When I woke the next morning, Glenn was gone. I sprang from bed, called his name, but got no response. I threw on shorts and raced through the house like a madman, until I found him in the kitchen, wearing my robe. The table was set for breakfast and he stood at the stove. “I hope scrambled is okay,” he said. “I’m no good at over easy.”
I took a couple deep breaths, then sidled up behind him and kissed his neck. “Everything is okay with me. I love a man who can cook.”
“It’s not my strong suit, but I can manage.”
“Managing is good.”
I noted he’d made coffee, poured orange juice, made toast, had bacon cooked and draining.
“I’d offer to help,” I said, “but you seem to have it all done.”
“Just about.”
He scooped eggs onto two plates, added bacon and toast, and handed them to me. I was n
