“It took me a month to walk into the bagel shop. When I got home,” I say instead, astonished to be revealing myself out loud. To a woman I’d kill to sleep with, no less. “Too many options. Too many people around me in the line. Standing behind my back. The whole process of ordering and paying was new all over again and I was so sure…no, I’m still sure that everyone thinks I’m acting odd.”
Naomi hasn’t blinked. “Is all of this true or are you trying to make me feel better? Either way, it’s very sweet of you, Mr. Bristow.”
“Blackbeard.” I massage the bridge of my nose with a laugh. “I mean, Jason.”
Her mouth tips into a smile, the pink of her skin fading back into cream. “No one in the bagel shop thinks your behavior is odd. I’m sure of it. They’re probably wondering how many bagels you could eat in one sitting.”
“Four and a half.” I plant a hand on the wall over her shoulder, stopping just short of leaning down to inhale her. “No one in there is going to think you’re a pathetic loner.”
“It’s all in our heads,” she murmurs, glancing over at the boisterous line of customers waiting to get in. “Would you judge me if I chew your theory over for a week and try again next Sunday?”
“No, beauty queen. I wouldn’t.” I’m rarely impulsive, but hell if I’m not taking her hand and leading her through the throng of people to the hostess station before I know my own mind. “We still have to eat, though.”
“You’re going to have brunch with me?”
“I’m going to have eggs. They don’t need a fancy name.” I stop at the hostess station and lose some of my momentum. What the hell am I doing? I go to the bagel shop every Sunday because I crave that routine. I’ve tested the route and eaten the food. Safe. The process is safe. A glance around the Speckled Hen tells me it’s packed to the gills and I recognize no one. It’s totally foreign to me. I’m sweating under my shirt again. My instinct is shouting at me to carry Naomi out of here and retreat to the house.
She needs this, though.
Hell, I need it, too, I think. Naomi was brave enough to try something new first. Braver than me. I don’t want her to retreat, so I can’t either.
“Two for breakfast,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Brunch?” chirps the hostess, making Naomi chuckle.
“Sure,” I mutter. “Whatever you want to call it.”
“We have a thirty-minute wait. Or there’s space at the bar now.”
Naomi gives me a slow nod when I turn to her. “Sure. The bar.”
We quickly find out the hostess is either a liar or she has a different meaning of the word space. The bar is jammed with locals forking eggs into their mouths—although none of the eggs look like the ones I’m accustomed to. They’ve been primped, sprinkled with shit and arranged on other shit.
“What the hell happened to scrambled or fried?” I say to Naomi, before glancing down and realizing she’s nervous again, trying to avoid waitresses barreling past with trays and customers breezing past while staring at their phones. “Come here, baby.”
She lets me guide her to a sliver of daylight at the bar where there’s no seat, only standing room. Which ends up suiting me, because I can wedge her into the opening and protect her with my back facing the chaotic restaurant. Unfortunately, the crowded space also brings our bodies close. Really close.
And it might be Sunday morning, but my dick isn’t sleeping in.
Having Naomi’s back pressed to the bar, the view of us blocked in on either side, I can’t help but fantasize about how easy it would be to let my hands climb up beneath her skirt. To get her supple ass in my hands, lift her up on her tip toes and rock that sweet pussy against my lap. I’d whisper in her ear that I’m interested in eating one thing and it isn’t brunch. It would damn well be the truth, wouldn’t it? She’s got every cell in my body buzzing.
The harried bartender sets down menus on the bar, but I wave him off, forgetting to feel out of place in the face of my need. “Eggs for me. Basic, scrambled eggs and a bagel if you have it—”
“Is sliced challah okay?”
I groan inwardly, no idea what the fuck he’s referring to. “Sure. She wants the Nutella French toast.” I look down at Naomi to find her transfixed by the collar of my T-shirt. “Coffee?”
“Tea.”
“Coffee for me. Tea for her,” I relay to the bartender. “Thanks.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when the guy walks away, and Naomi smiles up at me. “That wasn’t easy for you. This isn’t. You weren’t lying.”