once. It shouldn’t be hard to find out where she buried those feelings and make her fall harder.
Why didn’t I know you loved me? I think, kissing the top of her head and pressing her closer to me.
This woman is good at hiding her emotions. She’s a great poker player, not that anyone lets her play. She counts cards. Her quirks and tells remind me that she has to have breakfast. I smile like a fool, happy that this time I can serve her breakfast in bed. We can follow it with fooling around in bed.
Fuck, I’d give up everything just to get this, Grace, in my bed every morning.
Before I go to the kitchen to prepare some food, I kiss her temple and put on a shirt. Maybe Vance prepared something more than instant oatmeal. If he didn’t, I’ll just cook for Grace and me.
“Morning,” Leyla greets me. “Just the man we were expecting.”
I frown. “There’s a family meeting I didn’t know about?”
“It’s your turn to prepare breakfast,” she declares, pointing toward the chore board.
“No, I switched with Vance,” I remind her. “Did he skip town because one of my friends came onto him?”
Mills chuckles and shakes his head. “He went to Portland. There’s some emergency he didn’t tell us about.”
“Ugh,” I grumble and open the refrigerator. I grab mushrooms, spinach, and onions to prepare a frittata. That’s the easiest, fastest thing to do. I chop the ingredients, beat the eggs, and pour the mixture into the skillet. Thankfully, our oven has a feature that sets the temperature to however we want, no need to pre-heat.
Once I set that, I go to the pantry to extract two boxes of muffin mix. If it weren’t because I want to serve Grace a delicious breakfast, I would just take a box of cereal, hand them a gallon of milk and wish them luck.
Fucking Vance. He better have a good explanation.
“He’s making muffins?” Pierce, who is carrying Carter, asks, kissing Leyla’s forehead. “Can we keep him forever? I promise to feed him and clean after him.”
“Ha! Your wife would keep me because I know how to feed you better than you can feed yourself.”
I’m in the middle of pouring the batter when my phone starts to ring. I ignore whoever is calling, but they aren’t letting this go.
Pierce reaches inside my pocket to grab it.
“Don’t molest me.”
“You’re an idiot,” he says, glaring at me. “Beacon’s phone.”
“He’s busy at the moment. May I take a message?”
I turn to look at him, and he frowns. “I’ll let him know.”
“Who was it?” I ask after he hangs up.
“Janelle Fitzpatrick,” he stares at the phone. “Her ghostwriter is scheduled to start next month, and you haven’t responded to her calls.”
“Fuck!”
“Language,” Mills calls from the other room.
“So, your mom is writing a tell-all?” Pierce asks.
“My people haven’t been able to confirm that,” I explain to him.
“I’ll have my lawyer work on that,” Henry, who enters the kitchen, says, winking at me and looking at Pierce. “Dude, fix that.”
Pierce flips him the finger. “What do you want me to do, Beacon? Should I contact your PR, agent, manager, or can I just sue her because I didn’t like her effing tone?”
“Or you can set the record straight and give your version, Beac,” Grace says as she enters the kitchen. “Morning, everyone.”
“She forgave him too fast,” Henry complains. “And what did your father forget to tell you that got him in the doghouse?“
“As if she had just let it go,” I say, walking toward her and giving her a peck on the lips. “She’s going to make me work for it. I’m still in the doghouse.”
I go back to the mixer to continue pouring the ingredients.
“You were saying something about setting the record straight,” Pierce cuts into the conversation. “What would that entail, and how would it help?”
“He can easily post a picture of him and his grandfather on social media, write something touching about missing him, how he and his wife raised him as his own after his mother abandoned him,” Grace explains something her aunt—my PR—has suggested a few times. “That tells the world the real story in only a few lines.”
“I don’t want the attention.” I put the muffin tray in the oven and pour the rest of the batter into the second one.
Everyone laughs.
“Really, you don’t like attention?” Mills says, mockingly. “I can see that since you keep to yourself.”
“Can we ever get through a conversation without a thousand jokes?” Pierce asks, looking at me.