Chapter 3
Good Morning To You
Mara rose early—baker’s hours.
The house was quiet around her, and she hoped she wouldn’t disturb anyone as she showered and dressed. Then she crept out of her room, easing the door closed behind her.
Her feet paused outside the door to Seth’s room. He was unexpected.
Gorgeous, sexy, brooding.
While they’d all chatted around the table the previous evening, he’d been quieter than most. Maybe part of being the new guy. She’d always been the type to babble when she was nervous, but she knew some people were the opposite.
Growing up with all the testosterone in her house, she’d learned to speak up for herself. Her brothers had encouraged that and ensured she could defend herself, too.
Not that she’d need to do that here. The farm exuded peaceful vibes. Her brother was best friends with Knox, and she’d met all the Malssums on previous video chats. All good men who loved and protected their women. Ford wouldn’t be friends with creeps or users.
This was a safe place where she could find some peace after Anson. Find her confidence again. Create enough fabulous new recipes that the jerk would die of jealousy. Okay, he’d never have the chance to taste anything she made, but she’d know they were better than anything he baked.
In the kitchen, she pulled up one of her morning baking playlists and pressed shuffle. When “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” from Oklahoma, filled the room, she knew she’d chosen perfectly.
Singing along, she gathered the ingredients she needed for apple Danishes. Puff pastry was always fun.
She’d have to ask Ford where to fill up on local supplies. She needed flour by the bucketful, not in bags. Hopefully, a local business worked with bulk orders.
As she worked the dough and chopped apples, she made a mental list of ingredients she needed. She’d add her purchases to the other kitchen so she wouldn’t keep using up the basics here.
She wanted to see the inn’s space and make it hers, but she’d wait until a normal hour before pestering Amber for a tour.
A shiver ran through her as she thought about sharing that tour—and the kitchen—with Seth Walters
From the way his eyes kept returning to the stack of dirty dishes the previous evening, she’d bet he cleaned up as he worked.
She’d never mastered the skill, but no one could complain that she didn’t clean up.
There was something about the routine tasks of scrubbing and sanitizing that had her brain formulating new tweaks for her goodies.
It was weird that a sink full of bubbles sparked her creativity. A dishwasher was a necessity, but she didn’t mind hand-washing either. If she wanted a sparkling kitchen to bake in, and she did, she didn’t mind putting in the hours to make it that way.
She hoped there was room in the other kitchen for a donut fryer. If a fryer was already there, it would likely be for savory foods. Having her own would mean knowing exactly what went into it and when it needed cleaning.
She was sure Mr. Cleanliness would appreciate that.
Deciding she had time to mix up something else, she checked out the pantry. Apple, raspberry, and honey would be a fun muffin combination. Walnuts, too.
While the Danishes cooled and the muffins baked, she sang along to “Another Day” from Rent.
After the song finished, she switched to her upbeat playlist to tackle the dishes. Clean-up required a strong beat. “Hakuna Matata” popped up first, making her grin as she sang along.
She spun around when the kitchen door swung open. Jolie and Ford walked in, with Hemsworth at their side. Both grinned at her. “Good morning.”
Flustered, she yanked her hands out of the soapy water and dried them quickly while she moved to turn off her music. “Good morning. Sorry about the music. Was it too loud? I get caught up and forget about it.”
Jolie laughed. “No worries, as your friends were singing.”
It took Mara a second to realize Jolie was talking about Timon and Pumbaa from the song. That made her grin. “I hope my music didn’t wake you up.”
Ford shook his head as he peeked into the oven. He knew better than to open it. All her brothers had learned that lesson early. Consistent temperature was critical, especially when she was getting to know a new oven.
Soon, she’d have a look at the one in the other farmhouse. She couldn’t wait.
Ford checked out the Danishes she’d made. “We’re up early for the ducks every day. You won’t bother us.”
Jolie nodded. “We didn’t hear the music until we were downstairs.”
Which probably meant she was playing it a little too loud, especially when she started singing.
“What’s in the muffins?” Ford had a weakness for muffins.
“Apples, of course, with honey, walnuts, and raspberries.”
His eyes lit up. “I’m glad you’re here, sis. We’ll be back to sample once the ducks are ranging.”
“Take a Danish to go if you like.”
She didn’t have to suggest it twice. He snagged two while Jolie took one. They both moaned at the first bite, making Mara smile. They called their thanks as they headed out the back door.
Grinning, she turned her playlist back on but lowered the volume. “Ease On Down the Road” from The Wiz got her working on the load of dishes with a smile.
Seth gritted his teeth as he stretched his leg. Mornings were a bitch. He reminded himself that each ache meant he was alive. Each time he unlocked a tight muscle, he was ensuring he’d continue to walk on his own.
Worth it, but he still cursed every time. Hurting like hell was better than dead.
Like Maki.
He’d been a handful of years younger than Seth. His potential was off the charts. The kid had been thrilled to be on an elite team. Being the youngest didn’t bother him. He’d taken to calling them all Gramps instead of their callsigns when they weren’t on missions.
