Caris made her way to the kitchen and assumed the pose Malachi had taken in the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe watching him as he chopped berries, presumably to go with the French toast he had alluded to earlier. She held the phone in her fingers and fiddled with it.
“Considering the phone isn’t buried in the back of my head, I assume you’re not still irate?” he didn’t turn around.
“You would be wrong. I’m just merely depleted of energy and can no longer muster the strength to throw the phone at your ugly face. I don’t think it would get two feet. Also, if I break it, I have no way to call for Ryder to come get me after I murder you for being a dickwad.”
His shoulders shook as he laughed at her words. “Coffee is hot if you can drag your keister over to it. I have the pan heating
