None of the characters depicted as being alive are mine. I'm taking them directly from JE.
Jenny (JenRar) thank you for all your work as the beta on this story.
Chapter 15 – Proof that Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day
"So what exactly is the herb you've been bathing me in?" Manny asked, expecting an answer.
I had to swallow a few times, unable to figure out how to reply. That conversation had taken place in my dream. There was no logical explanation for him knowing I'd laced his bath with anything.
My mind was swirling with the conversation we'd shared when I thought it was just a vivid dream. "Freaky but true," I mumbled, quoting what he'd said to me as to why he wasn't fighting the possibility that my great-grandparents were somehow communicating directly to us.
Manny stiffened that time; even though only our hands were connected, I could still feel that my words made him uncomfortable. "What did you say?"
"Last night, I had the strangest dream," I began, looking at him to see if he would agree with what I was saying.
"So did I," he admitted, encouraging me to continue talking.
"You were there, and for a while, so were my great-grandparents. Then they left, and we sat on the old picnic table in their garden in the backyard and talked. I told you all about my past failures with men, and you gave me some details about your life before RangeMan, too." As I spoke, I kept my eyes focused on his to see if what I was saying was making him more nervous or putting him at ease. Unfortunately, the time away from RangeMan hadn't taken away his ability to mask his reaction to a situation.
"We had the same dream," he summed up for me.
"That's impossible," I informed him of the obvious.
He tilted his head, as though agreeing with me. "Freaky, but true."
"So just to be sure I haven't lost my mind, your senior prom date…" I waited, hoping he would finish the sentence for me.
"…left me for a jerk she later married after he knocked her up. I should be relieved. If my plans had gone through, it might have been my future that had been completely altered and not his," Manny explained, letting me know that we had definitely shared the same dream.
"How did we do that?" I blurted out.
Manny's mouth opened and then closed, as though instinct was to answer a question directed to him, but once he considered it, he had no clue.
There was the faint sound of laughter that I knew belonged to Nagypapa.
"Did you hear that?"
"Are they laughing at us?" he questioned, letting me know that either I hadn't lost my mind, or we were both equally crazy to be hearing their voices. At the moment, both options worked for me.
"How about breakfast?" I decided changing the subject was the only safe response.
He nodded and grimaced as he started to move.
I squeezed his hands before letting go, hoping he understood that I'd do anything I could to help him. The time we'd spent together had taught me that he didn't like being babied and that he preferred to push through the pain himself instead of my hovering over him.
I climbed out of bed and called out over my shoulder, "I'll slip in the bathroom while you're getting up, and then I'll work on breakfast while you're in there."
"Got it," he agreed to the plan.
I knew it had to be hard on his ego to know that I had time to freshen up, brush my hair and teeth, and change clothes before he could roll over, move to a seated position, stand up, and hobble to the same bathroom I was using. Yesterday had been his fastest day yet, and he was nearly halfway across the den when I stepped out. Today when I opened the door, he was grinning with his stick – which he refused to call a cane, even though that was exactly what it was – raised in the air.
"Was I slow, or are you getting faster?" I wondered, proud of him but knowing better than to point it out because it would mean forcing him to admit how helpless he'd been when he first got here.
"You know women in bathrooms," he taunted me.
"Be nice to me, or I'll intentionally burn your toast," I threatened.
"Didn't you burn my toast yesterday?" he replied, completely serious.
"Yes, but yesterday, it was an accident. Today, it would be a deliberate act of hostility," I clarified, getting a smile in return.
"Consider me on notice, then." He caved a little, stepping to the side so that I could pass by in front of him.
Before he shut the door, I yelled, "I put some fresh pants on the counter."
My information must have hit him a little on the late side, because he exclaimed, "There's no way in hell I'm wearing pants that have monkeys on them."
"Oh come on. Don't you remember the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz? They were kind of badass," I tried to say with a straight face.
"No, I'm not doing it. Any credibility I might be able to hang onto would be lost forever if Cal or Bobby saw me in those pants. I'll do the bright colors, but I draw the line at animals." He was practically pouting at the end, so I took mercy on him.
"Fine, if you can't be man enough to wear the pants with the little monkeys, then you can open the top drawer and wear the other pair I picked out for you," I told him as I pretended to walk away.
