“And when’s the wedding?”

“This weekend.” Falcon’s elbows rested on the marble countertop of the breakfast bar, his chin on his fists.

Blane raised his eyebrows as he stirred the scrambled eggs with a wooden fork. “So soon? I feel like the backup prom date.”

“No!” It was a bit hastier than Falcon meant, because he cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders the way he did when he was trying to be cool. “I was just… procrastinating on asking. Nervous. You know.” He intently studied the rest of the kitchen around Blane.

Blane held back his smile. “Mmm. I see. Okay, eggs are ready.”

“I can’t believe you cook breakfast, too.” Falcon pretended to swoon, and nearly slipped off his stool.

Blane jerked toward him, an arm out, then put his hand down when Falcon caught himself. “Don’t break anything. I don’t want to use my training on humans.”

“And I don’t want a cone of shame,” Falcon laughed, settling himself again.

Blane put down the plates side by side. He’d already set the breakfast bar with placemats, utensils, and condiments. For a moment, he’d considered bringing one of the African violets from the living room in, but that had seemed a bit…

A bit too romantic? Especially after last night’s unfinished business. Take it slow. That’s the name of the game.

“I cook breakfast for myself on the weekends. If I get up early enough, during the week… but I usually don’t,” Blane smiled.

He’d awoken early this morning, his arm over Falcon, who was curled into a ball and tucked into his chest. It was an experience he wanted to repeat.

“I have coffee… and then coffee… and occasionally toast,” Falcon countered.

Blane pulled a face. “How do you live until lunchtime?”

“I dunno. Air? Huffing paint fumes?” Falcon’s lips twisted into a little smile. “Anyway, bon appetit.”

“Merci,” Blane chuckled. “Do you speak French?”

“Non, non,” Falcon waved a hand and grinned. “Just a smattering. I did a summer abroad in French during my art degree.”

“Oh, really?” Blane looked over at him. “How was it?”

“It was a two-month intensive course. I didn’t actually see a lot, outside the art galleries and stuff, obviously. But I learned a ton.”

Blane nodded. “I’ve never been over to Europe. One day, maybe.”

“Too many people say one day, maybe, to feel like they’ll have an escape from the mundane nine-to-five. And they never do anything about it.” Falcon’s voice, passionate as always, was frustrated and tight. “They let themselves hold themselves back with someday, instead of making it a goal, making it reality.”

Blane set down his fork and squeezed Falcon’s forearm, his mind spinning. “I guess you’re right.” He’d never really planned to travel. On his vacations, he saw family or friends, or just stayed at home and caught up on housework. Money wasn’t tight, but it probably cost less these days to travel than he thought. It was just the motivation that was missing. “It upsets you?”

Falcon gave him a quick, apologetic smile and looked over. “Sorry. That was a bit of a rant. Yeah…”

“No, it’s okay. I like seeing you get passionate. I just don’t like seeing you upset.”

Falcon relaxed, smiled at him. “I don’t know where that came from. Normally I take the you can do it! approach.” He laughed under his breath.

“Stress. The wedding planning,” Blane suggested.

“Maybe. And…” Falcon trailed off, then picked up his fork again and finished his eggs.

Blane let him have a minute before he prompted, “And… your ex?”

“Yeah. I was okay seeing him the other day—it didn’t upset me. I’m way over it,” Falcon laughed. “But he is annoying. And then I can’t stop comparing…” he trailed off again, his gaze flickering to Blane.

Blane’s cheeks flushed. Are we doing this? “It’s natural to compare,” he said.

“Mm.” Falcon quickly looked at his plate. “Great breakfast. I like your cooking. I should take a turn.”

“Do you? Cook, I mean?” That seemed a safer subject, since Falcon had taken the quickest 180 he could.

“Occasionally. Like I said, toast for breakfast. I’m pretty good at ramen, rice and beans, all the art student gourmet meals.” Falcon grinned. “And eggs any which way.”

“Do my eggs measure up?”

Falcon reached under the bar toward Blane’s crotch. “Oh, yes.”

Blane laughed and reflexively jerked away, then swatted at his hand. He nearly knocked over his orange juice. “Hey, you. Behave.”

“You mean, don’t get you all turned on before you have to go to work?” Falcon teased. “By the way, I can give you a ride. Spare you Gregory’s tormenting for another few minutes.”

“Would you mind?” Blane smiled.

“Not at all.” Falcon seemed sincere about it. “The least I can do for you, after last night,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

Blane snorted and elbowed Falcon, trying not to laugh with his mouth full. Once he swallowed, he managed to answer. “You’re trouble.”

“Am I?” Falcon raised his brows. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Blane cast him a skeptical look and finished his breakfast. As he carried the dishes to the dishwasher, Falcon found the downstairs bathroom and played with his hair, getting it sticking up just right. Blane bit back his amusement.

“Pretty enough to go?” he teased.

Falcon sauntered out and ran his hand through Blake’s hair to muss it up. “I always am.”

I think… I could get used to this. “What are you doing tonight?” Blane didn’t want to sound too eager, but it felt natural to want to be around Falcon as much as possible. Especially if he was going to make that asshole, Spencer, jealous.

“Not much of anything,” Falcon answered playfully, leaning into him. “I could be persuaded to change those non-plans.”

“How about I text you over lunch?” Blane suggested.

“Perfect. Come on, get to my car before I find other ways to distract you.” Falcon grinned at him and led the way out of his house.

Blane took a moment to gaze after him before he pulled himself together. Right. Work. That exists.

When Falcon was around, it was all too easy to forget everything.