I suspected, since this was not my done thing, and she’d lived through my last nightmare with me (and others besides), she just wanted to make sure I was not only okay right then, but that I got home okay.

“Sure,” I replied. “And thanks.”

“Not a problem, babe. Later,” she said then rung off, which I found a little odd.

I mean, she knew I was there with Johnny so she couldn’t have a girlie gab at that particular moment about my hookup, but she seemed matter of fact to the point of being blunt.

Maybe it was a problem I asked her on a Sunday morning to go look after my babies.

I made a mental note to bring over some treats as a show of gratitude some time that week and definitely call her when I got home as I brought the phone down and saw the notifications had come up after the call.

Three texts from Deanna that came in unnoticed sometime during the activities last night (or this morning).

Call me.

Babe, call me.

As soon as you can, call me.

Oh God, maybe she really couldn’t look after my babies but had to because she hadn’t heard from me.

I engaged my texts, typed in, I’m so sorry. I didn’t get your texts. If it was an inconvenience to look after my zoo, I apologize. I got caught up in things. It means the world you took care of them anyway, I can’t thank you enough and I’ll totally make it up to you.

I sent the text with a whoosh and Johnny asked, “All cool?”

“I think so,” I answered uncertainly.

“What’s the thinking part of that?” he queried.

“I don’t know, but it might be that Deanna had something on and I didn’t get her texts after I’d texted last night so she went over, but still, it seems like something’s up.”

My phone binged and I immediately looked down to see Deanna’s response of, No, no, it’s cool. Totes cool. All good. No worries. Just call me when you get home. No biggie. Just want to chat.

I relaxed.

“Okay?” Johnny asked.

I looked at him and nodded. “Read it wrong. She’s cool.”

“Good,” he muttered, turning his attention to pouring the eggs in the skillet.

The toast popped up.

Johnny finished up the eggs and bacon and I finished up the toast. He served up and I hopped off the counter to toss my phone in my bag and warm up our coffee. He took the plates to a small, round dining room table with highly polished wood that radiated out beautifully from a center circle and space-age angled legs that had four scoop-backed chairs around it.

My mind screamed when he didn’t get a placemat before he put the plates down on that wood but I kept my mouth shut. I brought the mugs over. He returned to the kitchen and came back with the toast, a bottle of ketchup and a jar of grape jelly.

“Sit,” he ordered, putting all that on the table and going back to the kitchen.

He’d set the plates on the curve next to each other and he’d dished up equally, so I just picked a seat and sat.

“No, Iz, other plate,” he said, coming back with cutlery.

“Sorry,” I muttered self-consciously, shifting to the other chair.

“Better view, baby,” Johnny murmured close to my ear as he set a fork and knife next to my white plate.

I looked from the flatware to the room to see I was positioned facing it, and the windows, so he was right.

It was a better view.

I felt my chest warm as he took his seat.

Johnny grabbed the ketchup and squirted it all over his eggs.

I picked up my fork and stuck in.

I ate, alternately looking to my plate to get food and chewing it while staring out at the lush leaves dappled in sunlight beyond his wall of windows.

“Quiet,” he remarked suddenly and softly.

I looked to Johnny.

“Sorry?”

“You’re being quiet,” he noted.

“These are good eggs,” I told him.

His lips hitched. “Eggs are eggs, babe.”

I nodded, though they were actually good. Fluffy and light and well-seasoned.

Then I said, “Thanks for letting me have the chair with the view.”

“I got a chair with a view too,” he replied, his eyes on me telling me what his view was. “And mine’s better.”

I felt warmth in my cheeks and looked to my plate.

“Watched you walk into Home last night, no . . . giving you the honesty, watched your ass walk into Home last night, my plans of havin’ a few and relaxing after the week went up in smoke. Got up next to you, you looked at me, thought you were gonna bolt. Shocked the shit outta me you told me your name when I asked it,” he declared while I turned my attention back to him. “Maybe margarita courage that kept you where you were, just you in the beginning though. Now you’re here, you keep putting on your panties when you know I’m just gonna take ’em off, which means you gotta know I’m into you but you still can’t take a compliment for shit.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off me.

“It’s your thing and you got no clue, and I seriously don’t know if I should give you one but I’m gonna. You work it, Izzy, so don’t apologize for it.”

I ducked my head and grabbed a slice of toast.

Johnny chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s your thing,” he muttered.

I tore a bite of toast off, eyes to the table, chewed it, swallowed and announced, “I used your toothpaste.”

“Seeing as I kissed you after you did it, that kinda wasn’t lost on me.”

My gaze flitted to his to see him taking a bite of his bacon. “I didn’t use your toothbrush, though.”

He swallowed before he stated, “Iz, you’ve spent time sitting on my face. Do you think I give a shit you use my toothbrush?”

I was somewhat appalled. “That’s kind of gross.”

“Sitting on my face?” he asked, though I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes he was teasing.

“No,” I said swiftly.

“Since you didn’t use it, I don’t have to be grossed out by it.”

“True,” I mumbled, putting my toast on my plate and picking up some bacon.

“I understand,” he said quietly and I looked again to him while I chewed bacon. “You had to go through my stuff to find toothpaste. You don’t want me to think you got nosy. But I got nothing to hide, Izzy.”

I nodded.

This all seemed very weird, complicated with a good deal of it contradictory, but at least that was good to know.

“Your bathroom is really nice,” I observed and it came again.

He turned off, looked at his plate.

Shut me out.

The Izzy I was normally would ignore it, find some way to move around it, but something made me ask, “Sorry, I . . . you . . . am I stepping where I shouldn’t?”

His black eyes came direct to me and they weren’t entirely impassive. There was something in their depths. I just couldn’t read it.

But surprisingly, he gave it to me.

“Left my old place, sold the place I grew up, fixed up this place and moved in after my dad died.”

“Oh God, Johnny, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s shit in my life I’m not big on talking about. Was tight with my dad. So that’s some of it.”

I nodded. “Of course, sorry. So sorry.”

He nabbed another slice of bacon. “You didn’t know so no need to apologize.”