It took a few minutes before I heard him call out, "You mean all this time, you've been dressing me like some kind of crayon experiment, and I could have been wearing black sweatpants?"
"Does that question mean it's the wrong time to tell you about the bag Cal dropped off yesterday that was full of RangeMan clothes for you?" I teased, moving away quickly.
"You have a mean streak in you," he replied, sounding more amused than annoyed. "I should warn you that trying to torture me will only backfire on you."
"Probably," I agreed. "But at least for a little while, I can outrun you, so I'm not worried."
The door slammed, but I wasn't concerned about him truly being angry.
I looked around the kitchen and wondered if it was possible for us to have something other than cereal, smoothies, or whole wheat toast for breakfast. I didn't have anything against those options, but the knowledge that I couldn't just run out for something new or different made me resent the limited choices right now.
A flash in the corner of my eye drew my attention to the little box Nagymama used to store her recipes, and I moved toward it like a moth to a lightbulb. My fingers ran over the tops of the scraps of paper she'd used to record her recipes, and I lifted it up so that I could see her loose scroll handwriting. Something cool seemed to stop my fingers when they touched the top of a specific card, so I pulled it out and grinned when I saw it had only five ingredients listed. After reading her instructions three times, I knew it was probably easy enough that even I wouldn't screw it up.
I began to grab everything, hoping the spices in the cabinet were fresh enough to not ruin my first attempt at cooking from scratch in years. While the griddle heated up on the gas stove, I whisked a couple of eggs together with milk and then poured in some rum from the cabinet and sprinkled in cinnamon. It looked kind of odd with the brown cinnamon floating on top, despite my mixing it as well as I could. Then I grabbed the loaf of bread. I remembered Nagymama's French toast being made with thick bread, but I wasn't going to let this slight necessary substitution force me into quitting now. So I dipped the whole wheat bread Ella was no doubt forced by contract with RangeMan to purchase instead of fluffy white and dipped it in the eggy mixture before putting it on the griddle. After putting the first piece down and hearing the satisfying sizzle, I was excited to do more, but then I remembered that when my mom cooked on a pan like this, she always put butter in it first to keep it from sticking. I looked in the fridge and found some reduced fat olive oil spread and decided that it looked close enough to butter to count, so I rubbed some of it on the rest of the pan and then dunked more bread and put it on to cook.
Once I had eight pieces, I used a spatula to attempt flipping them over. She didn't have directions for how long it needed to cook, and I didn't want to prove Manny right and burn his toast two days in a row. The first piece stuck, so I scraped it off and threw it away, hoping no one would see that little failure. I buttered the empty spot, prepped another piece of bread to erase the evidence of my lack of forethought in prepping the pan, and then moved on to flip the rest of the toast. It smelled good, and I mentally crossed my fingers that it might taste close enough to real food that it wouldn't hurt either of us.
"What is that smell?" Manny asked as he came around the bar into the kitchen.
My attempt to cover up my disappointment must have been too little too late, because he added, "It smells fantastic. I thought the guys said you didn't cook."
"I don't," I agreed, feeling the need for full disclosure. "I just happened to see this recipe from Nagymama and thought I'd try it out to see if I could make French toast like she used to."
He poured us each some orange juice and then picked up the olive oil spread and looked at it, wrinkling his noise as though the thought of that on his food was somehow unsettling.
"This house might have been my great-grandparents, but most of the fresh food came courtesy of RangeMan, so there's no real butter," I explained before he could assume I approved of anything labeled reduced fat.
"Syrup?" he asked, seeking direction on where to find the appropriate topping for our breakfast.
Then I realized I might have done well with the cooking, but I obviously wasn't good enough to plan ahead and check that I had everything I needed. My lip went between my teeth as I glanced around the kitchen, looking for a sign that there might be something sweet and maple-flavored around here somewhere.
Manny opened the refrigerator and pulled out a clear plastic container of strawberries. "Knife?" he asked.
I pointed to the wood block, and he hobbled over, proving that he was definitely more mobile today than he'd been yesterday. I glanced at the clock and realized we'd slept for ten hours, which had to be a record since we got here. Hell, I didn't even think the guys' bodies would allow them to sleep that long. I guessed it was good for him and wondered how I could convince him to sleep that long again tonight.
