Ty tossed two more bags of garbage into a plastic bin, then glanced—for the tenth time—at the big metal clock on the kitchen wall. “Seems like the cook must’ve slept in, Elizabeth,” he muttered as he swept up a pile of debris. “How is she going to handle breakfast at six if she can’t get to work on a Monday morning by eleven?” “You might be surprised by what I can handle.” Ty whirled around. Cassidy leaned against the door frame, wearing a short espresso-toned jacket shot with the same silver as her eyes. Her smug expression told him she hadn’t been sleeping in. He was stupidly pleased by the way her eyes lit up when she looked around. “Very nice.” Her gaze rested for a moment on the saucepan he’d left on the counter—the sparkling clean saucepan. A smile eased the severity of her lips. “I hear Jack was released. Everything okay?” “He’s doing very well. Thanks for asking. The doctors sent him home once they were sure he was okay and the stitches were holding.
