“So.” I tried to sound casual, but I was about to touch on something very serious indeed. “This…brunch…brinner…punk-rock rejection of the egg-based status quo… Will there be French toast?” Oliver flicked up a brow. “There could be. If you’re very good.” “I can be good. What sort of good did you have in mind?” “I wasn’t… I mean, um… I mean, that is… Maybe you can set the table?”
