I started hearing voices outside the cabin a little past eight in the morning.
Knowing that River was looking forward to getting started on the kitchen in the main house, I rolled out of bed and ducked into the bathroom before I got ready for the day. He had to eat before we played handymen.
It was gonna be a busy week, and we’d hopefully get a lot done before our Game this weekend.
It would be our first major event since the fire. Definitely the first event in the main house since the fire.
After pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee, I went downstairs to get started on breakfast—and starting a fire. With our cabin being the first in the row of founders’ cabins, and the one closest to the main house, Shay had decided to turn our place into an open house for food and snacks all week. He’d recruited Kit, Cam, Gretchen, and Tate for the project, and the five of them had filled our already tiny kitchen with several bags of groceries. The fridge was stocked with the items that needed to be kept cold.
The shed behind the house had been spared in the fire, so the fridge out there was a butcher’s dream. Bacon, steaks, hot dogs, burger patties, and ground beef.
By the time coffee was brewing, I heard River upstairs. I cracked six eggs into a skillet and dropped six sausage patties into another, and then I turned on the morning news on the TV.
The human trafficking case Riv and I had helped out a couple friends with was finally becoming old news. At least in our area. I imagined the local networks where the victims were trying to find a semblance of normalcy again were still trolling for stories.
A loud laugh from outside reached me, so I lowered the heat on the stove and then opened the door. Christ, it was cold. The entire lawn was covered in frost. Colt was here with Kit, and Greer had brought Corey.
“Mornin’, gents,” I said.
“Hi, Sir!” Kit waved.
“Mornin’, buddy.” Colt was already sipping coffee, so maybe he and Kit had been here a while.
Corey couldn’t stop yawning, and he was using Greer as a pillar to lean against.
“Are your Daddies keepin’ you up all night, boy?” I asked Corey.
That made Greer laugh. “More the other way around, innit?” He ruffled the boy’s hair.
Corey let out a voice of sleepy complaint and smoothed down his bed head. “It’s not fun getting up at five in the morning.”
Oh, that was right. Yeah, fuck that. I was an early bird, but even I had limits. Greer and his bunch lived outside of Winchester, and Sloan’s four kids still attended day care and school in DC. I’d heard they were transferring to local schools in January. So Greer and Corey must’ve dropped the kids off in the city before coming here.
“Can we expect Sloan today?” I wondered. He and I had really hit it off these past couple of weeks.
“He started his new job about an hour ago,” Greer replied. “And Kyla and Jamie woke up with a fever, so Archie’s staying home with them.”
Corey scratched his nose and yawned. “Also, we’re on standby in case Jason and Emma-Jo get sick too. Right, Pop?” He glanced up at Greer, who nodded in confirmation.
Life with children. Someone was always sick. So I’d heard.
“Well, Lucas will be here after work,” Kit mentioned. “He promised to bring donuts for everyone.” He looked downright giddy at the thought.
Too fucking cute.
That made Corey perk up a bit. “I love donuts. Imagine spending your life like a donut—you just lie there and look delicious and get glazed all the time.”
Colt and I barked out a laugh.
“How the fuck is that any different from your life now?” Greer chuckled.
Corey snickered and shrugged.
“All right—let’s not stand around here all day,” I said, down to chuckles. “We have breakfast in the makin’, and Shay’s promised to do taco wraps for lunch.”
We had one week to restore the house as much as we could, and we would focus on the kitchen, the playrooms on the second floor—where the event would be held—and hopefully we’d pass inspection on Wednesday to be able to start on the club area too. We’d already knocked down all non-load-bearing walls.
Tate and Kingsley showed up shortly after Lucas appeared with donuts, and I snatched up the former two—and a powdered donut—before they could disappear.
Kingsley was the closest thing we had to an in-house electrician, and he’d know exactly what type of work we’d have to bring in professionals for.
Tate—along with Ivy—was our resident interior designer. Of sorts. He’d taken it upon himself to be in charge of logistics and purchasing, and Ivy would add final touches.
“Okay, so there’s nothing we can’t do on our own in this area,” I said, brushing powdered sugar off my tee. “The lobby just needs to be repainted.”