Chapter 57
By eight the next morning, I sat bleary-eyed in glasses, a T-shirt, and soft pants, nursing my first cup of coffee at the kitchen table. Tim chopped and sauteed, filling the kitchen with delectable aromas and the yummy sounds of someone making my breakfast. Both of us hiring reliable weekend help for our businesses had been a great move. I loved being able to relax on Saturdays and Sundays. Tim did, too.
He set a plate of warm blueberry muffins on the table and kissed my forehead.
“How was your call with Jamie?” I asked.
“Kind of nutty.” He grimaced. “She was all weepy and despairing, saying she’d never see Timmy and his sister again.” He headed back to the stove. “At least she was taking care of Ella. She said she had to go to make her dinner.”
“That’s good. Do you think she’s taking care of the baby she’s carrying, too?”
“If you mean not using or drinking, I honestly can’t say. And this time I didn’t even ask. She was having a bad enough day, but at least she didn’t sound wired, dopey, or messy drunk.”
“Glad to hear it. And then you fell asleep.”
He turned with a soft smile. “I did, Mac.”
“I did, Mac,” Belle piped up in Tim’s voice. “I did. Kind of nutty. Snacks, Mac?” She waddled over to my chair.
“Belle, you had breakfast,” I said. “You can have snacks later.”
“Snacks later.” She switched to my voice. “Snacks later. Belle’s a good girl.” She finished off the repertoire with a wolf whistle. Belle could brighten anyone’s day.
“Your ankle feels okay today?” I asked Tim. “I don’t notice you limping this morning.”
“I’m definitely on the mend. I have to be able to dance with my beloved wife this evening, don’t I?”
I returned his smile. And sipped my coffee, admiring the view of his quite remarkable rear end as he returned to his cooking.
When I remembered last night’s call, though, I stopped smiling. I found the number the breather had called from and read it out loud to him. “Does that ring a bell?”
“No.”
“It’s not Jamie’s, right? I mean, could she have gotten a new phone and changed her number?”
“I’m quite sure she didn’t,” he said. “Why?”
“That number called me last night, but whoever the caller was didn’t say anything. I heard breathing. Not heavy, icky breathing, but it was the sound of a person on the other end.”
“They never spoke?”
“No, even though I kept saying hello. In the end, I disconnected. But it gave me the creeps.”
He folded over the omelet and flipped it in the pan with one deft move of his wrist. A minute later, he set a plate in front of each of us.
“Dig in while it’s hot.” He sat kitty-corner from me.
I reached for his hand and squeezed it before picking up my fork. “Thank you.” The onions were sauteed until they were nearly caramelized, the sliced mushrooms were soft and aromatic, and the now-melted grated Manchego cheese added the perfect finishing touch.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured. “You know I love cooking for you, sweetheart.”
How lucky was I? “So, I figured out a gift for my parents. I mean, one I can produce today.”
“Yes?”
I described the poetic ode I had in mind. “I’ll print it out and stick it in a frame. I think they’ll love it.”
“You’ve always said how much Astra encouraged you and Derrick to give handmade gifts,” Tim said. “Are you planning to write a sonnet like the Bard’s?”
“No, I have more pedestrian goals. I’m going to try making up a set of limericks.” I bit into a perfect muffin. At home Tim made them with whole wheat flour and half the sugar, so it was nutty and not too sweet, plus juicy with fat blueberries. I rolled it on my tongue. “Cinnamon?”
“Exactly. I think it brightens the flavor.” He tilted his head and tented his fingers. “There once was a baker from Bourne, who didn’t like cooking with corn. He staged a revolt and caused quite a jolt, that crazy old baker from Bourne.”
I snorted. “Yeah, like that.”
“I once knew a girl from the Cape, who had the most luscious of napes. We snogged with the tide, I made her my bride, that beautiful girl from the Cape.” He leaned over, pulled me close, and nibbled the back of my neck.
“Hey, you, I had a mouthful of muffin,” I protested, even though I loved both the limerick and the nibbling.
We chatted and ate and enjoyed our quiet morning together, which ended up including a delightful dessert of prospective baby-making before he took off to decorate the anniversary cake.