“Do you like eggs Benedict?”
“Never had it.”
“You’ll like it,” Naomi decided, and got out of bed. He was right. The normality of cooking breakfast soothed and calmed. The process of it, the scents, a good hit of coffee. The raw edges of the dream, of memories she wanted locked away, faded off.
And she was right. He liked her eggs Benedict.
“Where has this been all my life?” he wondered as they ate at the kitchen counter. “And who’s Benedict?”
She frowned over it, then nearly laughed. “I have no idea.”
“Whoever he was, kudos. Best four A.M. breakfast I’ve ever had.”
The Obsession
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Eggs Benedict
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