Part Four

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Frying eggs is a simple task. It is a mental labor that requires very little effort.
Clang.
"Shoot!" I pick up the pan I was using for the eggs, and grab a paper towel to mop up the egg on the floor. Damon reaches for the pan and places it in the sink.
"Sweetheart, that was the second time you've dropped the pan," he smirks, clearly laughing at me. "How about I make some toast so we can eat?"
Sitting down grumpily, I say, "Fine, Mr. Hotshot with the fantastic washboard abs." My face turns red instantly.
"Aww, you think I'm hot? That's the best news I've heard all day. Speaking of news, don't you have to go to work"
"I don't report on an empty stomach," I contradict. "Although, I am a little late."
After I've confessed my tardiness, Damon inclines his head towards the stairs.
"Go get dressed, and I'll have breakfast ready when you come down."

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