She found Lacey there, a cup of steaming coffee at her own elbow as she greased up a waffle iron. The younger woman smiled brightly. “Hope you’re ready for the patented Bagdon Banana Chocolate Chip Waffles. You’re a fan, right?”
Some wise person had left an empty coffee cup beside the coffee maker and Wendy poured herself a cup. “Of waffles? Sure.”
“Not just waffles. These are the Banana Chocolate Chip Waffles. His signature dish.”
Feeling unable to follow the discussion without caffeine, Wendy took a generous gulp. Whatever criticisms Jonathon might have had about his family, they brewed damn good coffee. Which in her book, about put them on the level with the gods.
A moment later, her brain caught up with the conversation. “Whose signature dish?”
Lacey, who was in the process of pouring a ladleful of batter onto the hot iron, looked up. “Jonathon’s.” She sprinkled chocolate chips across the top. “He has made them for you, right?” Lacey closed the lid, then pegged Wendy with her gaze.
“Um…no.”
“Oh.” The waffle iron released a fizzle of steam. A frown creased Lacey’s forehead. “He used to make them all the time for me. He taught me how.”
Caught off guard by the girl’s wistful tone, Wendy was torn. The girl looked as though a cherished childhood memory had just been stolen. But Wendy couldn’t exactly tell Lacey the truth. And for all she knew, Jonathon actually made waffles for all of his real girlfriends. He’d just never made them for his fake wife.
“Maybe,” Wendy supplied, “he doesn’t make them now because they remind him too much of you.”
She couldn’t imagine the Jonathon she knew behaving in such a sentimental manner, but the girl might fall for it.
Sure enough, Lacey’s lips curved into a smile and she nodded slowly. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”
“It does?” Wendy tried to hide her surprise behind a sip of coffee. “I mean, it does. Definitely.”
The waffle iron beeped and Lacey bent down as she lifted the lid. Wielding a spatula with surgical precision, she pried the waffle free and flipped it onto a plate. She put on the finishing touches with a flick of a butter knife and drizzle of syrup, then held the plate out to Wendy. “Ta da!”
Wendy took the plate. Lacey stood there, her gaze darting from the waffle to Wendy and back like an overeager puppy.
“Now?” Wendy asked. “Shouldn’t I wait until everyone else is here?”
“Nope. First come, first served, and you eat them while they’re hot.” As she poured the next waffle, Lacey flashed a wicked grin that reminded Wendy of Jonathon. “House rules.”
Imagine that. House rules about waffle eating. Or, for that matter, house rules about anything food related that weren’t restrictive and oppressive.
“Are you going to try it?” Lacey asked, her forehead starting to furrow again.
“Just taking a moment to enjoy house rules about food that aren’t designed to inspire guilt or shame. I think I’m in heaven.”
“And you haven’t even eaten the waffle yet.”
Since Lacey was still watching her expectantly, Wendy forked off a bite and popped it into her mouth. The sweet buttery banana contrasted nicely with the dark bittersweet chocolate. The waffle itself was light enough to melt on her tongue. Her eyes drifted closed in bliss.
Even though Wendy hadn’t said anything, beside her, Lacey said, “I know. Right?”
“Divine,” Wendy enthused before taking another bite. If Jonathon did make these for his real girlfriends, that went a long way toward explaining why they put up with his emotional distance for as long as they usually did. These waffles plus fantastic sex, and what girl would care if her boyfriend was a jerk?
Somehow depressed by the thought, Wendy took her waffle and wandered over to the table. She scooted the chair back with her foot and sat, stuffing another bite into her mouth with a fervor that had more to do with therapeutic stress release than with hunger.
A moment later, Lacey joined her, a waffle of her own on her plate, the waffle iron temporarily off since no one else was waiting for one.
They ate for a few minutes in silence.
Lacey gave a sigh of deep contentment. “Uncle Jonny used to make these for me when I was little. Mom worked at the Giddey-up Gas on weekend mornings.”
“You must have been…what? Six or seven?”
“I was eight when he went off to college.”
Went off to college and walked away from his family completely. As far as she knew, he hadn’t seen a single family member since then. Okay, she could get walking away from the no-good mother who had been more interested in raising a bottle than raising a family. But walking away from his siblings? She’d wanted a brother or sister her whole life. So that was a grayer area. But walking away from an eight-year-old niece? A little girl he’d made waffles for every morning for years? Who did that?