I watched as he quickly rinsed the berries and then chopped them up and tossed in some sugar. He kept stirring them well after the sugar had to have been mixed in and then turned around and showed me he'd basically pulverized them to make strawberry syrup with lots of juice to put on top of the toast.
Grinning, I stuck my finger in and pulled it out to lick the juice off, thrilled with how sweet it was.
"Coffee?" I asked, moving over to pour up before we sat down to dig in.
"Please," he responded, putting the toast on plates and setting them down at the bar.
"Do you want to sit in the den so you can keep your leg up?" I asked, trying not to demand we go, but wondering if he could be comfortable here.
"Too messy," he replied, catching me off guard. I didn't think the guys had to worry about dropping food on themselves. I figured they were so intimidating to everything around them that the food knew better than to try to cross them.
We poured the berries on top of the toast – I was thrilled to see him use just as much as I had – and then we took a bite at the same time.
"Damn," he spoke before I found my voice. "This is really good."
I meant to say, "Yes, I agree," but it came out as a moan that was longer and huskier than I thought I usually made.
"Well said," he laughed when I finished my appreciative sound.
He leaned against the counter while I washed the dishes once we finished our meal. I was practically bouncing at how easy it was to make breakfast and couldn't wait to try that recipe again. Who knew rum could be an approved breakfast food?
Our conversation flowed as easily as it had in the dream, and I found that the man I had once considered drugging to shut him up was now quickly worming his way into my heart. I refused to think about it any further than that, because I knew that this assignment would end and we would go back to being co-workers at RangeMan, but until then, I was thrilled to have a friend to keep me from losing my mind while in lockdown.
The very second I put away the last dish, the cell phone rang, so I moved quickly to pick it up before we missed the call.
Tank's deep voice indentified him, so that he just jumped right in after I said hello. "Boss man is done with his mission and finished his debrief last night. He said he's got a bead on Hernandez, who he thinks tried to take out Manny, and he's going hunting today. Hopefully, you two can get out of the house in a matter of hours – another day, tops."
I asked him more questions, but it became apparent that his initial summary was truly all he knew. Either that, or Tank had been away from me long enough that he was able to stand up to my questioning better now.
Admitting defeat, I hung up and told Manny exactly what Tank had told me. His whole body stiffened, and he seemed to look beyond me, as though the dark wood of the cabinets could somehow answer a mystery.
"What's wrong?" I asked, foolishly assuming he was just worried about what it would be like between us when we were no longer forced to share a house, constantly in each other's presence. Of course, since none of the guy's brains worked like mine did, I should have known he wasn't thinking the same thing I was.
"Hernandez," Manny responded cryptically. "Ranger is going to take out Hernandez."
"That's good news, right?" I had to ask, because the way Manny said it made me think he was less than pleased with Ranger's plan.
"He was supposed to be mine," Manny said, finally taking his eyes off the cabinet and looking at me. "For years now, I've been planning for the day when my path would cross his and I could take his life to avenge my sister. This mission, I knew, would put me back in his path, so I changed all my paperwork to ensure I either succeeded and took the life of the man who took away my family, or if I failed, I would do it so spectacularly that I wouldn't survive to regret my lack of ability. I needed this to be over, one way or the other."
"And it will be," I reminded him.
"Technically, but I wanted to be the one to do it, to pull the trigger," Manny explained. "Ranger will succeed, because he's…well, Ranger. And the thing that has kept me going for so long will never happen."
I figured a lot of what he was saying was some kind of guy thing that I could only relate to theoretically. But I still felt the need to reply. "Tank only reported going after Hernandez. There's still the cousin that is most likely the one that tried to kill you with the bomb."
"What?" Manny bit out, zoning in so completely on me that I was uncomfortable from the intensity.
"When I ran the search last week, his big-lipped cousin was the one that seemed to be mysteriously present every time an unexplained explosion happened that caused a loss of life when Hernandez was in town. I figured that was the guy that did his dirty work for him, since a guy like Hernandez would think himself too important to actually kill somebody himself," I explained, thinking I had already pointed this out, but remembering this was before Manny had decided I wasn't the enemy after all.
