“Coffee?”
“No, thank you, I don’t really drink it.”
He laughed. “Then why do you have a coffeepot with fresh ground coffee in the pantry?”
“For Michael and my mother for when they come over. I used to drink it every now and then before the ba—”
I cut off quickly.
“Before the what?” he asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.
I gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’m not a fan of it anymore, that’s all.”
He nodded, then turned and flipped the eggs. “Want to make some toast for us?” I stared at him for a moment before he looked at me. “What?”
Feeling unsure of what to think about Dirk in my kitchen, I turned and grabbed a package of whole wheat bread and pulled out two slices for him.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like bread anymore.”
With a smile, I got out a pack of English muffins.
“Muffins are my jam now. I keep the bread for Michael.”
He laughed, and I loved how it filled the kitchen. For one stupid, crazy moment, I dreamed of what life with him would be like. Us in our kitchen making breakfast with maybe one or two little kids running around at our feet. Dirk laughing and telling them to behave while I pulled homemade blueberry muffins out of the oven.
I sighed. That’s all it would ever be, a dream.
I shook off the silly notion. This was Dirk. He wasn’t the type of man who made those kinds of promises or had any desire to live that kind of life. He was happy doing what he did, and that was bull riding and picking up women.
After I placed the muffins in the toaster next to his bread, I made my way to the refrigerator and pulled out the orange juice. I searched for two glasses and poured us each some. After a few moments of silence, I asked, “You seriously don’t have a hangover?”
“I might have a slight headache. I haven’t drunk that much in a long time,” he replied as he took the glass of orange juice I offered him.
After taking a sip, I turned and opened the refrigerator once more and took out the butter and grabbed the lemon curd for my English muffin. A minute later his toast popped up, followed by my muffin.
I watched him as he took the toast and muffin out and then looked at me. “Butter?”
“Yes, please.”
“What the hell is the yellow stuff?” he asked as I handed him the butter.
“Lemon curd. It’s delicious.” He curled his lip, and I laughed. “You haven’t even tried it, so why are you making that face?”
“Anything with the word ‘curd’ in it is a hard pass for me. Sorry.”
I shrugged and slid onto the barstool that was at the kitchen island. I loved how open and big my kitchen was. Such a far cry from my place in New York City. I had forgotten how nice it was to have my own space, especially after living at home with my folks for so many months.
“Well, you’re missing out,” I stated.
“I’ll take my chances.”
My pulse raced a bit faster as I watched Dirk move around the kitchen like a pro. He’d already found the plates and was putting the eggs on them as well as a few slices of bacon for each of us. He grabbed my muffins, put them on my plate, and then placed it in front of me.
With a soft chuckle, I asked, “Wow. Are you fast at everything you do?”
He took a bite of bacon, then winked before he replied, “I’m not fast at everything.”
Lord, how my lower stomach clenched at his words. I acted as if they didn’t have any effect on me whatsoever.
We ate in silence for a few minutes before I asked, “How are you doing, Dirk?”
“Fine.”
That one word held zero emotion in it, and I knew he was far from fine. Last night proved that. A small part of me thought that if I told him about the baby, it would take his mind off of his father. Give him something else to focus on. The other part of me knew that the moment I told him everything would change—just like it had that night back in high school. And honestly, I wasn’t sure where things stood between us. Dirk didn’t want a family, and he was in no way ready to be tied down. He would hate me for being the person to change his life like that, and that wasn’t something I was ready to face. Besides, he needed time to mourn his father’s death first.
“It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know.”
His gaze met mine, and we stayed locked like that for a good minute. I could feel my breathing deepen slightly.
Then, he whispered, “Those eyes.”
I lifted a brow. “What about them?”
He seemed almost mesmerized by my eyes. A lot of people were, though, considering they were a very rare color of violet.