She had made use of the groceries he had stockpiled in anticipation of her arrival. She had set the table and brought out what passed for his best flatware and cutlery, the mismatched plates containing delights such as old fashioned pancakes (made from scratch), eggs Benedict, French toast, coffee just the way he liked it (two sugars and some cream), freshly squeezed OJ, hash browns, bacon almost burned, and scrambled eggs so fluffy he almost cried with delight.
Foster found himself excited to get to work, his tiredness and lack of sleep more than compensated by what he knew was in his lunch bag: a club sandwich with fresh apple butter, vegetable salad with a light vinaigrette, and a blueberry muffin.
“You’re awfully happy today,” Santi said when they passed each other in the hallway.
