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“Congratulations. I do, and I refuse to be the only person eating.”

She sets a plate before me.

Golden eggs.

Bread browned in butter.

Slices of fruit arranged into a small flower.

I look at the plate, then at her.

“You made the fruit resemble a blossom.”

She shrugs.

“Occupational hazard.”

“It is beautiful.”

“It’s breakfast, Vidar.”

“It is both.”

A faint flush colors her cheeks.

Interesting.

I have discovered a way to make her blush that does not involve removing my clothing.

Although that remains an effective strategy.

She settles across from me and reaches for her fork.

I watch her take a bite.

Then another.

She catches me staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that intense thing again.”

“What intense thing?”

“Looking at me like you’re deciding whether to kiss me or conquer a small country.”

I consider the options.

“The country can wait.”

Her fork stops halfway to her mouth.

I smile.

Definitely not a muscle spasm.