Just Like This by Rebecca Gallo

Author:Rebecca Gallo [Gallo, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Garrett

I woke up alone, which wasn’t unusual, but for the past few mornings, Cami’s warm, naked body was sprawled next out next to me. We made this bed and the guest house our sanctuary. But rather than her trademark jasmine, I smelled something sweet. Cami was in the kitchen. I winced as I sat up and looked down at my stomach. There was still an ugly purple bruise from Palmer’s blow, but both the discoloration and the pain would be gone by the time I deployed. I pulled on my boxer briefs and padded out into the living room where my T-shirt was piled on the floor. I tossed it on and then followed my nose. One look at the calendar as I passed by it on the way to the kitchen reminded me that I was about to be expelled from Eden. Deployment day loomed uncomfortably close.

Cami looked gorgeous, her wild curls glowing like a halo from the sun streaming through the windows. She wore a black tank top and a pair of tight-fitting shorts that made me think lots of dirty thoughts. I resisted the urge to drag her down to the tiled floor when she turned, clutching a white mixing bowl, and beamed at me.

“Good morning,” I greeted her, shuffling into the kitchen. The countertops were cluttered with bags of flour and sugar and cartons of eggs and milk. And also a container of sprinkles. “What are you doing?”

“Making you pancakes. You missed out the last time,” she said. The last time she’d offered to make pancakes had ended in disaster. “Have a seat. Do you want coffee?” Cami pointed toward the countertop where a few stools rested underneath.

“Coffee would be great, thank you.” I pulled out a stool just as she set a mug in front of me. I eyed it skeptically; it had a pretty floral pattern with birds but proclaimed, “Good morning, asshole.”

She grinned as she poured coffee from a French press into my cup. I watched her move capably around the kitchen. This was her space, and it made her happy. She hummed as she poured pancake batter onto a hot griddle. In minutes, I had a plate stacked high with fluffy homemade pancakes that were speckled with colorful sprinkles.

“Confetti pancakes,” she informed me with a huge grin. “My specialty.”

I felt guilty eating while she cleaned up, so I begged her to sit and eat with me. I listened as she talked aimlessly about learning how to bake from her grandmother. “Whenever my mom would take me out exploring, we always ended up at a bakery. I was fascinated by the display cases full of gorgeous cakes or perfect pastries. Sometimes, they’d show me how to make something if I asked.”

“Did you go to culinary school?”

“No. I’m entirely self-taught. But the Graysons had a friend in Seattle who was a pastry chef for a hotel. She hired me a year after I graduated from high school, and I worked my way up from there.

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