Thank you for your patience and your wonderful reviews! I have about a month's work of chapters lined up, and I'll be posting once a week. Think of it as your weekly Harvest Moon program.

Sunny-Side Up

Muffy had just taken the pan off the heat when the door crashes open. Griffin stumbles into the kitchen, a blue robe tied hastily around his waist. He looks as if he had just scrambled out of bed; his feet are sliding out of their slippers and loose strands of hair are dangling out of his messy ponytail and in his face.

"What's wrong? What's burning?" he barks, the hoarseness in his voice jarring with his quiet demeanor. Muffy jumps.

"Nothing! I was just…cooking…breakfast." She lifts the pan and tilts it so he can see. Bacon sizzles inside. Extra crispy.

Griffin blinks. "Oh."

Muffy clears her throat delicately, dropping her gaze to the floor. Griffin's eyes fall to his torso; the robe hangs open with all of his chest-hair glory on display. "Oh."

It is uncertain who's blushing harder as Griffin reties his robe, while Muffy busies herself with taking down plates. Unlike the attic, the kitchen is built for the tall and she has to stretch on her tiptoes to reach the cabinet. Already too embarrassed she bites her lip, stopping before she can ask Griffin for help. Only then does she realize just how close and cramped the kitchen walls are even with its high ceiling. She can hear the rustling as Griffin pulls tight on the knot. No need to cause future… predicaments.

"Why don't you take a seat?" she says, finally with plates in hand.

Muffy doesn't turn around until she hears the scrape of the chair. She arranges a place setting and a glass of water in front of him and serves the bacon. "I hope you like yours well-done. How do you prefer your eggs?"

Griffin pokes at the shriveled strip of bacon with his fork. It snaps in two, brittle as charcoal. "Runny."

"Okay. Sunny Side-Up it is."

She twirls around and she cracks an egg on the edge of the pan. When he's sure her back is to him, Griffin steels his stomach and shoves half of the bacon strips in his mouth. They're crunchier than gravel. Maybe if he finishes quickly enough she won't catch his grimace. Bacon can be difficult, but anyone can cook—"

"Eggs are done!" Muffy chirps. He almost sighs in relief when he sees they are white and sunny at the center, with no crispy edges and only a few white chips. A dark coppery powder dusts the top. Some sort of pepper, maybe? Since when did he buy pepper?

Muffy hums as she slides two eggs onto his plate, then onto hers, before returning the pan to the stovetop. She slips into her seat across from him. Griffin smiles, takes a bite—and freezes. His eyes are watering when they glance down at his innocent-looking eggs, then up to Muffy's emerald eyes shining with pride. He swallows. It doesn't go down without a fight.

"These are very…seasoned. Did you add some type of spice?"

"Mmm-hmm. Just a spoonful or two of cayenne pepper. My mama used to add some all the time for that little kick." She holds her thumb and index finger an inch apart and winks. "Do you like it?"

Muffy bats those eyelashes again, and Griffin can only nod and scoop up another bite. He may need a glass of water. Or three. Too intent watching her meal being eaten Muffy forgets her own food and leaves her plate untouched. When he had finished his first egg (and drained his second glass), he rubs his mouth with his napkin, wiping away excess russet powder from his lips.

"This is real kind of you, but you didn't have to worry yourself none. I've fended for myself for this long."

"Oh, don't be silly. It's my way of thanking you for letting me stay. No one in the city would have done that." The lightheartedness in her expression hardens as she sets her chin. "But I am not a charity case. If you let me stay, I can help out at the bar. I don't mind hard work."

"Are you over twenty one?"

"Since last summer."

"Have you worked at a bar before?"

"No, but I did have a job at a restaurant. How different can it be?"

Griffin pales. "Were you the cook?"

"A waitress."

His shoulders relax. "Good. That's good."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well…" Griffin shifts in his chair, not looking at his plate. "It's good because…you couldn't work as a cook since I only serve drinks, not food."

"That's alright. I may not have much experience at mixing drinks, but I'm a fast learner."

"…Alright then."

"Does that mean…I have the job?"

"I reckon so. You can start tonight, if you like."

"That—that would be perfect! Thank you!" A little squeal slips out as she claps her hands. "I was so nervous you wouldn't say yes. I'll work very hard, sir!"

"Just Griffin is fine."

With a beam on her face, she swiftly scoops up the eggs into her mouth. Her eyes pop. A hand flies to her mouth; only a glance at Griffin, a reminder of her manners, keeps her from spitting the mouthful out into her napkin. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes when she finally manages to swallow. Griffin passes her the glass of water and she gulps it down. When the glass is drained she dabs a napkin to her lips.

"You ate…that? Oh, gosh, how embarrassing! I'm so sorry!" Still holding up her napkin she ducks her head, shaking her golden ringlets. "How embarrassing!"

Grifffin does what she least expects: he laughs—booming in the small room. She slowly lowers her hands and stares at him as he throws his head back and lets loose what can only be described as a guffaw. Again he defies first impressions and catches her off guard, this time so infectiously that a giggle bubbles past her lips; soon the kitchen is shaking with their laughter.

Finally Griffin pauses long enough to stand. "Lil' lady, there's a reason my bar doesn't serve food. I'd be out of business the second a customer smells the smoke."

He scoops up their plates and scrapes the mess into the trashcan. A smile is peeking from under his moustache when he turns back around. "How 'bout we see what Ruby's rustling up this morning?"

A/N: So perhaps not as descriptive as my first chapters, but I'm satisfied. What say you?