“Are you eating cookies without me while I bust my ass on the cabinets?” Mick asks, a scowl on his handsome face.
In my absence, my little brother has grown into a giant with dark black curls and devilish blue eyes. Gone is the runt who was shorter than all of his classmates—male or female—even at seventeen. In his place are five feet, eleven inches of thickly muscled man.
Mick’s shoulders are so wide he can barely fit through a door without turning sideways and his forearms look like something out of a Mr. Clean commercial.
And from what Maddie tells me, our little bro no longer has any problems in the girl department. He broke up with his college girlfriend before moving home to work as a handyman while he sorts out what he wants to do next, but he’s been out with three different girls in the last two weeks alone.
At this rate, he’s going to have made his way through all the single twenty-somethings in Bliss River by spring break.
“There are still plenty of cookies for you.” Maddie casts a fond smile his way. Maddie and Mick are only six years apart, compared to the ten between Mick and me and have a closeness that I sometimes envy.
My brother and I adore each other, but he’s not going to tell me all his secrets over beers. Or cookies.
“And you can have as many as you like,” Maddie continues, fetching another coffee cup for Mick, “since you are being such a sweetheart and working for free.”
“He’s not working for free.” I shoot a mock glare at Mick over the rim of my cup. “I’m paying for his groceries, and he eats like a pack animal. I think I could feed a pair of mules for less.”
“I can’t help it. I’m a growing boy.” Mick grins as he snatches a cookie and shoves it into his mouth in one big bite. He might have graduated from college, but he still eats like a frat boy with a Sunday morning hangover.
“Manners, please,” Maddie says, slapping his hand when he reaches for another cookie. “Swallow first and take at least two bites. I worry you’re going to choke to death when you eat them in one gulp.”
“I wish I could eat a cookie in one gulp,” Aria says, taking a bite of her own treat. “I swear I’m so hungry lately I just want to unhinge my jaw and shovel all the food in.”
“Like this?” Mick asks, opening his mouth so wide I can see the ridged tunnel at the back of his throat, as well as the cookie still stuck in his teeth.
“Ew! Close your mouth!” I take my turn slapping his meaty shoulder. “What’s wrong with you? Were you raised in a barn? Thank God Mom’s in Florida. She would be flipping out if she knew what a boor you’ve become.”
“A boor, am I?” Mick asks in a fairly decent imitation of an English accent for a guy who majored in computer programming. “My, aren’t you the fancy one, Miss Naomi.”
I narrow my eyes his way. “I’m going to fancy you in a minute. Gulp your cookies down and get back to work, kid. Make me cabinets. I want to be able to start organizing the kitchen by next week.”
“Speaking of organizing kitchens…” Aria licks melted chocolate off her fingertips before turning to dig through her purse. “I brought a copy of Ever After’s monthly supply budget. I know Icing won’t be doing any main courses, but I thought it would at least give us a starting point so we can figure out how much we need to budget for our first quarter.”
“Numbers,” Maddie moans. “My head hurts already.”
“Mine, too,” Aria says, patting Maddie on the arm. “But it has to happen.”
“No, it doesn’t. I can make all that number pain go away, ladies,” I say breezily as I slide off my stool and wander over to the picture window overlooking Main Street. “Just say the word and Naomi Whitehouse Industries will supply that pesky start up budget, and a bookkeeper to boot.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Maddie sighs.
Aria says something, too, but I don’t quite catch it.
I’m too busy catching my breath.
Across the street, Jake Hansen is unpacking a sack lunch at a picnic table on a patch of grass to one side of the firehouse. With his dark sunglasses and brown hair hanging messily over his forehead, he looks like a movie star hiding from the paparazzi.
I ought to know. I’ve dated my fair share of movie stars. For a small-town girl with more curves than any starlet working in Hollywood, I’ve been coupled up with a decent number of the Hollywood elite, proving my theory that real men like curves and women who can cook the hell out of a coq au vin.