He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

night’s grueling interview, she didn’t relish the idea of being alone to relive the vivid memories that were already swirling through her mind this morning. So even though she wasn’t particularly hungry and wasn’t much of a breakfast person, she hurried through her morning routine.
    Glancing at the clock before she left the bedroom, she was glad to see it was after eight. Logan would have left for the office a few hours ago, giving her time to gather her defenses before she saw him again. She didn’t know how she would face him, what she would say, and she needed time to think about it.
    He’d seemed so concerned about her last night, tucking her into bed, staying with her until she fell asleep. She had vague impressions of nightmares but she hadn’t woken herself up screaming like she usually did when those disturbing dreams haunted her. She’d slept the best she could remember in a long time.
    As she descended the last step, she called out, “Karen, you should have waited. I could have helped you cook.” She walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt when she saw who was standing in front of the stove.
    Logan turned around and even though Amanda’s stomach flipped as she realized she’d have to face him earlier than she’d hoped, she couldn’t help but smile at his ensemble.
    He was immaculately dressed, as usual, in perfectly pleated navy blue pants, shiny black shoes, a light blue dress-shirt tucked into his waistband and the ever present gun holstered beneath his left arm.
    But he’d rolled up his sleeves and instead of the suit jacket he normally wore he had a white towel hanging from his waist from hip to hip, apparently his homemade version of an apron to keep the grease from splattering his clothes.
    Returning her smile, he used a pair of tongs to lift out several slices of burned bacon and laid them on a plate. Not a napkin or paper towel in sight to absorb all that grease. Honestly, she didn’t know how men survived their own cooking.
    “I hope you like bacon and eggs,” he said as he turned off the stove and set the pan on a cool area of the glass top stove. “I have biscuits, too.”
    “Sounds wonderful,” she lied, as she suppressed a shudder at the thought of all that fat. A bagel was her usual fare, but he looked so awkward she’d bet he almost never cooked. He certainly hadn’t cooked since she’d started living here, but she’d assumed that was because he usually got home so late. The fact that he’d cooked for her this morning made her determined to eat whatever he’d made and to pretend she loved it, regardless of how fatty or burned it was.
    “Breakfast is the only meal I know how to cook,” he continued, confirming her earlier thought. “Well, besides cook-out.”
    “Cook-out?” She smiled.
    “Hamburgers, steak, ribs.”
    “Ah. Man-food.”
    He gave her a grin and placed a platter of eggs, bacon, and biscuits on the table. “I have coffee, but you prefer soda, right?”
    Since he was already grabbing a soda from the refrigerator, she didn’t bother to answer. She nodded her thanks when he set it and his cup of coffee on the table.
    “So, why aren’t you in the office?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t heard the nervous catch in her voice.
    He stepped behind her, startling her until she realized he’d pulled out her chair so she could sit. His mama had taught him well. This wasn’t the first time she was the recipient of his ingrained southern manners.
    Nodding her thanks, she sat and scooped some scrambled eggs onto her plate. Apparently Logan only knew how to cook breakfast one way, well done. The eggs were as dry as they could be without being brown.
    Rather than sit in the chair across from her, he chose the one next to her. “I asked Karen to come over a couple of hours late today. I’ll go into work after she gets here.”
    He hadn’t really answered her about why he wasn’t in the office, but she decided not to push him. She probably didn’t want to know his real reason for being home. She didn’t want to rehash last night’s events, and she fervently hoped he hadn’t stayed home to grill her with a few more questions about her abduction.
    They sat and ate in companionable silence. Neither of them seemed anxious to fill the void with conversation, which was fine with her.
    After forcing down the minimum amount of food she thought was necessary to make him feel like she appreciated his efforts, she set her fork on her plate and took