“You hungry?” he asked.
The smell of French toast wafted through the air. So did the smell of Declan, his delicious, musky scent.
I swallowed. “I could eat.” Gosh. It felt different around him after the other night, like the volume on the sexual-tension meter had been turned from low to full blast.
“Well, I just so happen to be making your favorite: breakfast for dinner,” Declan announced before running to his room.
He returned wearing a shirt and resumed his position at the stove. It was like he knew his being shirtless had made me uneasy.
Declan flipped the French toast and sprinkled cinnamon over it. I spent the next several minutes watching him cook. That had become one of my favorite pastimes.
I vented to him about a staff shortage at work, while he opened up about one of his sisters having marital problems. It seemed some of our sexual tension dissipated once we got into a good conversation.
After he plated two big pieces of toast for each of us, we sat down and began devouring it together.
“This is the best French toast I’ve ever had.” My eyes wandered over to the jars on the counter. I stopped chewing. “What did you do?”
I couldn’t believe I was just now noticing it, but I’d been a little distracted when I walked in. My pastel, color-coordinated M&Ms had been replaced by a mish-mash of primary rainbow colors, all mixed together in each jar. I was about to break out in hives.
“Just helping you out,” he said. “You mentioned your therapist wanted you to become accustomed to things in disarray. I thought of this idea when I walked by the bulk candy store.”
“So thoughtful of you to nearly give me a heart attack.”
As ballsy as this was, I knew he’d done it with good intentions. And I had been slacking on my exercises lately. In fact, I hadn’t challenged myself at all.
“What did you do with the other M&Ms?”
“Don’t worry. I stored them away for safe keeping. You’ll get them back when you’ve earned them.” He winked.
“Oh boy. Great.”
“Needless to say, Julia wasn’t too thrilled when I made her stop into the candy store for a five-pound bag. But I think it was because of who I was buying them for.”
The bread caught a little in my throat. “She’s still jealous of me?”
“Well, I told her you’re dating Will now. But she still seems insecure about us living together.”
My heart raced and several seconds of silence passed.
“Should she be?” I muttered.
You could’ve heard a pin drop. I regretted my question but couldn’t take it back.
His eyes bore into mine.
Flashbacks from the other night ran through my mind—my fingers grazing his hard body, the goose bumps on his skin. I remembered every second of those moments.
Instead of answering my question, he set his fork down with a hard clank. “I never had a chance to ask you about your date with Will.”
I cleared my throat. “It went really well. We had dinner and then he took me to his apartment and showed me his vinyl record collection.”
He laughed, but it held an air of insincerity. “And you had to pretend to be interested?”
I shrugged. “I…appreciated it. He has eclectic musical taste.”
Declan nodded. “Did he show you more than just his collection?”
That question was a little brazen. But I suppose I’d been a bit brazen myself tonight. I told the truth.
“No. I showed him nothing. It’s too soon.”
“Good.” He let out a breath. “I’m not sure I trust the guy. I don’t like the one-eighty he pulled just because he saw me show up at the bar. He changed his tune awfully fucking fast.”
I felt the need to come to Will’s defense. “I don’t fault him for his honesty or his jealousy. I respect his admitting that he isn’t interested in anything serious right now. He could’ve just led me on. But last night he clarified some things. He said he might be open to something serious in the future. He wants to take things slow.”
“How noble of him,” he huffed. “Fuck that. You deserve someone who’s not so wishy-washy, Molly. I mean, the guy says one thing one day and another the next? What does that tell you?”
Deep down, I’d felt those warning signals loud and clear myself. But while I appreciated Declan sticking up for me, his words struck a bitter chord.
“And Julia isn’t wishy-washy? She flirted with you for weeks while she had a boyfriend. That’s the opposite of honesty and sounds pretty wishy-washy to me.”
“I didn’t say she was perfect, either.”
“You used to think so. You made her sound like she walked on water when you first described her to me.” I rolled my eyes.
He raised his brow. “Did that bother you?”
Blood rushed to my face. “No. Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. You seemed irritated when you said that just now—that I used to think Julia was perfect. Do my feelings for her upset you?”