I make really good fried chicken. No, really. I do....
Recipes
(Or Au Gratin Potatoes) Yes, you read that right, Gratin...
My grandmother liked beans, all kinds of beans, she had...
Colt grinned back, “Sully, you’re so full of shit. Raine isn’t half as curious about the state of affairs as you are.”
“What?” Sully threw out a hand. “You’re my partner.”
Colt shook his head but said, “Tell Raine Feb made a frittata for breakfast this morning.”
Sully slammed his palm down on the table and gave a shout.
“Damn, man, you must be the master. Morrie tells me only thing better than Feb’s frittatas is being touched by the hand of God.”
Colt took another drink of coffee.
“They that good?” Sully pushed.
Colt thought of the best breakfast he’d ever had in his life. Jackie was no slouch in the kitchen, Melanie loved to cook gourmet crap and was always trying out a new recipe, and Frank’s specialty was breakfast and his restaurant was known throughout Indiana as a place you needed to have breakfast before you died.
Feb’s frittata beat all of them.
“Since I didn’t have time, I cheated on the key lime pie and made the pie my grandmother taught me how to make, ‘When you’re in a pinch, sugar plum.’ That was, frozen lime juice concentrate mixed with Cool Whip, tossed into a premade graham cracker crust and chilled. It didn’t hold a candle to the real thing but, like Mamaw said, it did in a pinch or at least the way Hop, Molly and Cody wolfed it down, it seemed to.”
“What was that about?” I repeated.
He turned square to me but didn’t touch me.
“You’ve been branded.”
I blinked.
That didn’t sound good.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Told Willie, called Lee and Darius. Word goes out tonight that you belong to me. Anyone fucks with you, they fuck with me, the DPD, all the boys at Nightingale Investigations and Darius Tucker. I’m callin’ in all my markers. I’m not takin’ any more chances with this shit. Now you got an army of protection, whether you want it or not.”
I kept staring at him as that strange sensation took hold of my belly in a vice-like grip.
“But…” I whispered. “Why?”
It was then he walked to me, put his hands to my neck and gently pulled me toward him until our bodies were touching. He looked down at me and his eyes changed. The warm, tender look was there but so was something else. Something I couldn’t read.
“Because you make a fucking great chocolate sheet cake.”