No Jerks on Monday by Misti Murphy & Tami Lund

Author:Misti Murphy & Tami Lund [Murphy, Misti & Lund, Tami]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-09T23:00:00+00:00

Impatiently awaiting your response,

Your Gal Monday

Chapter Ten

JAKE

“Want some toast?” I ask, pulling two slices out of the toaster as Monday enters the kitchen. It’s pretty early and the kookaburras are still laughing their arses off in the trees on the other side of the garden, but I’ve been up for hours. And not because I’m jet-lagged. I’ve grown accustomed to keeping different hours. What I’m not used to is getting drenched every time things are going well between us. Although I’m fairly certain last night it was accidental.

I wasn’t the only one feeling the pull between us while we sat rocking on that porch swing. I could swear she leaned in too. Got lost in the moment as I did. Until she gave me a cold shower anyway. Gripping the yellow lid on the vegemite, I twist it open and scoop some out with the tip of a knife.

“What is that?” she asks, glancing at me but not at my face.

No, her eyes go to my chest since I’m not wearing a shirt. Travel my pectoral muscles, abs, and make a pit stop at the waistband of my shorts, but she can’t quite manage to draw them back to my face like a normal person would while having a conversation.

“Vegemite.”

“I don’t know what that is.” She wrinkles her nose at the black paste as I start spreading it over my now-buttered toast. She continues her perusal but this time of my kitchen. Her fingers grab the hem of her singlet top and tug, the material stretching and riding lower across her chest. “Do you think I will like it?”

“Only one way to find out. How about I pop a slice in the toaster for you?”

“I don’t know.” She stares at my toast like she’s scared it will jump up and grab her.

“Oh come on, when in Rome, or in Australia in this case...”

“Okay.” She frowns and her shoulders slump. “You don’t have a coffeemaker.”

“Right there.” I point with the tip of my knife at the electric kettle on the counter.

“That’s not your coffeepot.” She groans. “Is it?”

“Sure is.” I grin around a bite of salty toast. She still doesn’t make eye contact as she studies the kettle warily.

“You’ve used a kettle before, right?”

“It’s a teapot. And of course.” She picks it up and glances at the stove.

“It’s a kettle. It’s electric. Just push the button.”

Popping it back on its heating element, she pushes the switch down until it lights up while I grab a mug from an overhead cabinet for her. “Coffee and sugar is there. Milk’s in the fridge.”

“What do I use to get rid of the grounds?”

“You don’t.” I hand her a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer.

She takes a deep breath that straightens her spine, and cracks the lid off the coffee tin and peers inside. “Oh hell no.”

“What?” I take another bite of my toast.

“This is fake coffee.” She looks utterly disgusted.

“It’s normal coffee.” I shrug.

“You really don’t have a Keurig or a French press?” she asks, spoon wavering inches from the top of the coffee tin.

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