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“Morning,” he replied without turning around. “Help yourself to coffee. Eggs and bacon are almost done, but there’s cereal in the pantry if you’d prefer that.”

“I’m good with eggs and bacon. Where do you keep your mugs?”

“Top cabinet to the right of the sink.”

“Thanks,” I replied and set about making a cup for myself. Thankfully, the sugar was already out on the counter so I didn’t have to ask where it was. I had no idea why I felt so uncomfortable, but I was hyperaware of every move I made, and I couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope. Just make yourself comfortable,” he said and started plating the food. I almost snorted at his choice of words. I was so far from comfortable it was almost funny.

Moments later, he placed a plate in front of me with more food than I could possibly eat. Well, I could handle the few strips of bacon, but the mountain of eggs was another story.

“Um, at the risk of sounding rude, there’s no way I’ll be able to eat all of this.”

He laughed. “I made extra for the chickens. Eat what you want, and I’ll give the leftovers to them.”

“You have chickens?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes. Why?”

I shrugged. “You don’t seem like a chicken person.”

He eyed me curiously. “Really? Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended.”

“What? No! I didn’t mean?—”

“Relax,” he laughed. “I’m just messing with you.”

“In my defense, I don’t know any bikers with farm animals,” I said and shoved a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

“Are you forgetting about the dairy farm? And your sister has so many horses, I’ve lost count.”

“My sister isn’t a biker. And the dairy farm is a business. I don’t know any bikers who have farm animals at home,” I countered.

“To be honest, it wasn’t exactly my idea to have chickens. They showed up in my back yard one day. When I didn’t have any luck finding out who they belonged to, I decided to keep them,” he explained.

“Are these eggs from them?” I asked between bites.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I haven’t had to buy eggs from the store since they showed up. And I never will again.”

“I can see why. These are really good.”

“I never understood the hype about fresh eggs until I had them for myself,” he admitted.

“So, you feed the chickens their own eggs? Isn’t that weird?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Not really. A lot of animals eat their own kind, including their offspring—fish, for example. But I don’t have a rooster, so these eggs aren’t fertilized. I guess it’s kind of like recycling.”

I started to ask more about the chickens, but he changed the subject before I had the chance. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“I know,” I said and reached for my cup of coffee to take a big sip. I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped to avoid the subject for a bit longer.

“Is there anything you haven’t told me?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?” I returned, trying to stall.

“When I said the perpetrator was likely someone you knew, you opened your mouth like you were going to say somethingbut didn’t. It seemed like you made some sort of mental connection.”

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