Yours Truly(88)

I clapped my hands with delight. “This looks fantastic!”

Noah let out a little sigh of relief and grinned. “I was hoping you would like it. You said to make my favorite, so here it is.”

“I love breakfast food. It really should just be anytime meal food because it's so good.” I handed him my plate, and he began scooping food in neat portions onto it. “This is so much better than anchovy pizza with mustard sauce.”

“There's maple syrup, ketchup and hot sauce if you want it,” he said nodding toward the end of the table. It looked like it was real maple syrup. The man certainly knew how to do breakfast right.

He handed the plate back to me, and I had a hard time waiting to eat while he quickly filled his own plate with the delicious breakfast food. I poured a little maple syrup on the plate and tasted it on my finger. It was the real stuff. The expensive stuff. The stuff my mom only got us on Christmas. I nearly poured the rest of the bottle on my pancakes.

Once he sat down, he grinned. “Let's eat!”

The pancakes were possibly the best pancakes I had ever had in my life, and I've had a lot of pancakes. They were light and fluffy, but had enough weight to them that they didn't feel flat or too little. They were buttery and delicious. Combined with the maple syrup, I could have lived on that alone for a year.

“So does this count as you making me breakfast, or dinner?” I asked, reaching for the ketchup. The hash browns were crispy and perfect, and the eggs melted in my mouth with little explosions of heat from the peppers. I was fairly sure I had died and gone to food heaven.

“Whichever you want it to be,” he said as he poured maple syrup over all the contents on his plate. “I'll even make you dinner in the morning if you want.”

I giggled at his joke. Noah took his fork and mixed all the contents of his plate into a pile, stirring in the maple syrup. I made a snorting noise at his culinary decision.

“What?” he asked, his mouth full of maple syrup breakfast goodness.

“You eat like my little brother,” I explained, pointing to his plate with my fork. “He likes it all mixed together too.”

“I like the way all the tastes combine...” Big blue eyes looked at me in complete innocence, thinking I was making fun of him.

I smiled. “That's what he says, too!”

Noah swallowed and grinned. “So you have a little brother? Is he here on the island with you?”

I shook my head. “No, he's back in the States. He starts high school this year. Will you hand me the orange juice?”

Noah's eyebrows rose, but he reached for the juice. “High school?” I could see his brain trying to do mental math to figure out if I was far younger than I looked.

“Thanks,” I said as I took the juice and poured a big glass. “The two of us are nine years apart.”

“Oh,” he replied, a relieved smile lit up his face. He put another bite of food on his fork and got ready to put it in his mouth. “Are you two close?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I got stuck watching him a lot growing up, but now that we're so far apart, I kind of miss him. He's a good kid.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Noah took another bite.

“Or forgetful. Though I doubt I'll forget all the frogs he put in my pillowcase anytime soon. Little child was a brat.” I laughed. It was a funny memory now, but at the time I nearly took him to the local pond and drowned him. “Do you have any siblings?”

Noah swallowed. “An older brother.”

“What does he do?” I added some more maple syrup to my plate. It was just too good.

“He works for me,” Noah said with a grin. I set my fork down and eyed him.

“See? I knew you had to be successful. Reporters, Jack Saunders, and an older brother that works for you. You must do more than just flip distressed properties. What do you do?”

Noah shook his head. “Not telling.”

“Why?” I took another bite and swallowed. “Do you work for the mob?”

Noah laughed, nearly choking on his eggs. “No, no mob. I've been accused of it, but I can honestly say that I don't work for the mob.”

“Hmm. Do I need to be worried about what you do? I mean, if you're a hit man, I'd like to know.” I felt a little bit of anxiety at the fact that he didn't want to tell me exactly what he did for a living. I was getting the very clear impression that he had a good deal of wealth, but there were a lot of shady ways to make money. I wasn't nearly as afraid as I should have been, though. For some reason, every fiber of my being already trusted him completely. Even the little worrywart fibers that liked to whisper things in the wee hours and didn't fully trust that gravity existed, trusted him.