"Show me," he commanded in a gruff tone.
There was a part of me that wanted to object to him attempting to command me, but I decided to hold off a little longer, since this was obviously a big emotional trigger for him. Hopefully, if I held onto my temper, Manny would be able to as well, and we could avoid taking a huge step backward.
I pulled up the PDF version of the search I'd saved to my desktop and found the picture of the cousin, Juan. As soon as he saw it, he nodded, and I knew he remembered me sharing this after Cal brought us Juan's picture from St. Elizabeth's as the person who had been asking about where Manny had disappeared to.
"You're right," Manny said under his breath. "Mateo wouldn't have dirtied his hands like this; he would have used his cousin." Then he smiled slightly, but the sight of it made me shiver. As much as I liked to think of the guys as my black-clad heroes, all kindness and honor, it was unfair for me to box them in like that. They'd all seen combat of various types and had been forced to either see or do some horrible things to protect others. That meant they had skills I couldn't fathom, and to judge him for a small piece of that slipping out when he looked at a picture of the man who had tried to kill him wasn't fair.
"You won't do anything too dangerous, will you?" I asked softly, not sure if he'd appreciate the question.
"No worries. There's a degree of separation between Mateo and Juan that will help me to keep my head," he replied without moving his eyes from the picture. After a moment's pause, he turned slightly and looked at me with a different kind of smile on his face. Gone was the warrior planning the death of his enemy, and in its place was the playful man I'd been getting to know and care for over the last few weeks.
"Why?" he asked, obviously wanting to play.
"Why, what?" I wondered, not able to keep up with his changing moods.
"Why do you want me to say that I won't do anything too dangerous?" He took a step closer to me, and I felt like the room that had been so large a moment ago had shrunk down to just the three square feet of floor space we were encompassing.
"I don't want you to get hurt," I replied softly, knowing that while honest, it wasn't really full disclosure, either.
"Why don't you want me to get hurt?" he pushed again. "Are you going to get mad if somebody messes up the nursing you've done to me?"
"No," I replied, and then realized how callous that made me sound, so I shook my head and corrected myself, "Yes."
He took another half step and asked, "Which is it? Yes, you would be mad because somebody undid your work, or no, you wouldn't be mad if somebody hurt me?"
"I'd be furious if someone hurt you," I told him, figuring that was somehow a safe response.
"Why?" He didn't seem to be in the mood to let this go. "Why does it matter? Just a week ago, I treated you like shit. Why are you worried about me now?"
"Because I don't see you as the same man I did a week ago," I blurted out, not sure if he'd accept that.
Another small step removed most of the space between us, and I felt the need to breathe faster.
"Who am I now that is so different from who I was before?"
How did I answer that? Did I tell him now that I knew more about him, I couldn't see him in the same way? Or did I go for more blatant honesty and confess that something about the dreams, this house, the way he relied on me and allowed himself to be vulnerable around me all made me think about him in ways so strong that I was sure if something happened to him while he was off seeking revenge, I would carry a scar of what might have been for the rest of my life? Once that thought sunk in, I realized that while true, it was a bit of a far reaching statement and most likely something that would scare the shit out of Manny, so I shook my head, unable to come up with an appropriate answer.
"Would you miss me if something happened to me?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and he raised the hand not gripping his stick to touch my cheek.
I nodded yes, that I would miss him.
"Why would you miss me, Steph?" He needed something from me. Manny hadn't been this pushy since we were locked in here, and I had a feeling he wouldn't let this go until I gave him an answer of some sort.
I shut my eyes, and the image of him coming around the corner complimenting the smell of the French toast came to mind. Then the picture shifted, and I saw him smashing strawberries into syrup so that we could eat the food I'd made, even though I'd clearly not planned out the meal since there was no maple syrup in the house. When I opened my eyes and saw him still watching me, I knew I had my answer. I only hoped he'd accept it.
"Why?" he prompted once more, letting me know he was still waiting.
"Because you took me seriously when you came around the corner and saw me cooking breakfast," I told him, obviously giving him an answer he hadn't expected. The surprise on his face gave me the courage to keep talking. "And because you stood up to me about the monkey pajama pants, and you took the time to listen to me explain why I run searches the way I do. And you don't think I'm crazy because I admitted to hearing the voices of people who have been dead for twenty years."
