“Yes. There’s actually French toast.” “For me?” “Lucien, I don’t understand why you’re obsessed with glorified eggy bread.” I think I was blushing. “I don’t know. It’s just got this domestic bliss vibe to it that I find, um, nice?” “I see.” “And, honestly,” I admitted, “I never imagined anyone would actually make it for me.” He brushed the hair out of my eyes almost absentmindedly. “You know, you’re sometimes very sweet.” “I…” Fuck. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
