Setting a carton of eggs, a bag of cheese, and a gallon of milk on the counter beside the stove, Nick glances over at me. "Are eggs okay?"
More than a bit surprised by his question, I start to protest, "You don't have to cook-"
"Tess, how do you like your eggs?" Nick asks, cutting me off.
Somewhat bewildered, I stare at him. Not sure how to answer that. It's weird, but in all the years I was with Ansel, I don't think he ever asked me what I preferred to eat. I always just ate whatever new recipe he had decided to try out.
The skillet clanks as it hits the stovetop. "Do you want them fried or scrambled?" he presses.
It takes me a moment, but finally I answer him. "Scrambled, please."
With a nod, Nick grabs for a glass bowl.
"How's Jace?" I ask, still surprised he's cooking for me.
Nick shrugs as he cracks the eggs. "Honestly, not great. He's struggling to do everything that needs to be done, and refuses help."
My heart hurts for Nick and Ethan's friend. I can't imagine what he is going through. "Maybe he just wants to keep busy," I suggest.
"I'm sure of that, but he can't keep going at the pace he is for much longer. He gets up, takes Scarlett to a daycare near his office, goes to work, leaves the office by six to pick her up, and once she is in bed, he works until God knows what hour. I swear, the dude never sleeps."
I watch Nick with an odd curiosity as he competently whisks the milk in his egg mixture, shakes in some salt and pepper, and then adds a handful of cheese. He knows what he's doing. There is no show, or fancy moves though. It's all done quick and efficiently, with the intent to get to the finished product. "Have you suggested he hire a nanny to help with Scarlett?" I ask.
Nick pours the contents of the bowl into the hot skillet and starts to whip the liquid around with a fork. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Maybe someone needs to let him know it's okay if he can't do everything himself."
"No, I haven't, but I'm sure Fiona must have."
"But he's your friend, so maybe if you suggest it, he'll at least consider the idea," I say optimistically.
Nick smirks at me as he puts some bread in the toaster. "Maybe."
"What?" I ask.
"When did you become little miss sunshine?"
I put my hand to my chest. "I beg your pardon, but I have always been a glass half full kind of girl."
With a snicker, Nick scoops the eggs onto two plates.
"I have," I stress.
The toast pops up. "Whatever you say."
"Nick, I'm serious."
"I'm sure you are," he mumbles under his breath.
"I am."
His smirk remains in place as he grabs the hot slices of bread and quickly drops them to the plates. "Do you remember the night," he says, waving his hand as if he burned it, "of Fiona and Ethan's rehearsal dinner," he goes on, "when I suggested we take the Polar Bear Plunge and you shot me down?"
Torn between watching him make me something to eat and arguing with him, I decide why not do both. "Yes, I do remember, and the idea was just ludicrous."
"But it wasn't."
"Yes, it was."
"Tell me why, Tess?"
This takes me a moment and I feel slightly tongue-tied when I try to explain it. "Just because Ethan and Fiona were taking the plunge, didn't mean we should all strip down to our underwear and jump in the freezing water to take the plunge too."
"But why not? It was funny, and a fantastic idea," he says as he butters the toast.
"Because," my voice raises, "it was stupid, and more than likely we'd all catch cold."
Nick raises a brow. "This said by the glass half full kind of girl."
I say nothing. He has a point. Perhaps in hindsight maybe whenever he's been around I have been somewhat of a Debbie Downer.
With a plate, silverware, and napkin in each hand, he walks toward me. I can't help but notice how his muscles ripple beneath his crisp, white shirt. How his biceps bulge when he moves his arms. The shape of his forearms showing beneath his rolled up sleeves. How square and strong his shoulders are.
While staring at me, he sets everything down.
I find myself staring back into those brilliant blue eyes that must capture the attention of every woman he looks at.
He pushes one of the plates closer to me. "Stop staring and start eating," he commands.
"Yes, sir," I joke, ignoring the fact he caught me, because after all, he was staring first.
Nick raises one sexy brow. "Will you call me master if I get you some juice?"