When John was in town on Sundays, she liked to spoil him with a big breakfast. Since she was still irritated with him for making it clear he didn’t trust her to give Olivia a bath, she’d been tempted to not bake the homemade rolls. The only reason she had was because she’d wanted one and because Olivia liked them, too. John could eat a bowl of dry Cheerios, for all she cared. “Something smells good,” John said, as he came into the kitchen carrying his tablet, which he’d been reading a book from all morning. “Are you making omelets, too?” “Nope.” She turned toward the counter, then cracked an egg into a bowl. “You’ve got a choice between scrambled and scrambled.” Olivia tugged at the hem of Celeste’s sweatshirt. She looked down and grinned. “Does Livy want some eggs, too?” she asked, and held her leg out to stop her daughter from nearing the oven. “Hot.” Her daughter smiled back and toddled backward toward John. While he put Olivia in the highchair, she went back to cracking eggs.
