Too Sweet (Boys of Lake Chapel)

17. Kylian

Chapter 17

Kylian

The intersection of art and science must converge in synchronicity to create a perfect pancake.

Despite being deceptively simple in presentation, precise measurements, consistent heat, and proper execution are all required to accomplish excellence.

I’ve always prescribed to the notion that if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.

Which is why I spent three separate mornings at my parents’ house last month, observing everything I could from my dad’s pancake-making lessons. I then practiced my technique on six occasions leading up to this weekend.

Spence has just about had it with the carb loading I’ve required of him during our late-night planning sessions.

I smirk and consider texting Kabir a picture to prove that all my preparation was not in vain. The batch I’m flipping now is fluffy, crisp around the edges, and consistently shaped. In a single word: perfection.

Kendrick saunters over, shirtless, with a coffee mug in hand. He keeps his distance, respecting my space. I have absolutely no problem rubbing bodies when we’re in the heat of the moment pleasing our woman. Any other time, I prefer a hands-off approach with anyone but Jo.

“Need any help, Daddy Genius?”

I keep my focus set on the pancakes, especially the one in the middle of the pan. The make and model of this range is identical to the one I practiced on at home, but we’re on propane out here. The slightest variation could disrupt the final product. I didn’t come this far to only come this far.

“I’ve got one more batch to cook after this. Can you see if Jo’s awake?”

He takes off toward the Den—it is Sunday, after all—and I keep watching those edges, biding my time as I wait for the ideal moment to flip.

I’m arranging the final batch of pancakes on a serving plate when everyone starts to trickle into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Jo singsongs as she makes the rounds, greeting the others. Her hair is wet, so she must have showered. I hope she rested, too. Four orgasms isn’t a record for us, but after the weekend she’s endured—and with what Decker has planned tonight—I need to stay cognizant of her baser needs.

She wraps her arms around me last. Wordlessly, I reach over and snag a water bottle I already prepared for her. I can practically feel her eye roll as I bring the straw to her lips. She takes a long draw, then takes the bottle from my hands.

“Good girl,” I murmur, adding the last pancake to the stack.

When I allow myself to glance over at her, she’s eyeing the plate of pancakes in my hand with intense interest.

“Those smell amazing,” she practically moans.

My chest inflates with pride. “I would hope so. I used my dad’s recipe. I spent seventeen hours practicing and perfecting my technique. I even brought the correct maple syrup to go with them.”

Locke scoffs from the table. “The correct maple syrup?”

I shoot him an incredulous look. “Yes. Real maple syrup, sourced from a small-batch family-owned business located in the Maple Belt of Quebec. Do you have any idea what they put in American table syrups?” I shudder at the thought.

“I have a feeling we’re about to find out,” Kendrick grumbles, reaching over and loading his plate with several pancakes from the stack.

I snag a few of the warmest ones for Jo, quickly adding a pad of butter between the short stack so it can properly melt.

“Dude. You sound pretentious as hell.” Locke laughs. He stabs his fork into the pile to transfer them to his plate. “What’s next? Are you going to tell us it’s only real maple syrup if it comes from the ‘Maple Belt’ of Canada?”

Everyone laughs, but the joke’s on them if they prefer to ingest corn syrup, caramel color, and diglycerides.

“Wait. Shit. This is the Brit’s influence, isn’t it?”

I side-eye Nicky, considering his assumption about Spence. Jo’s warned me that my recent ‘bromance’ (her word, not mine) might make my best friend jealous. Because of that, I refrain from replying.

I admire Spence, and our recently established joint ventures will prove advantageous to me for years to come.

But nothing and no one can change how I feel for the very first person who ever saw me for me. Nicky is my brother in every way that matters. Not even Jo can dislodge the love I have for my oldest friend.

“Fine,” I declare flippantly. “I won’t offer you any of the correct maple syrup. The one with the red cap is the table syrup. Help yourself.”

Kendrick points his fork at Nicky, then says through a mouthful, “You better try these for yourself before you keep running your mouth and he takes away all your pancake privileges. These are fucking delicious.”

With a satisfied smirk, I take a bite.

Perfection.

Pride washes over me.

Only the best for this family.

Decker finally takes a seat, pulling Jo into his arms and positioning her in his lap. I let them have their moment but take care to cut a small triangle from Jo’s stack and bring it to her mouth.

“Open, baby.”

She obeys, clamping down on the fork harder than necessary.

But then she closes her eyes and emits a satisfied moan.

“Oh my god. Are you kidding me? Try these!” she tells Decker, digging into her stack with the side of her fork and offering him his first taste.

I lean back in my chair, equally pleased and gratified by her reaction. “You like that, baby?”

“Like? Try love. Or hell, in the words of Hunter, I flove them. We might need to add this into the permanent rotation on Sundays,” she teases. “‘Daddy’s Special Recipe’ has a nice ring to it, dontcha think?”