Chapter 28 #2
In the end, Mack gets a breakfast burrito and I indulge with a cinnamon roll approximately the size of my head. I figure I've earned a little comfort food. My brother is missing, I got thrown in a trunk, and now my house has been trashed.
“How’s your eye?” he asks.
“It looks worse than it hurts, thankfully.” I’m not lying--it’s one heck of a shiner, but I don't feel it that much unless I poke it or clamp my eye shut.
I start eating from the outside curl of the cinnamon roll, but once I realize I'm not going to finish the thing, I switch to the center.
Mack points at the cinnamon roll and grins. "I know exactly what you're doing there, and I respect it."
"The center is the best part."
"Can't argue that."
Something about the tone of his voice has my eyes narrowing, makes me think I've missed some unintentional double-entendre. But the moment passes when a stunning brunette in a Haven's Coffee apron walks over to our table and refills Mack's old-style coffee cup.
"Hey Mack," she says, one hand in the small of her back to support her pregnant belly. I guess she’s five months, maybe six. "Who's this?"
"Hey Danielle, this is Gabriella."
"You can call me Gabby," I say, extending my hand.
She shakes it and my eyes widen at the sight of all those carats on one finger.
"Nice to meet you. Let me know if you guys need anything, ok?"
"Will do, but I thought Dylan had put the stops to you being on your feet so much," Mack says.
She rolls her eyes. "You know how over-protective he is."
"He worries for you. I do, too."
"If I were you, I'd worry a little more about myself. Briggs was just in the back and he was trying to get me to come out here and slap you and say, ‘how dare you bring your other woman into my coffee shop’." She rolls her eyes again. "You guys are terrible."
"Don't blame me," he says, grinning. "I didn't come up with it. Funny idea, though."
Just then, Dylan bustles through the front door and frowns at his wife.
Danielle sighs and puts down the coffee pot. "I know, I know," she tells him, before he can say a word. "But Mack needed a refill, and I needed an excuse to come over here and meet his girlfriend."
I jolt at the word; Mack squeezes both his boots around my crossed ankles beneath the table as if he's going to keep me there if I try and bolt. I narrow my eyes at him, but his expression is normal.
"Screw his refill," the guy says. Without turning from her, he adds, "No offense, Mack."
He smirks. "None taken, boss."
"You know I hate it when you call me that."
"Why do you think I do it?" Mack takes another bite of his burrito and ignores the intense back and forth taking place next to our table.
Finally Danielle relents, throwing her hands in the air and walking off. Dylan picks up the pot.
"Are you really going to go around and refill people's coffee cups?" Mack asks him.
"It's all about compromise, brother."
"They seem nice," I murmur, once Dylan has made his way across the room.
"They're good people, and he's obsessed with her, if that weren't already obvious."
"And he owns Haven Customs, too?"
Mack nods. "And he's the President of our MCC."
"What does that entail, exactly? I mean, you’ve told me a little." I cut myself another bite of the cinnamon roll. Maybe I wasn't as finished as I'd thought I was.
"For us, it's a social club. It was started by Dylan's grandfather. A bunch of guys getting back from the war. I think they wanted to feel like they still had a platoon. At least, that's the way Dylan tells it."
"So you guys don't..." I don't know how to finish the sentence without being offensive.
Mack grins. "Smuggle drugs or shoot people? Nah. That's television."
"Not just television." I point my fork at him. "There are lots of really bad motorcycle gangs."
"We're not a gang. We're a club. Big difference."
"Huh."
"There are a couple rumors about illegal things going down, but those were mostly pranks gone wrong. A couple of the original members liked their explosives a bit too much."
"But not you guys?"
"The only time we do something illegal is when we're forced to. And even then, we'll call the cops first if it's possible. We're pretty tight with Haven County Sheriff’s Department."
"How's that?"
"We pay 'em off." Mack waits for a couple of seconds, then chuckles at my wide eyes. "Nah, Dylan and the Sheriff played football together in high school."
He releases my ankles but keeps his booted feet on either side of mine.
“I’m going to have a dumpster delivered at your house today.
I’m sending a couple prospects over. If they can save anything, they’ll set it aside for you.
Otherwise, they’re going to photograph whatever they put in the dumpster. ”
My throat tightens. “That’s really nice of you. You guys don't have to do that.”
“You’ve got enough going on without worrying about that. I figure it will be a couple days of work before it would be worth it for you to go over there and see what they salvaged.”
I nod. Truth be told, I hadn't been looking forward to cleaning up the shattered remains of my mom’s wedding dishes. I’d much rather someone else did it; I’d be sobbing the whole time.
“Which leaves the day free for us,” he says. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to buy another cinnamon roll to go and watch lame movies,” I blurt.
He grins. “Sounds perfect.”