Toast at an unexpected breakfast

“Oh…” she murmured, coaxed out of sleep by the unfamiliar presence. “You’re still here?”
“I am, aren’t I?” he replied, far more awake and aware than her. “Breakfast?”

He hadn’t allowed her to move from her chair. A whirlwind swept through her kitchen, eggs cracked, juice poured. She watched the toaster concentrate on its task and smiled when the toast appeared. He set down her plate and he picked up a piece of toast from his own.
“A breakfast toast!” he smirked. She rolled her eyes, but he continued undaunted.
“A toast to the continued one night stand! To not bolting while she’s in the shower-”
“To cooking breakfast for a woman you know, yet hardly know, and to that woman for the three most beautiful words in the English language: ’You’re still here?’”
She smiled broadly, entertained by him and entertaining the prospect.
“And changing a fling to a relationship with a question: not ‘wanna go out?’ but ’what’s your last name?’!”
He sat and bit into his toast.
“It’s Graye.” she answered.

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