His Everlasting Love: 50 Loving States, Virginia by Theodora Taylor

Academy. I think she was afraid I’d starve on Navy food. The food in the Chow Hall turned out to be pretty decent actually, but I kept her omelet recipe in my back pocket.”
    Speaking of Grace… Her eyes went to the kitchen door, wondering if she was somewhere in the house.
    “She only comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he told her, as if reading her mind. “My dad will be stopping by later, though.”
    “I should probably get going then. I don’t want to interrupt—”
    “But not until twelve. We’re going into D.C. for a power lunch with the current Rep for our district.”
    “You don’t sound all that excited about it,” she said, unable to make herself ignore the flat tone his voice took on when he talked about doing anything associated with his future political career.
    He shrugged. “It came up at the last minute and I had to move a few things around. Including an appointment with a disabled vet who’s being unfairly evicted from his apartment next week. But I guess I’ve got to start hobnobbing with the right people if I want their support for this next campaign.”
    “I thought you liked hobnobbing,” she said, remembering the way he’d been in high school. Walking down the hallway with two girls under his arms. Always surrounded by a group of kids in the lunchroom. Never alone in a corner, like her.
    “Used to,” he said, putting the omelet on the plate and pouring a healthy helping of green salsa over it. “But now-a-days, I guess I prefer one-on-one.”
    He gave her a significant look, and it heated her to the bone. Even though she should have been a little cold, dressed in nothing but the cotton nightshirt Trevor bought her for her last birthday.
    “What did you say you wanted in your omelet?”
    “I didn’t. In fact, I should go.”
    “Or you could stay for breakfast.” He forked a bite off the omelet and held it out to her. “Big night last night. I know you’ve got to be hungry. And I don’t want all these breakfast fixings to go to waste.”
    He pushed the fork toward her, and before she could remember to stop herself, she was taking the bite.
    “That’s really good,” she said, surprised. “Are there hash browns in this?”
    “Yep. But I can’t tell you what else. It’s Grace’s secret family recipe.”
    “But she told you.”
    He grinned. “I’ve got a way of convincing people.”
    Didn’t she know it? Damn him and his weirdly delicious omelets! Now her stomach was working against her, too.
    “How about if I just eat this omelet?” she said. Really quickly and then she’d go.
    “Fine by me,” he agreed, and he went back to the stove. Turning his back on her. “Have a seat.”
    She looked around for a place to sit. But Greenlee Place had a lot in common with many Southern houses that hadn’t been updated in the current century. Lots of space in the rooms meant for the residents, but very little in the spaces meant for the help. There wasn’t any place to sit in the small kitchen, which probably hadn’t been updated since the sixties—back when no Greenlee County resident would ever dream of doing their own cooking in their own kitchen.
    Seeing her dilemma, Sawyer nodded his head toward an empty space, next to all his fixings. “Tell you what, I can’t give away Grace’s secret recipe, but I won’t stop you if you want to sit there and watch me make one of these.”
    Her eyes went to the counter. It was covered in royal blue tile, the same color as…
    Her heart stopped. He didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know , she reminded herself.
    Still, the best she could manage was to set the plate down on its blue surface. Like it was no big deal, and she preferred to eat standing up.
    At least she thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Supposedly she was watching Sawyer prepare the recipe, but she soon found herself just watching him. The way his biceps bunched as he picked out different ingredients. The placid look on his face as he put everything together