Handcuffed

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"You better not be making eggs again," I mumbled as I entered the brightly lit kitchen. It was a nice day but not too hot like the past couple. The air conditioner was off and the windows were open, letting the fresh morning air into the house. It resulted in spreading the scent of whatever he was making on the stove throughout the house. Which suffocated me out of my sleep and left me wanting whatever it was he was making. That was the only explanation as to how I was up this early.

Luke, facing the stove as I walked in, turned to me with a soft smile. "I'm making pancakes this morning," he said. He turned back to the stove as he continued speaking. I sat down at the table. "Do you want hash brows with them or sausage?"

I sighed. Didn't he know me by now? "Uh, I'm going to want both," I said and I saw his smile spread wide into a shiny grin.

After he flipped a pancake on the stove, he glanced over to me. "I should have known," he said in a knowing and light voice. "Both it is!"

There was something different about him today. I'm not sure what exactly it was. Observing him from where I sat, his smile remained there. As he moved about the kitchen, starting to cook up the hash brows and sausage as well as more pancakes, I took him in. He was supporting a worn-down cotton shirt with cotton shorts like he usually is wearing when getting out of bed. His hair was messy and I noticed that the brown strands were sticking in all directions. He obviously got good sleep too; his eyes didn't support any bags. I knew something was up when he started to whistle.

He turned both burners on the stove on high before he took out two more pans from the cupboard. Opening the package of sausage and the bag of hash brows, he dumped each into their own pan. He was cooking a shit ton now. Yeah, now he is catching on!

Now with three pans of deliciousness cooking, he turned the burner for the pancakes down, not wanting to make them all so fast before the other food is done. After that, he turned to look at me and stopped whistling.

"What kind of music do you listen too?" he asked.

"The good kind. Why?"

He walked over to the radio that was on the clean counter. Turning it on, he turned the dial a little to set the volume before going back to the stove, a smirk on his face. I knew why too not a second later. Country music soon filled the kitchen as he flipped over another few pancakes. Aw hell no! A year without music and the first thing I get is this shit? Really?

I covered my ears with a groan, cringing with exaggeration as I buried my head in my arms. "Oh god! Turn it off. It hurts!"

I heard him laugh and I looked up, showing a frown and the pain clear on my face. He looked to me as he leaned against the counter by the sink, eyes amused in mine. "But you said you like the good kind of music," he defended himself.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, smiling myself. "Not this hillbilly-taking-a-shit stuff!"

"'Hillbilly-taking-a-shit stuff?" He asked, smile growing larger. His laugh filled the room and tangled with the country shit. I hate to say it but his laugh was such a nice sound that it nearly made the music fade from my mind. Nearly.

Along with that deep laughter came his smile and it made me smile at him in return without realizing it. "Yes! That's what it sounds like!"

Once he let his laugh die down, he shook his head and pursed his lips as he checked the stove. While he did that for a minute, I saw he was still smiling and shaking his head; it was amusing to see the effect those words had on him. I loved getting reactions like that out of people. Especially him though because he was sometimes unpredictable.