He’d been funny, sharp, and entirely focused when they were on a mission. Maki was a bit green, but would have been the best of the best in a few years. Seth had figured him for a lifer, one who would move up the ranks quickly.
Instead, he’d been blown apart by an IED.
With another muttered curse, Seth shoved the images out of his head and focused on unlocking the next muscle.
By the time he used the bed to leverage himself to a standing position, he was sweating and exhausted. And the sun had barely risen.
But he was alive to see it.
Hoping the farmhouse’s hot water tank was the size of an elephant, he let the water and steam do their thing.
Seth was almost human by the time he headed down the stairs in search of coffee.
He memorized the squeaks as he moved. It was easy to hear them in the morning quiet.
Quiet until he hit the halfway mark. Music from the kitchen had him betting Chaos Machine was up early, too. As a baker, she would be used to early mornings.
As he neared the back of the house, he heard her singing along. Something about a woman named Lola getting whatever the hell she wanted.
Chaos Machine probably identified with the woman in the song. He wondered if she’d relegated the cleanup to other people wherever she’d worked before.
He considered exploring the farmhouse instead of heading into the kitchen, but he wasn’t a coward. He didn’t want to face the kitchen mess without a gallon of strong black coffee.
The woman probably drank coffee covered in sprinkles and whipped cream.
With a shudder, Seth pushed open the door while the music shifted to something with a quick Latin beat. Chaos Machine was drying dishes by the sink with her back to Seth.
She moved to the beat, and his eyes were drawn to her ass like a magnet. It was a hell of a fine ass. Sexy as hell as she swayed to the music and dried a baking sheet.
His body reacted, but he shut it down. The woman was gorgeous and sexy as hell, but he refused to be attracted. Not only was she Ford’s sister, but he’d also be sharing a workspace with her. And most likely cleaning up after her.
He could appreciate the visuals, but he wasn’t falling for the package. Not a damn chance.
He’d always been good at self-control, and the army made damn sure its personnel could control their bodies and their impulses. That was probably what had gotten him through the injury and back to walking. That, and the damn stretches the physical therapist insisted on.
He doubted Phail had a physical therapist, but his buddy from LA, Saurodeep, had given him a weekly routine to keep the muscles moving and keep Seth from being bored. He’d also told Seth he was available for video check-ins if he wanted that.
Seth had stood in the doorway too long. Even though Chaos Machine hadn’t spotted him, he was acting like a creep. Watching those curves move to the music. Listening to her sing the sultry words.
Time to announce his presence. Cursing the swinging door for not having a squeak, he moved forward. “Good morning.”
Mara nearly leapt out of her skin. She whirled toward him, holding the baking sheet up like a shield in front of her.
Seth couldn’t contain the low growl. Her eyes showed fear. Fear that instantly morphed into embarrassment, but there’d been fear.
Some asshole had scared her. Hurt her. Possibly in a kitchen. An old boss? Co-worker? He wanted to stomp the guy’s ass into dust and then bake him in a pizza oven.
Cheeks flushed as dark as a good merlot, Mara smiled at him. Well, it was more of a grimace, but the effort was there. “Hi. Sorry. I was caught up in the music and didn’t hear you.”
Probably true, but not the entire story. Not that he’d get it out of her now. She was on high alert, blood pumping, breathing shallow.
He nodded and ignored both her yelp and obvious physical reaction to the fright. “Coffee?”
Sure enough, that had her relaxing. No one enjoyed being called out when they felt embarrassed.
She pointed to the pot at the end of the counter. “There’s probably enough for a cup left, as long as you like it strong. I can make another.”
“So can I. Strong is good.” He opened the cupboard above the machine and grabbed a mug with “Prepare to Phail” in bold letters showing on a dark blue and green plaid background.
He’d bet Epic had something to do with it. Troy Phail, aka Epic, had a million jokes centered on his surname. Now, it looked like the man was using them to promote his town.
Not a bad idea.
If he cooked for the No Phailed Apples Inn, Seth would get bombarded with jokes and puns from all sides. He should probably incorporate those into the names of some meals he created.
Phailed Pork sandwiches with applesauce? Sounded awful. It would take some getting used to thinking of the word “Phail” positively.
While he ruminated on names that started off bad and got worse, he made another pot of coffee.
He put the grounds in the labelled container on the counter and appreciated the good reusable filter.
He knew the Malssums used eco-friendly techniques on the farm and was glad to see them on display in the kitchen as well.
He and Mara didn’t exchange any more words as he fiddled with the coffee and then looked through the cupboards, getting a feel for the layout. This might not be his space, but it was impossible not to snoop through any kitchen.
Chaos Machine turned off her music and finished drying her dishes. She returned everything without opening excess cupboards. She might have only arrived shortly before him, but she’d put more hours into this kitchen.
Maybe she’d do her baking here so he could have his kitchen to himself.
And why didn’t that thought make him as happy as it should?
Because he was a dumbass.