But not Lincoln.
“What’s not Lincoln?”
Sam turned in surprise to see the man standing on the edge of the kitchen. He wore only a T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants. A shadowed beard covered his chiseled jaw. Damn.
“Did I say that out loud?” Sam asked, a bit breathlessly.
“Er, yeah.” Lincoln yawned. “Point me to the coffee.”
Sam laughed. “I’ll do better and pour it for you.” He grabbed a mug, filled it, added cream, and thrust it at Lincoln. “It’s stopped snowing.”
Lincoln peered outside, absently scratching his belly. “I was beginning to think it never would.”
“I’m making breakfast.”
Lincoln turned back, looking surprised. “You can cook?’
“Oh, right, you think I have a personal chef and assistants following me from set to set.”
Lincoln smirked. “Don’t you?”
“Er, well. A little.” Sam laughed. “But I still know how to cook eggs and potatoes, my lawyer friend, so sit your ass down and wait for your breakfast.”