Chapter 23: Rule Two

Danielle's POV

On Sunday morning I woke to the smell of burning toast.

I lay in my own bed with the sheet around my shoulders and listened to a man swear quietly in my kitchen.

I had lived alone for six years.

I found that I did not mind the noise.

I put on his shirt from the floor and went out in bare feet.

Nathan stood at the stove in his undershirt with a spatula in his bandaged hand and a pan of eggs gone brown at the edges.

He turned when he heard me, and his face went through three expressions before it settled.

"I can cook," he said. "I want that on the record."

"Noted."

"I haven't cooked in five years. Claire's housekeeper did it."

"Then that's an excuse, not a record."

He laughed.

I leaned in the doorway and watched him scrape the eggs onto two plates.

I noticed that he looked at me while he did it.

He looked at my face, the whole time, openly, and he did not flinch from what he saw there.

I had spent three years wondering what that would be like.

It was better than I had imagined.

He set the plates down on the counter.

"Good morning," he said. "I'm still getting used to the part where you answer."

"Good morning," I said, and ate his eggs, which were terrible, and the lemon cookies from the tin, which were not.

His sister called at ten, and he put her on speaker so I could hear.

"Are you still at your boss's apartment?" she asked.

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