I SLEPT IN the next morning and woke with a much better attitude. It didn’t hurt that I could smell bacon frying in the house.
“Damn, girl. You didn’t have to do this,” I said when she brought a tray of food into the bedroom before I could even get out of bed.
Chuck, who had on one of my T-shirts and a pair of boxers, smiled. “You might be repeating those words in a few seconds. I’m not much of a cook. It took me three attempts at getting those eggs to not look like yellow cottage cheese.”
I looked down at the breakfast. There was a cup of coffee, two eggs over easy, toast, and a pile of bacon. It looked damn good to me. “I’m sure it’s delicious. Where’s yours?”
“I ate what I screwed up. I didn’t want to waste the food,” she replied, sitting next to me on the bed with her own cup of co
