“The entire state of California just gasped. I can feel the oxygen suck from here.”
Laughing, she plopped a spoonful of grease into the pan and started the burner. “I have bacon-fried eggs once a week, all the health nuts in California can rest assured I’m not single-handedly waging war against cardiovascular health. All things in moderation, and is that a yes or a no?” She cocked her head and waited.
“That’s a hell yes. I’ll make the toast if you direct me to the bread.” Jeremiah took another sip of his coffee as he waited for her to point to the small pantry where the bread was. “Is this homemade?”
“Yep. Sourdough. Rumor has it the starter for that bread began when the original Mrs. Hollister came across in a covered wagon. Allison’s mom bakes every other day and sells it at the market. There is a serrated knife in the butcher block.”
“Allison?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Allison Sanderson, a friend. You’ll meet her if you’re here more than a day.”
“How’s that?” Jeremiah sliced the bread with the precision of a surgeon.
A low, rumbling knock on the front door stopped her from cracking the first two eggs into the frying pan. She handed the unbroken eggs to her guest. “Here’s your breakfast. It sounds like I have a drop-by and the ones that show up first thing in the morning are the ones that have tried to mend themselves and failed. I’ll be back up when I finish.”
She slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers and opened the door to the inside stairwell. At the bottom, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Zeke stood on the sidewalk with his hands shoved into his pockets.
A smile hit his face. “Caught a ride back up with the ambulance crew. They needed to wait for a restock so it worked out. Did I miss breakfast?”
Well, okay. Zeke’s enthusiasm for eggs seemed a bit weird, she thought, but whatever. “Ah, no. Come on in. How is Declan?”
She headed back up the stairs.
“The biker doc saved him further complications. If he’d tried to pull that knife out, it would have done some damage. Strange that he just turned up like––”
“Like this?” Jeremiah stood at the top of the stairs, barefoot, holding two eggs in one hand and the frying pan in the other.
Eden laughed and stepped past him, grabbing the frying pan as she moved by. “Yep, just like that. Why aren’t you frying those eggs?”
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help.” She sat the pan back on the range and turned around to find the two men staring at each other. “Zeke, this is Jeremiah, Jeremiah, this is Zeke.”
They both turned to her with confused looks on their faces. “Well, you were staring at each other, I figured you’d forgotten you’d already met.” She extended her hand for the eggs. “Add some more toast, Jeremiah. Zeke, you set the table.” She took the eggs and turned back to the effort of making breakfast.
“Do you want me to do that while you get dressed?” Zeke’s question spun her around.
Jeremiah laughed. “No, I can manage both. How’s the bar owner?”
“He’ll live. Thanks to you,” she heard Zeke speak as the plates rattled. “Where do you work and live?”
“I’m on hiatus out here to visit family. I’ll be staying a while.” Jeremiah answered the question but avoided answering anything Zeke had actually asked.
“Hiatus? Do doctors get rich in… where was it you were from again?” Zeke placed the plates beside her, and she gave him a side-eye. He shrugged and reached for the silverware drawer.
“Rich? No, I was rich before I started my practice. Old money, you know, but we don’t do what we do to get rich, do we?” Jeremiah chuckled. “I’m a psychiatrist and work at a federal penitentiary in California.”
Eden glanced at Jeremiah, pausing her routine of spooning the hot bacon grease over the egg yolks to cook the surrounding whites without having to flip the eggs.
Zeke snorted. “So, you work with the criminally insane. Why bother, they’re lost causes aren’t they?”
Jeremiah straightened and rolled his shoulders. Eden saw her new friend tense, but Zeke wasn’t watching; he was digging in the fridge for something.
“I work with incarcerated men. Those who are there for a short time and those that are there for the rest of their lives. And by the way, I haven’t checked recently, but when I went through my fellowship, ‘criminally