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“I don’t need to spend all of my time in the kitchen to know that Bristol makes everything from scratch.” Murphy grabbed the creamer from the fridge and poured some in his coffee. “And you and Greer can’t have Bristol. She’s going to be my wife.”
Now that, I had heard before. Murphy was always telling me he was going to marry me so I could make him bread and pies every day. I always told him I do that for him now, and he isn’t married to me. He had the best of both worlds. A woman to cook for him, but no commitment.
“What time is everyone showing up today?” I asked. Listening to who thought they were going to marry me because I cooked wasn’t really as fun as it seemed.
“Around eleven, Marco said. The rest of the furniture for Kane should be here around eleven-thirty, and we’re going to need all hands on deck to put that shit together.” Murphy turned the page on the newspaper. “I might be occupied doing anything other than that.”
“I bet,” Apollo laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s why Marco asked King if he could send some guys over to help.”
“What are the odds that the ol’ ladies are coming over today, too?” I asked. I had only stayed at the clubhouse for two nights before Marco had decided it was safe for me to go home, and I hadn’t seen any of the women since then. It wasn’t like Pie and I were hooking up and also going out in public. Our time together was spent in bed, and that was it.
Murphy shrugged. “I guess it all depends on which guys are coming over. If it’s any of the OGs, then you know a shit-ton of ol’ ladies are going to descend on us.”
Princeton sat back in his chair. “And even if the OGs aren’t coming, the odds of the ol’ ladies showing up are still pretty good. I bet they all want to get their hands on Kane.”
“They do tend to do whatever they want,” Apollo mumbled.
“I guess we could call Greer an ol’ lady then, right?” I mused.
Apollo scowled. “Aren’t your croissants done or something?”
The timer on the oven sounded, and I jumped off my stool. “I think you might be right, Apollo.”
I snatched the oven pad off the counter and pulled out the hot pan.
“Hell yeah,” Murphy gasped. He stepped toward the pan and inhaled. “I sure did miss your cooking.”
I waved the hot pad at the pan to help cool the croissants. “I heard you guys had Meg cooking for you at the clubhouse. You weren’t starving.”
“Princeton was at the clubhouse with Marco and Royal. I flew back to Chicago for a bit to help Leo with some things.” Murphy reached for a croissant and I smacked his hand.
“You have to wait until they cool down a little bit. They’ll just turn into a ball of dough in your mouth.” I knew it was hard to resist eating when treats came right out of the oven, but letting them cool for a couple of minutes was worth it in the end.
Murphy rubbed his hand and frowned. “Bullshit,” he mumbled.
Ten minutes later, half of the pan was gone, and the guys all had crumbs on their shirts and full stomachs.
“So, what are you making for lunch?” Apollo asked.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a croissant. “Meatball subs and a few salads.”
“Desserts?” Princeton questioned.
I glanced at him. “Are you thinking I’m making more than one dessert?”
Princeton leveled his gaze on me. “You better be.”
I sat back down next to him. “Double chocolate cookies and lemon drizzle cake.” These guys knew me too well.
Princeton smiled wide. “Add me to that list of people wanting to marry you.”
“You’re all crazy,” I laughed. “You guys act like I’m the only one on Earth who knows how to cook good.”
“You are,” they said in unison.
“At least you’re the only one on Earth who knows how to cook everything,” Murphy added.
“Meg, and about everyone who was in my culinary school, can cook better than I can.” I took a bite of my croissant and sighed—light, pillowy goodness.
