Fit Hits the Shan - A Jake Burbank mystery thriller chapter two
CHAPTER TWO
The smell of bacon was stronger inside the door and his
stomach answered the crackle and sizzle with a roar of it’s own.
Gretchen took his cup from his hand as he stepped into the
kitchen and steered him toward the bistro table in the breakfast nook. She
waited until he was seated and topped off his cup.
Jake couldn’t help but put ups his guard.
People weren’t nice to him unless they wanted something, and
Gretchen being nice was twice as bad.
She hadn’t been that nice to begin with.
Sure, she was nice to look at, an amazing treat for the eyes
from her crafted fashionable hair to the tips of her pedicured toes. Grey green
eyes that sparkled in laughter or burned with anger, depending on her mood, and
topped off with an attitude and intelligence that came off as half sass and all
brass.
“Thank you,” he sighed as he took the cup from her and
cradled it in her hands.
She patted him on the back of the head and let her fingers
drift down to the nape of his neck.
“It’s nice to see you again Jake,” she said his name with a
purr.
He tried to repress a shiver and failed.
She noticed and didn’t say anything, just turned back to the
skillet on the burner.
He watched her crack two eggs in with the bacon, and lower
the flame to slow cook the yolk, just like he liked it.
Jake wanted to shake his head but it would hurt too much.
He sipped his coffee instead and waited.
She used a metal spatula against his non-stick pan and he
kept his mouth shut.
Once upon a time when they lived together, he would have
said something.
And she would have told him to go buy a new pan, because God
knew he could afford it.
Not anymore, he snorted into his coffee cup.
That particular pan was going to have to last him for the
rest of his life the way things had been going.
“Something funny?” she raised one manicured eyebrow in that
way she had that seemed disapproving and curious at the same time.
“You’re here.”
“I am,” she smiled. “And making breakfast.”
She slid a hard fried egg on his plate and dripped three
strips of bacon across it.
“Crispy bacon, egg over hard, just the way you like it,” she
put the pan on the stove and turned off the burner before she sat across from
him.
“Nothing for you?
She waved it away.
“I ate before I came.”
Jake glanced at the clock on the wall above the door.
“We’ll call it brunch,” he said and picked up the fork off
the napkin.
Brunch was gone in four bites, maybe five. He didn’t count.
“I forgot how much I like watching you eat,” she said.
He patted the grease off his lips with the napkin and
drained the cup of coffee.
“I can’t remember you cooking for me,” he confessed.
“I meant when you took me out,” she said and crossed her
hands on the table in front of her.
Jake studied the manicured tips of her long fingers, lithe
like the rest of her.
“Meticulous,” he thought. “Calculated.”
“I don’t know if I can swing lunch today,” he said.
“I heard,” she let him off the hook from confessing his
monetary condition. “Sorry about Po.”
Jake shrugged.
“It was a good service. You would have enjoyed it.”
“Does anyone enjoy a funeral?”
“You know what I mean.”
Gretchen nodded, a tiny new line forming between her
delicate eyebrows.
Proof she did get older.
God, they both did. He felt a million years older, but
chalked some of it to the alcohol still coursing through his system.
That and a night on the unforgiving hardwood of the front
porch.
“Do you feel better?” she asked.
He felt like he could get lost in her eyes. Just sit there
and swim in them, stare for hours at the constellation of flecks in the iris
that captured the morning sun as it filtered through the slanted vines in the
bay window.
“Food helped,” he said and shifted out of the seat. “Coffee
will help more.”
She let him fill his cup in silence and watched him top it
with a slug of creamer from the fridge.
“That’s new,” she said.
“I am a man of mystery,” he confessed. “What are you doing
here?”
She smiled.
“I wanted to see you.”
Jake nodded and took a slow sip from the mug.
“I can’t remember how many years it’s been since you wanted
to see me,” he said.
“I missed you.”
“Try again.”
She snapped her hand on the table.
“Don’t be mean, Jake. I made you breakfast.”
“Brunch,” he pointed at the clock with the coffee mug.
“You’re not as much fun as you used to be,” she said and
crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back in the narrow seat at the
table.
Jake tried not to stare, but she caught him anyway.
“I’m not a lot of things I used to be,” he topped off the
coffee again and skipped the creamer this time.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he told her. “Have an answer
for me when I get out.”
He couldn’t say how much effort it took to walk away. Drunk,
he might have managed it better, albeit with more stagger than swagger.
Still, he made it to the hall and turned out of her sight,
which made it easier to ascend the stairs to the bathroom off his master suite.
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