“I make a bowl of it every day and pretend to eat it before you come in and snatch it off me,” he answered, with a sexy smile and amused eyes. I gasped, dropping my spoon into my bowl and making a loud clatter. “Why the heck would you make a bowl and pretend to eat it? Do you like to piss me off?” I snapped. “No, Angel. I like to make you breakfast,” he replied simply. I gasped at the revelation. He made them for me?”
―
Kirsty Moseley,
The Boy Who Sneaks in my Bedroom Window
