Ready or Not (The Love Game Book 4) by Elizabeth Hayley (pdf ebook reader .txt) 📕

known for its cafés, but it had a few good diners, which I figured she’d hit up for some breakfast sandwiches.

If she didn’t make it home in the next half hour, I’d send out a search party for her. Or maybe I’d just call her. Whichever.

It hadn’t taken me long to put together the dresser and nightstand, but the bed was another beast entirely. Lining up the holes in the rails that attached the headboard to the footboard so that I could drill the screws in while still holding everything at the right angle had proved virtually impossible for one person to accomplish. I decided to hold off until Taylor got home so she could help and went to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee while I waited.

A few minutes later, Taylor rushed into the apartment, the bags in her hands swinging around her like a tornado as she tried to shut the door.

“Did you go to France to get French toast? I was about to put your face on a milk carton.”

She hefted the bags onto the counter. “When was the last time you saw milk in a carton?”

It was a good point. “When was the last time you saw milk in your fridge?”

She smiled widely and removed a half gallon of organic grass-fed whole milk. “Well, there’ll be some now. Along with eggs, thick-cut bacon, fresh multigrain bread, and freshly squeezed orange juice.” She’d already begun taking all the items out of the bags and getting out some pots and pans.

“Oh, okay, so you went to a farm to get these. That’s why it took so long.”

“I didn’t go to a farm, smartass. I just made a few stops and had to drive around a little to get what I was looking for.”

“You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I promised you I’d make you breakfast.” She smiled widely, her white teeth framed delicately by her pink lips.

“Well, thanks,” I said. “I’m not used to people going to so much trouble for me.” For some reason, it was hard for me to make eye contact with her when I said it, like I’d just revealed some deep dark secret and was scared to let my vulnerability show. Which was strange considering I’d told her so much about my past.

“I feel like putting together a bunch of furniture is way more trouble than picking up some groceries, but you’re welcome.”

“How about I help you make breakfast, and then you help me finish putting your bed together? Your mom sent sheets too, by the way.”

“She’s so extra,” she said. “But totally appreciated. I called her while I was out before it got too late there, but I said I’d text her a picture when it’s all put together.”

Taylor got out two mixing bowls, one for an omelet she wanted to make and the other for French toast. Once all the ingredients and utensils were out, we went to work quickly, both of us moving in beside the other toward our common goal. She cooked some spinach and onions before adding the egg mixture, and I crisped up the bacon and then used the same pan to grill the French toast so the bacon flavored the slices of bread too.

When everything was finished, we put all of it on plates and set everything down on the counter, along with some fresh orange juice. We’d done such a good job, it almost looked too good to eat.

“We make a pretty good team,” I said, smoothing my napkin over my lap.

She put the piece of French toast on her fork inside her mouth and chewed slowly, her eyes closing in a way that looked too sexy for eating breakfast. “We do. So good.”

“So are the eggs.”

“I’m glad you like them. I’m a little worried that my bed-building skills won’t quite come close to my cooking, though.”

I smiled as I put another forkful of food into my mouth and washed it down with some juice. “You’ll be fine. You don’t have to chop down any trees to build the wood. You just have to hold the footboard in place while I drill the rails in.”

“I think I can handle that much.”

We finished eating, mostly in silence except for the occasional scraping of forks, and then headed into Taylor’s bedroom. I positioned the footboard so that it lined up with the holes in the rails and asked her to hold it in place. I got one side screwed in, and a few minutes later, the bed frame was together. We maneuvered it against the wall, and after putting the new box spring and mattress on the frame, we opened the sheets and blankets Taylor’s mom had sent.

“Uh-oh, these aren’t organic,” I said. “Are you sure they won’t make you break out in a rash or something? Maybe you should send them back.”

“Shut up,” she said, clearly teasing me as I held the sheet away from me like it was some sort of venomous snake I wanted to keep at a distance. “Give me that.” Then she snatched it from me with a smile. “Help me make my new bed.”

“Um, I did help you make your new bed,” I pointed out but was already pulling the fitted sheet over one corner of the mattress. “I actually made most of it.”

We shook out the top sheet and the comforter in an act that felt oddly domestic and then positioned the decorative pillows on the bed. When we were finished, we both collapsed onto the mattress and stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

“This mattress is so much more comfortable,” Taylor said.

“The comforter too. It’s so thick and smooth. Feel it on your skin.” I turned to face her so my cheek was against the fabric, and when she turned her head to face me, she couldn’t hide her smile. “Can we forget I said that?”

“Not a chance. Tell me again how thick and smooth it feels on your face.”

“It was a really poor choice of words.”

“I think