Later, after showering together, they went downstairs. First they took Barley out into the backyard to do his business and then headed back to the kitchen to see what they could find for breakfast.
“You just sit down there. I want to cook for you. What do you usually like in the morning?” Flynn asked.
“I don’t know. Just coffee, mostly.”
Flynn found the French press on the counter. Because he had one just like it at his place, he had no trouble throwing together a pot of Italian roast.
“How ‘bout some eggs? I make a wicked omelet.”
Mac sat at the table, hands on his cheeks, staring ahead. “I’m sure you do, but I’m just not hungry. You go ahead and make yourself something. I can eat at the restaurant when I get there. That’s what I usually do.”
Flynn rooted around in the cupboards unt
