Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"Yeah. I bet they need more after you’ve worn them out."
I toss some flour at my friend, and she ducks, missing the worst of it but still ending up with a white powdery shoulder.
"This is coming from the girl who met her life partners through a giant, kinky sex game."
"Encouraged by you." She points at me, aghast.
"It was still you who did it." I shake my head. "Bad girl."
Rather than denying it, Kyla grins and nods. "Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s good being bad. Isn’t it?"
"Hell, yeah! It’s the best."
I start to whisk the batter until it is smooth and creamy, adding salt and a good measure of cinnamon at the end. The rounds sizzle when they hit the hot buttered surface, and I watch as bubbles begin to rise to the top.
"I haven’t had your mom’s pancakes in years," Kyla says softly. "Have you made them for the boys before?"
"No," I say, meeting her eyes and seeing cautious sadness there. She wants to talk but is worried it might hurt me. "First time I’ve made them in years."
"That’s good," she says brightly. "Good, that you're ready to remember the good stuff."
I nod, realizing she’s right. For whatever reason, I’ve taken a small step forward to being able to remember Mom without clamming up or withdrawing. I’m able to share something nice about her with others.
Flipping the pancakes, I reach for a platter to lay them on when they’re done. By the time I’ve prepared the first batch, Jared, Joshua, Thomas and Logan are back, this time showered and wearing appropriate clothes to meet someone new. I formally introduce each of them to Kyla, stifling a giggle as she looks them over like prime beef.
"So this is the Kyla?" Jared asks, eying her with one raised eyebrow. To an outsider, Kyla doesn’t appear like the kind of woman who’d be interested in having a harem of men. Even though she slept in her clothes, she’s still so neatly put together in her beige slacks and cream linen blouse that she’d fit in better at the country club than in a tattoo parlor with eight lovers.
"This is the Kyla," I confirm, and Jared reaches out to shake her hand.
"Can I just say a big thank you for being the one to pioneer the one-woman-many-men relationship? We are very grateful that Dawn is following your example."
"I’m sure you are." Kyla winks at me as Jared pumps her hand up and down enthusiastically. "And you should probably thank a woman called Natalie Monk because she was the first woman in the Reverse Harem Ladies Club. That’s how me and Dawn found our original inspiration."
"There’s a club?" Thomas asks, opening the fridge door and pulling out a huge bowl of blueberries. Logan finds plates and silverware and Joshua hunts for the maple syrup. The men are stabbing pancakes and heaping them onto their plates so fast, I can’t keep up.
Logan, being a total sweetie, fixes Kyla a plate and slides it down the counter.
By the time the rest of the Cloud 9 crew emerge from their bedrooms at the sound of chatter and laughter, everyone is sipping coffee and devouring breakfast.
Bradley and Bryce follow the scent of pancakes and peer at the new batch. "Is this your recipe?" Bradley asks.
"It sure is," I reply. I wish I could tell him it’s Mom’s. I may be ready to use her recipe, but I’m not ready to talk about her openly with people who never knew her.
"They smell so good," he says, inhaling a lungful of scented air.
"You can have the next batch," I laugh as he wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me like an overenthusiastic puppy. I love that he doesn’t point out that my pancakes aren’t all exactly the same size or shape. He doesn’t brag about his cheffy skills, just appreciates my efforts. When he takes a bite and his eyes roll in ecstasy, I want to hug him so tight. Mom would have loved him. She’d have loved them all. She probably would have questioned the sanity of sleeping with so many men at once, though.
Just thinking about her smiling face makes me sad. At Christmas, she’d make these pancakes but decorate them like a grinning Santa head with strawberries for his mouth and hat, whipped cream for the snowy trim and beard, and chocolate drops for his eyes. She did so many amazing things for me when I was a child. Things I wish I could remember without wanting to bawl.
"You’d better flip those," Kyla says, and I realize I’ve been frozen for a while, lost in my memories, ignoring the task at hand.
I flip the slightly overcooked pancakes, just as my phone begins to ring and vibrate against the counter. Before I can ask Kyla to pass it, she’s picked it up and answered it.