"That's a pretty long list," he said, somehow drawing me closer to him just with the contact of his palm on my face. There was no denying our bodies lined up well, and despite all the time he'd spent recuperating the last few weeks, he was still rock solid against me.
"Why are you so interested in my answer?" My brain was getting fuzzy, but I felt like it was important to turn the tables on him.
He smiled, as though he knew exactly what I was doing. "Because I need to know if I have a reason to be careful." He paused before adding, "Do I? Do I have a reason to be careful?"
There was no way I was going to jump out on that limb alone. "Do you think you do?"
He nodded slowly, not allowing our eye contact to break.
"What is it?"
It took a minute, and his eyes narrowed a little, as though he were internally battling through what the answer was to that question. Finally, he smiled slightly and said, "My wife told me to be careful, and I've heard a lot of husbands say it's better for everyone if they just do what the little woman asks the first time."
"We're not really married," I pointed out, not sure why I seemed to be pushing up on my toes a little, trying to overcome some of the height difference between us.
Manny leaned down a little so that he could rest his forehead against mine. "We are in the eyes of New Jersey. Do you think it takes a big fancy event to be married?"
"No," I admitted, not sure where this was going, but really enjoying the ride.
"Me, neither," he replied, his voice going even lower and making me wonder if I could hold myself up like this while my knees were simultaneously getting weak.
I raised my chin just a little, wishing he'd take the hint or the invitation I was so obviously offering. Fortunately, despite the opinion Cal seemed to hold that Manny had a problem with people in his personal space, Manny seemed to like me exactly where I was, because he made a sound deep in his chest. It bordered on being a growl, but it was too damn sexy for me to think about it any further.
"Stephanie," he said as a whisper.
"Hmmm?" I was past talking and had moved on to wishing he would lower his lips those final three centimeters.
"Should I stop?" he asked, obviously trying to give me an out before we did something that might be considered a regret later.
Unfortunately, because my mind and mouth were unable to communicate, I nodded yes, and he stiffened. My brain took that moment to realize the confusion my response had caused, and I moved my hands to the back of his neck to hold him in place.
"You should stop talking, Manny."
He understood immediately and didn't hesitate again. He moved smoothly and captured my lips with his, softly pressing our mouths together in a first kiss that was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. He wasn't the least bit rushed, like we had all the time in the world to stand at the counter kissing. And as far as I was concerned, he was exactly right about that.
My need to make noise caused me to open my mouth to sigh against him, and he instantly slipped his tongue in, seeking mine and exploring my mouth. Following his lead, I tightened my grip on him and quite possibly attacked him. I'd never admit to it, of course, but I did have to lower my hand to his shoulder to help him regain his balance from the force of my body pushing against his.
I loved the way his mouth was warm and sweet. He still carried the slight hint of strawberries and rum from our breakfast, but it was mixed with something else that I knew was just pure Manny, and it was that taste I wanted more of.
My mind came back to me when Manny nearly stumbled. "I'm sorry, Manny," I apologized. "I didn't mean to push so hard."
"Not your fault," he replied, causing me to smile in a satisfied way at the fact that he was out of breath slightly. "I'm thinking the quick switch in blood flow made me dizzy."
"You're bleeding?" Now it was my turn to be confused.
Manny laughed, giving me one of my favorite sounds. Instead of going through a lengthy explanation, he thrust his hips against me, allowing me to feel the side effect of his blood flowing in new directions.
"Ohhhh!" I knew I had turned a shade of red that would have matched our toast topping from this morning.
"Now, how about you help me back to bed and we try that again, without having to worry about keeping our balance?" He spoke in that voice I was now calling his bedroom voice, and I knew I'd go along with it just for the possibility of hearing him say something else in that sexy way.
I nodded and heard the slight sound of laughter just as we had this morning. I chose to interpret that as my great-grandparents agreeing to leave us alone and give us some privacy like they'd promised in an earlier dream, because I wasn't ready to talk about giving them any more great-great-grandchildren, but I was definitely interested in more lip time with Manny.