I quickly grab the skillet and pull it off the stove.
Nova giggles and eyes the burnt pieces. “It’s perfect.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
I dump the ruined bacon onto a plate—well, ruined by my opinion—and slide it across to Nova. I start some more for myself.
While it’s cooking, I start on the scrambled eggs.
When the eggs are done, I slide some onto Nova’s plate and the rest onto mine. I add my bacon and then carry our plates over to the small table. I know it’s probably impractical to have both the island with barstools and a table, but I prefer the table.
Nova grabs our coffee cups and follows me over.
She sits across from me with a small smile gracing her lips like she finds this whole thing entirely amusing.
We’ve sat across from each other eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner numerous times, but suddenly it feels different.
Different isn’t bad, though. I think different is actually pretty good.
We eat in silence, lost in our thoughts. Lyrics flit through my mind, and I itch to grab my notebook and write.
Music is a huge part of my life, but I don’t have time for it like I used to. I naively thought I’d be discovered and become the next big thing, but that thought process has only led to heaps of disappointment. I don’t know what I’ll do with my music degree. Maybe I’ll become a teacher or maybe I’ll tend bars for the rest of my life. Either option pisses off my father, because his dream was for me to get into politics like him. Over the years, I’ve asked him about my dreams so many times that the words have become meaningless.
“I’m really hating the fact that I have to work today,” Nova says, breaking into my thoughts.
I grin. “Because you want to stay here with me all day, right?”
She looks away and then back with a small nod. “Yeah.”
“There will be time for that later,” I tell her, a promising tone to my voice.
She bites her lip, wiggling in her seat, and I want nothing more than to fuck her on the table. I’m trying to be responsible, though. Take it slow. Well, slow for me.
“Are you working tonight?” she asks. What she’s really asking is, Are you going to be home late?
I shake my head. “This is my off weekend, but I’m going by in the evening to play.” I nod at my guitar even though she’ll know what I mean anyway.
“What time?”
“Seven,” I answer, picking up a piece of bacon.
“I get off at six. Do you mind if I go with you?”
“Of course not.” She nods, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “The green is interesting,” I tell her.
She wrinkles her nose. “Does that mean you hate it?”
“No, I like it,” I assure her. “I just wasn’t expecting it. What color are you going to do next?”
She shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“You should do rainbow.”
She laughs and finishes her eggs. “I haven’t done that one yet.”
“What color has been your favorite?” I ask her.
“Passion purple,” she responds, and I chuckle. We always have a laugh at the ridiculously colored names. Some are downright stupid. “What’s your favorite?”