"Better shit than they were serving here. That catering was a joke."
I arched an eyebrow. "That sounds like a challenge to me. Am I going to have to insist that you show off your culinary skills?"
"I don't know. You going to let me read those script notes of yours?"
I looked down at my nonsensical notes. Lots of scratch outs, and Sugarbean? Walls? Train? Yeah. No way I was showing that to anyone. It looked like the ramblings of a psychopath. "Okay, fine. You win."
"That's what I thought," Owen said smugly, but there was a smile on his face.
THE NEXT MORNING, I MADE enough coffee in the coffee pot for two people. That was my concession to Owen that I didn't wish death on him any longer. I grabbed one of the stale donuts from the plate in the kitchen, headed out into the living room, and wrote on my notepad. I had a character or two sketched out by the time Owen woke up. I'd probably have to change everything, but at least my pen was moving instead of going nowhere.
"Morning," Owen said as he headed down the stairs.
"Hey there," I said, keeping my voice pleasant. "There's coffee in the pot."
He grunted and headed for the kitchen area. I watched him pour himself a cup of coffee, sipped it, and then rubbed his face. He sat down at the breakfast bar and then looked over at me with hooded, sleepy eyes.
I felt a shiver in my belly.
"You want French toast?"
I tilted my head, interested. "French toast? From a self-professed amazing pastry chef? That seems a little simplistic if you ask me."
He laughed. "Stuffed French toast with whipped cream on top?"
"Now you're talking." I got up from my perch in the living room and joined him in the kitchen.
I had to admit, Owen knew his way around. He pulled ingredients out of the overstuffed fridge and began to combine things, then whipped eggs in one bowl while turning on the burner with another. Me, I wasn't good at multi-tasking, so it was nifty to watch him work. He was all suave confidence, and when he cut a thickly sliced piece of homemade bread open to stuff it, my mouth was watering. When had he made the bread?
By the time he put the plate in front of me, wild horses couldn't have kept me away from that delicious smelling creation. I took the fork he offered me with a smile, cut in, bit down, and moaned. "Oh, my god. That is incredible."
He blinked his eyes at me. Then grinned. "So you approve?"
"I've never tasted anything better," I admitted, cutting another huge bite. "I fully admit you are incredible."
"My ego is fully repaired now that Luna thinks I am incredible," he said with a laugh, then sat down to eat his own breakfast.
The room felt weirdly charged after that. I ate quietly (though my insides were still moaning with glee over each delicious bite) and thought. Maybe I shouldn't have said Owen was incredible. Maybe just 'good' would have been enough for his ego. 'Incredible' had made things odd.
Owen toyed with a bite of his food and glanced at the massive windows on the far side of the room. "Is that a snowstorm?"
"Yup." I couldn't keep the smugness out of my voice.
He grinned over at me, and little lines of pleasure crinkled around those magnificent amber eyes. "You feeling a little gleeful that the others are trapped out in this while we're not?"
"Yup," I repeated.
He laughed. "They won't let them freeze. I mean, we had blankets and fire and someone came by to help us finish the shelter after you left. They just want us to look miserable for the camera."
"I hope they look exceedingly miserable," I told him. "I'm cheering for Patty."
"Me too," he said.
That surprised me. "You're not rooting for Clarissa?"
Owen shook his head. "Who do you think ousted me? We lost the second challenge and she decided strength wasn't doing us any favors, so she kept the people she felt she could control the most. She even asked me to not have hard feelings."
I scraped the last bite from my plate. "And do you?"
"Have hard feelings? You bet I do." He looked at the windows. "Let it snow all it wants. I hope we get a f**king blizzard."
I raised my coffee cup into the air. "To a blizzard!"
He clinked his mug with mine.
LIKE A PAIR OF WARY CATS getting used to living with each other, Owen and I spent a fair amount of time apart, but were gradually coming together. Kitty had stopped by with some groceries, and to my surprise, there were quite a few baking goods included.
"I thought I might as well bake for the crew if we're stuck here," Owen said. "Kind of as an apology for dicking over the exec's big meal."
"And sucking up so they'll let us into the lodge with the others?" I guessed.
Owen gave me a small smile. "Maybe."
I eyed the ingredients. "So what are we making?"
"I happen to be the world's best cookie maker," he told me.
I snorted. "Please. Anyone can make cookies."
"I bet I can make them better than you."
"Oh, is that so?" I told him. "You wanna make a bet?"
He rested a hand on the counter next to me and leaned in. "What kind of bet?"
I considered it for a moment. "Loser has to do all the dishes."
"That's not much of a challenge if you ask me."
"Loser also forfeits all of the hot water in the house." The hot water was still a sore point between the two of us. The lodge might have been massive, but the hot water heater was stingy, and there was usually only enough heated water for one shower.