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“You know why,” Owen said. He followed it with a kissy face that drew more laughter.
“Because Rory and Harry prepared all this delicious food for you, so they get to fill their plates first,” Ivan said. Tyler and Owen had the good grace to look slightly chastised.
“It’s a rough crowd tonight,” Rory said when he reached the safety of the kitchen. “Maybe we should throw a few sliders out there to appease them.”
“Fill your plate,” Ivan said, reaching for him without thinking.
Rory rose and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
“Awwwwww,” a chorus of grown men said from the fucking doorway.
Rory stiffened as if he’d done something wrong, and Ivan didn’t want a repeat of that morning’s miscommunication. Ivan kept his hand on Rory to hold him in place. Damn, he smelled so good. Like fresh air, sunshine, and something slightly earthy like freshly mown grass. Ivan wanted to roll over and under him and was grateful he’d get his chance to do just that in a few hours.
“The next person to make a smartass comment about us or stick their nose in our business will live to regret it come Monday when I hand out the weekly assignments.”
Harry spun around and said, “And you can count on a week of cold cereal for breakfast and bologna sandwiches and chips for lunch.”
Groans met Harry’s threat. Ivan laughed because that was by far a much worse fate than he would’ve dealt them. True to his word, Ivan held the ravenous group at bay while Harry and Rory filled their plates, then he jumped to the front of the line once they finished. A few protested his audacity, but most of them weren’t willing to incur Harry’s wrath. There were too many people to cram inside the small dining room, so the gawkers spilled over into the living room and kitchen too. Ivan wondered how they’d manage the poker games if everyone stuck around after dinner. Multiple tables and tournament style?
Harry and Rory’s cooking skills rendered the crowd nearly mute with the occasional groan and hum of approval. A soft belch broke the silence, and Ivan hoped like hell it wasn’t him, though he wouldn’t mind a discreet one if it allowed more room to shovel food into his gullet.
“Sorry,” Owen said, sounding mortified.
“Don’t be,” Rory replied. “I took it as a compliment.”
Tyler glanced up from his plate, halting with his fork midway to his mouth. “How much of this food did you make?”
Rory rattled off a long list, comprising half the sandwiches and wings and a sizable chunk of the desserts. His cheeks flushed with pride, and Ivan wanted to send them all home—with no leftovers—so he could get to the Rory appreciation party he’d planned.
“What are the cookies you made with a bunch of ingredients?” Dylan asked. “They had bits of crushed pretzel, nuts, and different chocolate chips in them.”
“I didn’t see those,” Rueben said, sounding disappointed.
Ivan knew and recalled the surprising combo of salty and sweet ingredients and the mix of textures. He couldn’t wait to eat more of them, preferably with Rory’s nude body acting as a serving platter.
“Oh,” Rory said, casting a furtive glance in his direction. “They weren’t for poker night.”
“Really?” Tyler asked, turning a suspicious gaze on Ivan. He mouthed, “Lucky bastard,” before turning his head back toward his plate.
“You wouldn’t like them,” Ivan said. “They have coconut.”
“I’d sure give it a try,” Rue grumbled and stabbed a bite of hash brown casserole.
Ivan caught Rory’s gaze and winked before tucking back into his dinner. He’d always loved food, especially the dishes the women in his family made. He learned early on to recognize the singular secret ingredient they put into their dishes—love. It was the universal spice that made the ordinary extraordinary, and Harry poured love into her cooking. He glanced at Rory, who smiled as he observed those around him wolfing down the food he’d helped create. It seemed he was blessed with the innate ability too.
“So what went into the cookies you made just for Ivan?” Owen asked, clearly not ready to let the slight go.
Rory wore a cute smirk on his lips before rattling off the ingredients.
“What do you even call a cookie with that much stuff in it?” Tyler asked.
Ivan smirked and said, “I call them delicious.”
Rory’s beaming smile was so bright that Ivan needed sunglasses. “Kitchen sink cookies,” he said without breaking eye contact with Ivan.
“I get it,” Rue said. “You throw in everything but the kitchen sink.”
“Yep.” Rory looked at him. “The dough starts with a standard versatile base that allows any combo of salty, sweet, and textured ingredients.”
