Riding the Night
“Almost done. As they cooked, he grabbed his mug and gulped down the remains of his coffee, then poured another cup. The bacon was already done, the toast had just popped up and the hash browns were a nice golden brown.
“Morning.”
He half turned and smiled at Teresa, and grabbed a mug for her. “Morning. Coffee?”
“I can get it.”
“So can I. Sit down.”
He poured her a cup and set it in front of her.
“Smells good. I just don’t see you as the kind of person who cooks.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because you’re this masculine powerhouse of a man. I’d expect to see you outside splitting logs with an axe.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I heard that a lot from my dad when I was a kid.”
“You always liked cooking?”
“When I was a kid, I dreamed about being a chef. I liked to play in the kitchen, liked to cook alongside my mom. My dad hated that. He called me a gay pussy and said no boy was supposed to be in the kitchen cooking unless he had no balls. But hey, it gave him another excuse to beat the shit out of me.”
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