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Pete walks around the truck, double-checking the ratchet straps. “You’re all set.”
I look at Pete. “Thanks.”
“Catch ya later.” Pete taps the side of my truck, then walks back inside.
Back in my truck, I take off, heading for the clubhouse to drop off the liquor before taking the load of lumber home and swapping rides.
When I arrive at the clubhouse, Salem, Laredo, and Baja are in the front yard, setting up tables with chairs and firing up the grills. I park and start unloading the cases of whiskey, lifting a couple of boxes onto my shoulders. They continue their tasks while I carry the alcohol inside, setting them on the floor near the end of the bar. My stomach growls as I’m assaulted by the delicious smells permeating the air.
After a few more trips, and everything is unloaded, I head straight toward the kitchen, where Ophelia stands at the stove, tossing herbs and spices into a large cooking pot. Over by the counter, Sage is peeling potatoes, and Juniper sits at the table, chopping onions and bell peppers. Ashlyn, Salem and Sage’s daughter, is fast asleep in the playpen next to the window.
Ophelia turns her head and notices me. “Harlem.” She graces me with a smile. “You’re just in time. Come over here. I need a taste tester.”
Never one to turn down Mystic’s mom’s cooking, I stroll over. She stirs the spaghetti sauce, dips in a spoon, then lifts it to me. I bend to meet her halfway. I open my mouth and take the sampling she offers.
The taste of garlic and basil explodes across my taste buds. Ophelia’s spaghetti is legendary. She’s even won a few contests with the recipe she keeps secret.
“Good?” Her eyes twinkle.
I kiss the top of her head. “Perfect.”
“Hey,” Baja says after barging into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “Where’s my taste?”
Ophelia laughs, putting a lid on the pot. “You’ll just have to wait like everyone else. I have some food over here you can eat to tide you over until then, and Sage brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
Sage peers at me over her shoulder. “Are you still mad at us?” she asks.
I give her a look that leaves no doubt that I’m still pissed about her and Juniper sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.
“Come on. You can’t give me the silent treatment forever.” Sage sulks.
“We were only trying to help,” Juniper chimes in, and I shoot her a displeased look, to which she smiles. “Give it up, big guy. We see through that prickly, tough exterior. You like Sukie. It stops hurting when you quit fighting it.”
I stare blankly at Juniper, masking the fact that her words hold a considerable amount of truth and weight.
Juniper tears her attention from me and looks down at the chopped vegetables before her. “Okay. What do I do now?” Juniper sighs.
“Get the sausage and bacon from the fridge and grab the skillet from the cabinet,” Ophelia instructs.
“I’d much rather be doing a client’s hair. I feel like a fish out of water in the kitchen,” Juniper says while gathering things.
“No better time to learn a few things than to cook for rowdy bikers with ferocious appetites,” Ophelia states.
Salem and Laredo enter the kitchen. “Hey, brother. You headin’ out again?” Salem asks, stopping beside me. He lifts the lid off the pot of simmering sauce and breathes in the goodness. He puts the top back on before Ophelia fusses.
“I’m goin’ to take the lumber home and trade my truck for the bike. It won’t take me long,” I answer.
“Wolf and his men will be here around two this afternoon. Make sure you’re back before they arrive.”
“No problem.” I turn to leave.
“Harlem, wait.” Ophelia stops me.
She grabs a biscuit from the center of the cast-iron skillet she cooked them in, splits it into halves, then places a square slice of pan-fried spam in between. Turning, she hands the biscuit to me.
“Eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I don’t argue with her and try again to leave.
