boasted cheerful yellows, whites, and blues. Light streamed through the giant windows in the living room and bathed the furniture in sunshine, while framed prints of food puns decorated an entire wall of the kitchen.
Olivia smirked when she spotted a picture of a smiling lemon and orange duo with the words “Squeeze the day!” printed beneath them. It was so corny and cute at the same time.
The sizzle of oil in a pan drew her gaze away from a dancing radish that proclaimed, “You’re radishing!” and toward the man standing in front of the stove. Shirtless. Barefoot. Cooking.
Her throat went bone-dry.
Hot. Damn.
She hadn’t seen Sammy sans shirt in a loooong time, and damn if he hadn’t filled out since their college years. Not that his body had been anything to sneeze at back in the day, but—once again for the people in the back—hot. Damn.
Bronzed skin stretched over broad shoulders and a lean, muscular back that rippled with strength. His arms were corded with thick muscles that flexed every time he flipped a piece of bacon or reached across the counter, and his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing a sliver more skin than was decent.
Olivia wheezed.
Sammy glanced up, his handsome face calm and unreadable, his hair tousled from sleep. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” She slid onto one of the counter stools and tried to keep her eyes above his neck. The last thing she needed was to get caught ogling her ex-boyfriend. She was embarrassed enough, calling him for help yesterday.
“How did you sleep?”
“Pretty good.”
An awkward silence filled the air, punctuated by the continued sizzle in the pan until Sammy shut off the stove.
Olivia remembered the days when they couldn’t stop talking to each other—about their hopes and dreams, and funny YouTube videos and articles they’d read online, and the merits of pie vs. cake. Anything and everything they could think of. She also remembered the days when they didn’t speak at all—endless hours of silence laden with unspoken accusations and broken promises until those, too, exploded in anger. Then there were the years when they’d been as far apart physically as they were emotionally, separated by time and distance and heartbreak.
Now here they were, eight years later. So different from who they used to be and yet still the same. A little older, hopefully a little wiser, but still holding on to regrets from the past.
“You want breakfast? I made enough for two.” Sammy slid a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast across the counter before Olivia could answer.
Her mouth watered at the sight and smell. He’d made the bacon chewy and tender, the way she liked it. A lot of people preferred it crispy, but she thought crispy bacon tasted like charred smoke.
“I’m always down for abs—eggs!” Olivia corrected herself, her cheeks flaming as she forced herself not to stare at the chiseled six-pack in front of her. “I’m always down for eggs.”
A tiny smile with a hint of smugness hovered on the corners of Sammy’s lips like he was well-aware of her slip-up but was too much of a gentleman to call her out on it—which he was.
Damn him.
Olivia spooned some eggs in her mouth and evaded Sammy’s gaze by examining the kitchen. Sammy was a baker by trade, but he loved cooking as much as baking, and he’d clearly spared no expense in outfitting his favorite room of the house. Sleek, pale wood cabinets lined the walls above gleaming counters that boasted glass containers of flour and sugar, a stand mixer, a state-of-the-art espresso machine, and a three-tier ceramic cake stand. An eight-burner stove and Sub-Zero fridge stood sentry to the right of the sink; a glass-fronted cabinet filled with plates and glasses shone on the left. Copper pots and pans hung from hooks on the ceiling above the wood-topped center island, and a vase of beautiful sunflowers added a touch of homey cheer to what would’ve otherwise been a too-magazine-perfect scene.
“Farrah helped design it,” Sammy said when he noticed her scrutiny. He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. Somehow, the simple action made him look even hotter. “Virtual consultations.”
“Right.” Olivia remembered Farrah mentioning it to her a while back, but she’d been so busy with business school she’d glossed over the information. “It looks great.” She swallowed another mouthful of eggs. “The food is great, too.” She felt the need to compliment him because there were only so many times a girl could say “thank you” before it got annoying.