“Whatever you say.” I pull a package of bacon out of the fridge. “Wanna grab a shower while I cook breakfast? It’ll probably help you feel better.”
“Breakfast?”
Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I shrug. It’s a few hours earlier than my normal breakfast time. I’m seriously surprised I’m up this early, but I promised Viv we’d do stuff during the day. “What's wrong with breakfast at four?”
“It’s four in the evening.”
I select a skillet from the cabinets and set it on my stove. “You can call it whatever you want. I’m still making bacon and eggs.”
“Can you make some hash browns, too?”
I purse my lips, then head to the fridge and pull open the freezer drawer. After rooting around in it, I pull out an only slightly smooshed box. “Can do.”
She raises her arm up. I’m not sure if she’s trying to fist-bump the air or if it’s a weak attempt at a cheer. “I’m gonna get that shower.”
“Yep.” I turn to the stove, shaking my head as she shuffles off.
Sometimes, I miss drinking, partying, those fleeting experiences where I feel alive and connected with the world. But then, in moments like these, I remember why I don’t.
The pain is never worth it.
Turning on the burner, I get to work on breakfast. Bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and Gordon Ramsay’s three-minute scrambled eggs. Chives, crème fraîche, and all. I may not be a gourmet chef, but two solid breakfasts per day are a must. Since I rarely eat out, I’ve picked up a recipe or two.
By the time Vivian strolls back into the kitchen, I have it all laid out on the island, along with roasted grape tomatoes, some sliced fruit, and two glasses of orange juice.
“Damn, you didn’t have to go all out for me,” she exclaims, plopping down on a stool in front of all the food.
I grab a slice of bacon and take a small bite. “I like my breakfast. Besides,” I sit down beside her and pile a few more slices onto my plate before topping them with a pancake and drowning it in syrup, “I figure maybe if I butter you up with enough food, you’ll forget about this whole makeover thing.”
She drains her glass of juice. “Not happening. Come on,” she flips my hair that I’ve actually brushed out already, “how many guys hit on you last night?”
I roll my eyes. “None that I’m interested in.”
“Whatever,” she nudges me with her shoulder, “underneath all those layers of frump, you’re hot. I saw it last night. And creative.” She takes a bite of the eggs. “And holy shit can you cook. There’s no reason why you insist on living like a hermit. You’re the princess every man dreams of. And I’m going to help you see it.”
“Don’t you mean help them see it?”
“Nope. They’ve already seen it. Last night was proof of that. We just have to get your head around to it.”
“I’m perfectly happy being a hermit.”
“Uh-huh. How many vibrators do you own?”
My mouth falls open as I drop my third slice of bacon. “You were not snooping in my room.”
“You left me unsupervised.” She shrugs. “Real sex is better.”
I snort. “My toys never let me down.”
“Thosetoyscan’t do everything.” She wiggles her eyebrows before grabbing my juice. “If you’d ever dated a real man, you’d know that.”
“And she’s still drunk.”
“Not drunk.” She stretches her arms, then wiggles her eyebrows at me again. “Just an amazing shower.” A grin spreads across her face. “You were right about it helping me feel better. That wand tool is amazing.”
“How did I let you talkme into this?” I shake my head at the mirror as I finger the hem of my short dress an hour later.Another dress. I already borrowed one last night. That should have been enough.
“Because,” Vivian bounces up to me, her own floral print dress swaying with every step, “you love me.”