Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,109

insisted. "I'm just saying, the way you describe it, you won't be able to put anything on the countertops."

"Yes. Well maybe some people prefer a clean look."

"Yeah? Well maybe other people like to make toast in the morning." As I said it, I thought of Brody. He loved toast. In the mornings, he slathered it with butter, peanut butter, and jelly.

The way he did it, it really was a masterpiece.

Miss LaRue said, "Maybe the toaster doesn't belong on the countertop."

"Oh yeah?" I said. "Then where does it belong?"

"Inside the cupboard."

I almost laughed in her face. "You can't make toast that way."

"You can if you pull it out and plug it in."

"Yeah, but if you do, you'll knock it off the moment you open the cabinet."

Through gritted teeth, she said, "Then I suggest you don't open the cabinet while you're making toast."

"But what if you need peanut butter?" I gave Brody a sideways glance. "Crunchy peanut butter, because it really is the best."

On Brody's face, I swear I saw the hint of a smile. And something about it – even as small as it was – went straight to my heart, making me long to throw myself into his arms.

How stupid was that?

And now I was all distracted.

As for Miss LaRue, she was focused enough for all of us. With a sound of annoyance, she lunged for the cabinet door and tore off my cardboard extension. She hurled it onto the kitchen floor and eyed me like I'd just crapped on the countertop.

I stared down at the cardboard. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because," she said, "your point's ridiculous."

"My point's ridiculous?" I scoffed. "Well, your point – no, your idea – is completely ridiculous."

She crossed her arms. "Is it now?"

"Of course it is," I said. "This is a house, not a showcase – which means that someone will actually be living here. And they'll be making toast. And coffee, too."

"I'll have you know," Miss LaRue said, "that Felicity St. James has counter-less cupboards in her new kitchen, and she absolutely adores them."

"Felicity St. James?" I laughed. "The actress?"

With a smug smile, Miss LaRue said, "The very same."

I gave a snort of derision. "I'm sure she does 'adore' them. And you wanna know why?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

Oh yeah. I'd be telling her, alright. "It's because," I said, "she probably has her own private chef."

"Of course she does. So?"

"So she doesn't make her own toast. Or her own coffee."

"Of course she doesn't," Miss LaRue said. "She's a very important person."

"Yeah, well so is Brody." As I said it, I realized how very true it was. He was beyond rich and famous. If he wanted, he could have a private chef of his own.

But he wasn't like that.

In fact, there'd been plenty of mornings when he'd made toast for the both of us. And bacon, too. As for myself, I'd specialized in pancakes, slightly crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, just the way Brody liked them.

In fact, we loved them the same exact way.

As the memories hit, I felt a pang of longing so deep, I almost wanted to cry. Or maybe I was just tired of all the drama.

Unable to stop myself, I turned to look at the guy who'd been haunting my thoughts nonstop. He looked so amazingly good, standing there in the open doorway like he used to, back when we were friends. And lovers. And partners, in a roundabout way.

As our gazes locked, his smile, faint as it was, slowly morphed into a frown.

I didn't like it. I didn't like any of this. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

I was still lost in the memories when Brody yanked his gaze from mine and looked to Miss LaRue. "Fine," he said. "Tear them out. Hell if I care." And with that, he turned to go.

And me? Like an idiot, I scurried after him.

Chapter 64

Brody

Screw the cupboards. And the toaster, too.

I'd been off toast for a while now, ever since moving out of the crew house. I'd been off just about everything. Even bacon.

That's how I knew it was bad.

My plan now – assuming I had one – was to get into my truck and get the hell out of here before I said something I'd regret.

I was halfway out the front door when Arden called out, "Brody, wait!"

Shit.

I turned around and gave her a long, silent look.

She rushed toward me. "You can't be serious."

"About what?"

"You know what," she said. "Counter-less cupboards? Seriously?"

"Yeah, so?"

She bit