“You’re making me self-conscious,” I said, placing his coffee on the counter in front of him.
“I was just thinking about the first time we had coffee.”
Stirring cream into my cup, I faced my husband and grinned. “In the cabin.”
He nodded. “I remember what you were wearing.”
My cheeks rose. “Your shirt.”
“There’s a whole closet of shirts upstairs.”
I stood straight and looked at my denim leggings and soft long blue sweater. The sweater hung to my mid-thigh with large loops of yarn, allowing the camisole beneath to be seen. When my gaze went back to Van, he was still grinning. “I’m not changing my clothes. I’m not talking with Lena wearing one of your shirts.” I let my smile dim. “What is she going to say?”
“I don’t know. I should know. Not investigating is on me. You see, I was busy yesterday with this thing.”
“Thing?”
“Yes, you may have heard of it. It’s called a wedding.”
“Your first.”
He nodded. “My first.”
“I understand why you like firsts. I like them too.”
I pulled a container of fruit from the refrigerator before slipping two English muffins in the toaster.
“You don’t have to feed me, beautiful. You didn’t marry someone who’s incapable of taking care of himself.”
Pushing the button on the toaster, I turned back to Van. “Don’t worry. There will be no grand culinary productions. The thing is, I am married, and I like taking care of you too.”
Getting out of his seat, Van came my way. In two steps, he had me pinned against the counter, his hips against mine and his arms on each side. “As long as I can take care of you too.”
I nodded before his lips met mine.
The English muffins weren’t the only things heating up in this kitchen.
The buzz of Van’s phone interrupted our kiss.
With a sexy smirk, Van took a step back and pulled the phone from the pocket of his blue jeans. He looked at the screen and back to me.
“Lena?”
He nodded. “She just passed the gate.”
“When she gets here, ask her if she wants breakfast. I’d rather sit out here in the kitchen than your office.”
“I didn’t realize you were joining this conversation.”
My fist went to my hip. “I’m Mrs. Sherman. I’m joining this conversation.”
Van’s lips curled. “Yes, you are.”
As Van went to the front door, I poured the fruit from the plastic container into a bowl, set three plates, and grabbed a third coffee mug. Admittedly, I was using the serious decision of whether to use the store container versus a glass dish to distract me from what I was about to learn.
“Good morning,” Lena said as she entered the kitchen. Her perfume was subtle, and her business-casual clothes and makeup were top-notch. Placing her lovely large purse on a chair at the table, she came to the breakfast bar.
“Good morning. Are you checked out of your room?” I asked.