BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(59)

“Damn it’s nice to have breakfast.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said with a smile. “Want more?”

His eyes shot to the kitchen. “There’s more?”

“There isn’t, but I can make some more.”

He sipped his coffee. “That’s okay. Four eggs ought to be enough for anyone. Remind me of my aunt’s eggs. She made them just like that. Exactly like that.”

I had no idea how he liked his eggs. Instead of going with the safe bet, which was scrambled, I cooked them over medium, my personal favorite. To think that they reminded him of what I hoped was home was uplifting.

I smiled pridefully. “I’m glad you liked them. They’re my favorite.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s make a deal.”

I reached for my coffee. “Okay.”

“Saturday nights, let’s have a standing date. When we’re done, you can stay all night here. Sunday mornings, you make those eggs.”

“I like it. Let’s do it.”

He held his clenched fist over the table. “Gimme some fist.”

I pounded my hand against his.

I cut into the edge of my last egg. “If you like eggs so much, why don’t you cook them in the mornings? You’re self-employed. It’s not like you’re going to be late to the office.”

“I can’t cook.”

“What do you mean?”

“That food in the fridge? Goose got it at the store. I couldn’t even tell you what’s in there. If he doesn’t cook it, I don’t eat it.”

I lowered my fork. “What about that night--”

“Our first date?” he asked.

“Yeah. All of the Brazilian food?”

He pointed toward the refrigerator. “Goose.”

“The left-over lasagna in the fridge?”

He wagged his finger. “Goose.”

“The peppers and chicken that’s in a zip-lock, and looks like it needs tossed out?”

He wagged it again. “Goose. He’ll toss that out. He always does.”

I chuckled. “How long has he been cooking for you?”

“Fifteen years or so.”

“Wow. That’s a good friend.”

“We’re more than friends. We’re brothers. In time, you’ll see just how close we are.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’ll see through their actions.” He reached for his coffee. “Couple of ‘em aren’t keen on talking. But you’ll see by what they do and how they act that we’re noting but six brothers who share a few common bonds.”

I hoped he was right. My guess was that although they might eventually warm up to me, the process would be slow.

Very slow.

After interrupting their schedule, taking one of their men’s time, and then stealing his heart, I couldn’t see them welcoming me with open arms any time soon. I took the last bite of my egg and recalled Mort’s words of wisdom.

We can’t let what might happen keep us from doing what our heart tells us is right.

That simple phrase was I needed to remember.





THIRY-EIGHT - Baker





Two weeks of Saturday night dates and Sunday morning breakfasts had the men questioning my sanity. None questioned my loyalty, or my devotion, but side-eyed looks had become the norm in the clubhouse.

I realized for the men to accept Andy as a whole – or in part – would require that they see her express loyalty and devotion. Then, in time, trust would develop. When they trusted her, she’d be treated no differently than one of the men.

I feared the day was so far in the distance that I couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Trust goes a long way with the men,” I said. “A long, long way. When they trust you, you’ll see a huge difference. It’s just going to take time.”

“Trust goes a long way with everyone.” She twisted her hair into a bun and then checked it in the mirror. “If there’s no trust, even having a friendship is difficult.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” I put on my hat and then looked at her. Dressed in a sleeveless black dress and pair of heels I didn’t recognize, she looked marvelous. I nodded toward the four-inch heels. “New shoes?”

She smiled. “They are. Sale rack shoes. They were one-fifty, marked down to thirty-five. I get lots of sale options because nobody has feet this big. Drag queens, maybe. I love shoes. It’s so bad, I might have a problem.”

“I like your feet. If they were any smaller, you’d tip over if you leaned forward.” I chuckled. “How much time?”

Her expression went from a stink eye to a smile. “Just a few minutes. Why are we leaving so early again?”

“Again? I never said. Just get ready, and you’ll see.” I kissed her. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Okay.”

Bitter End, by Blind Pilot was playing when I walked into the living room. A song that made me yearn to have a father in my life, it typically ground against my nerves. I walked to the window, clenched my jaw, and peered out at the street.

Saturday afternoons were slightly different than the weekdays, as the people who worked up and down the block were no longer parked along the curb. Most of the spaces were occupied by patrons of the coffee shop and several pubs that served lunch.