start a pot of coffee and cook his favorite breakfast, just the way he liked it. He’d come in from the living room, where he’d been playing his next big hit, and wrap his arms around her as she hovered over the stove. She’d lean her head back on his shoulder. He’d tell her how wonderful breakfast smelled. How beautiful she was. They’d eat together, just the two of them, and talk about plans for the future: his next song, upcoming album, and the inn expansion.

That all sounded great. Except for the tiny fact that there was no future with Cole. There could never be anything long-term between them. He was going to leave the way everyone else did.