eat.
Juliana sniffed the air. Was that … coffee?
Webster crossed to the coffee maker and poured out a mug, presenting it to her with a flourish, handle out.
“Web, what’s going on?” Juliana asked. “It must’ve taken you hours to—”
“One hour and twenty-two minutes.” He grinned.
She looked at the clock. The digital readout flashed 5:25. If he’d been up at
four
o’clock, then he’d surely been up at
three
o’clock. And if he’d been up at
three
o’clock, then he surely hadn’t gone to bed at all.
“I’m celebrating!” he proclaimed, throwing his arms open wide.
Juliana lifted an eyebrow. “You’re celebrating. So naturally, you clean my kitchen …?”
He shrugged. “It seemed like a good way to pass the time until you woke up.”
She put down her coffee mug and took a dry dish towel from the back of the pantry door. “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “But aren’t you planning to sleep at all today?”
He grabbed a second dish towel and began helping her dry the dishes. “I’ll take a nap after breakfast,” he said.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Well …”
“I don’t want you to get sick again,” she said sternly. “Promise you’ll take a nap, and I’ll let you use my workout gear later this afternoon.”
“Deal.” He grinned. “Hey, aren’t you going to ask me why I’m celebrating?”
Juliana hung the pots from the rack above the stove, stopping to turn on the oven, preheating it for the coffee cake she planned to make for breakfast. “Okay, tell me. Why are you celebrating?”
“Last night, after being tremendously inspired—” he waggled his eyebrows at Juliana “—I went up to my room and wrote an entire outline for my book.”
“Webster, that’s great news!” Juliana said.
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said, helping her carry the ingredients for the coffee cake to the table. “Now I can start writing.”
Juliana was measuring cupfuls of rich, whole-wheat flour, and she looked up, giving him a sideways glance, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. “Does this mean you’re going to stop following me around in the mornings?”
“Do you want me to stop following you around in the mornings?”
Juliana handed him the heavy flour canister, and he put it away in the cupboard, looking back at her expectantly, waiting for her answer.
She carefully measured out the baking powder and salt, adding it to the flour before she said, “How can I answer that, knowing every minute you spend down here in the kitchen with me, you’re
not
writing your next literary masterpiece?”
“I guess you really don’t have to answer,” Webster said, crossing the kitchen to stand beside her, “because I fully intend to keep following you around. And not just in the mornings.” He reached out and brushed a stray red-gold curl from her face.
She looked up at him. His eyes were soft and very dark blue—exactly the way they’d looked last night before he’d kissed her.
“Just so you know,” Juliana said, her voice suddenly husky, “I also found last night tremendously inspiring.”
Webster leaned forward then and kissed her. It was little more than a gentle caress, his lips brushing lightly against hers, but it was perfect—undemanding and sincere. Juliana found herself holding on to the edge of the table.
“So,” Web said, consciously making an effort to break the mood. He looked from the array of ingredients still out on the table to the big mixing bowl. “What goes in there next? Where’s your cookbook?”
“Sugar,” Juliana said faintly. “And I don’t use a cookbook.”
“You don’t use a … how can you make food taste so wonderful without using a cookbook?” Webster said, reeling across the kitchen. “I’m shocked! Again!”
Juliana laughed, regaining her equilibrium now that he wasn’t standing quite so close to her. “Believe me, I’ve probably made this particular coffee cake four hundred times.” She tapped her head.
Juliana sniffed the air. Was that … coffee?
Webster crossed to the coffee maker and poured out a mug, presenting it to her with a flourish, handle out.
“Web, what’s going on?” Juliana asked. “It must’ve taken you hours to—”
“One hour and twenty-two minutes.” He grinned.
She looked at the clock. The digital readout flashed 5:25. If he’d been up at
four
o’clock, then he’d surely been up at
three
o’clock. And if he’d been up at
three
o’clock, then he surely hadn’t gone to bed at all.
“I’m celebrating!” he proclaimed, throwing his arms open wide.
Juliana lifted an eyebrow. “You’re celebrating. So naturally, you clean my kitchen …?”
He shrugged. “It seemed like a good way to pass the time until you woke up.”
She put down her coffee mug and took a dry dish towel from the back of the pantry door. “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “But aren’t you planning to sleep at all today?”
He grabbed a second dish towel and began helping her dry the dishes. “I’ll take a nap after breakfast,” he said.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Well …”
“I don’t want you to get sick again,” she said sternly. “Promise you’ll take a nap, and I’ll let you use my workout gear later this afternoon.”
“Deal.” He grinned. “Hey, aren’t you going to ask me why I’m celebrating?”
Juliana hung the pots from the rack above the stove, stopping to turn on the oven, preheating it for the coffee cake she planned to make for breakfast. “Okay, tell me. Why are you celebrating?”
“Last night, after being tremendously inspired—” he waggled his eyebrows at Juliana “—I went up to my room and wrote an entire outline for my book.”
“Webster, that’s great news!” Juliana said.
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said, helping her carry the ingredients for the coffee cake to the table. “Now I can start writing.”
Juliana was measuring cupfuls of rich, whole-wheat flour, and she looked up, giving him a sideways glance, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. “Does this mean you’re going to stop following me around in the mornings?”
“Do you want me to stop following you around in the mornings?”
Juliana handed him the heavy flour canister, and he put it away in the cupboard, looking back at her expectantly, waiting for her answer.
She carefully measured out the baking powder and salt, adding it to the flour before she said, “How can I answer that, knowing every minute you spend down here in the kitchen with me, you’re
not
writing your next literary masterpiece?”
“I guess you really don’t have to answer,” Webster said, crossing the kitchen to stand beside her, “because I fully intend to keep following you around. And not just in the mornings.” He reached out and brushed a stray red-gold curl from her face.
She looked up at him. His eyes were soft and very dark blue—exactly the way they’d looked last night before he’d kissed her.
“Just so you know,” Juliana said, her voice suddenly husky, “I also found last night tremendously inspiring.”
Webster leaned forward then and kissed her. It was little more than a gentle caress, his lips brushing lightly against hers, but it was perfect—undemanding and sincere. Juliana found herself holding on to the edge of the table.
“So,” Web said, consciously making an effort to break the mood. He looked from the array of ingredients still out on the table to the big mixing bowl. “What goes in there next? Where’s your cookbook?”
“Sugar,” Juliana said faintly. “And I don’t use a cookbook.”
“You don’t use a … how can you make food taste so wonderful without using a cookbook?” Webster said, reeling across the kitchen. “I’m shocked! Again!”
Juliana laughed, regaining her equilibrium now that he wasn’t standing quite so close to her. “Believe me, I’ve probably made this particular coffee cake four hundred times.” She tapped her head.
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