Moments later, Paul followed her. “I’m sorry, ladies. If your breakfast is cold, blame Kat. The little slut insisted on having her dessert before anyone else. You have my permission to stone her.” Then he turned on his heels and returned from whence he came—literally.
Before Kat’s loving sisters could organize an impromptu production of Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery,” Paul summoned them all to the table. Waffles and fresh fruit had already been set out, along with maple syrup and dark agave nectar. The next time Paul emerged, he was carrying a pitcher of cobalt blue Depression glass. “Bellinis!” he announced festively.
“Thank you, Master. I love Bellinis,” Courtney exclaimed. The peach nectar and sparkling wine drink was one of her favorites for brunch. “Did you use the Bollinger’s?” sh
