I vaguely remember going to bed last night. I was so exhausted from all of the cooking and preparation for Thanksgiving. The only thing I do remember was curling up against Edward’s bare chest and thinking that I was home. I never felt more loved, safe and happy than anywhere else. I loved my parents and brother. However, my feelings for Edward transcended them exponentially.
When I finally woke up, I was alone in Edward’s huge king-sized bed. I looked at the clock and saw that it was after eleven.
I guess I was more tired than I originally thought. I like to sleep late, but this is a first.
I heard a light knock on the door and I indicated for them to come in. Edward walked in, wearing a pair of jeans and red plaid button down, with a tray of food. He gracefully walked across the room and placed the tray over my legs. “Morning, beautiful. You were asleep like the dead. You barely moved when Esme knocked to ask me and the other guys to begin bringing up the Christmas decorations,” Edward said, his green eyes sparkling.
“I was totally drained. I love to cook but yesterday was the biggest meal I ever worked on. I think I could have slept for another three, four hours,” I replied. “Thank you for breakfast. This looks really good.”
On my tray was French toast with strawberries and whipped cream. There was also a small cup of fruit, some breakfast sausage, coffee and small vase with a single red rose. I moved up the bed and picked up the fork. I dug into my breakfast and moaned.
“Good, huh?” Edward asked expectantly.
“This is the best French toast I’ve ever had,” I sighed, cutting myself another piece.
“It’s the one meal I can cook. I’m glad you like it,” Edward replied, settling himself on his bed.
“You made this? Edward, I will have you cooking gourmet meals if this is your ‘one’ meal you can cook well. You definitely know your stuff.”
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