Stuck With Me - Melissa Brown Page 0,47
letters, it said, “TRUCE? -L”
“Pancakes?” I raised one eyebrow, appreciating the gesture more than I wanted to admit.
“With extra butter and syrup. I know how you like them soggy.”
“But you didn’t bring any for you,” I said, looking at her empty spot.
“I’m good. Eat, eat.”
Opening the box, the rich smell of butter and flour mixed with the already incredible smell of the coffee shop. My stomach growled loudly, and Lyra laughed. She handed me a set of plastic silverware encased in a sleeve.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said. “The coffee would have been enough.”
“Just eat,” she said, scratching the side of her neck.
After spreading the perfectly softened butter on the golden cakes, I drained each cup of syrup she’d included. “And if that’s not enough, I have more in my purse,” Lyra said, pulling a bottle of syrup from her bag.
I couldn’t help but laugh before digging in. The first bite tickled my tongue as the flavors danced in my freaking mouth. “Holy crap, these are good.”
“You like them?”
“Um, yeah… Where did you get these? Because I need to eat there, like, every day.”
Lyra chuckled. “I made them.”
“No shit,” I said between bites, shocked that anyone could make pancakes this delicious at their home. “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”
“My abuela taught me. If you think those are good, you should try my sopapillas.”
“What are those?”
“They’re these amazing fried pastries. I dip them in sugar and drizzle with honey. Heaven on Earth. And sometimes, when I’m really feeling ambitious, I make them with fresh horchata ice cream.”
“My stomach just growled while I’m stuffing my face,” I joked. “That all sounds awesome, and I don’t even know what horchata is.”
“It’s a rice drink with lots of cinnamon. I use raisins in the ice cream, too, for extra sweetness and texture. It’s my abuela’s secret recipe, but she gave it to me. Bypassed my mom, which made her flip.” Lyra laughed, and I watched as she lit up when she talked about cooking and her grandmother. There was even more to this woman than I realized and I felt my anger washing away with each bite of the rich, sweet pancakes.
“So, as much as I enjoy hearing about your prowess in the kitchen, what’s this all about?”
Lyra sat up straight, her expression serious. “I want a truce. A real one.”
“Um, okay.”
“I really screwed up in that elevator, and I know that. I’m really sorry for what I said, and I’m not going to try to justify it with any excuses. What’s done is done, and all I can do is own it and give you a sincere apology.”
“Wow. Thanks.” I took another bite.
“But,” she said, raising one sexy eyebrow. God, I wanted to rip off all her clothes, even though I sensed she was about to put me in my place. “You need to take some ownership of some of the shit that went down too.”
“Such as?” I asked, being deliberately difficult. I wanted to see where she was going.
“The whole hand thing… and Sheila…” She tilted her head forward, waiting for my acknowledgment.
“Sure, okay. Yeah, I may have had some shit moments too.”
Lyra shook her head. “I guess that’s all the apology I’m gonna get, huh?”
“I’m not the best at those.” I shrugged. “But I’ll honor your request. I’ll give you your truce.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking only partially satisfied with my response. Part of me wanted to give her more than that, to take her hand again and ask to go back to that moment siting at the coffee table. To tell her about ending things with Trupti and how badly I wanted to get close enough to smell her, to kiss and taste her lips for the first time now that I was free to do it. There was so much I wanted to say to Lyra, but instead, I just took another bite of my pancakes.
“Friends?” she asked before taking a sip of her drink. I leaned forward and wiped the tiniest bit of foam from her perfectly sculpted nose. She sucked in her breath just a bit at my touch, and a feeling of satisfaction swept through me. Her cheeks reddened, and she licked her lips tentatively as our eyes locked.
Friends, my ass.
“Friends,” I said with a nod. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Sorry. I gotta take this; it’s work.”
“Sure,” Lyra said with a smile.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone, walking outside so I could hear the associate calling from