Page 34 of Starting Over

It was quiet when I stepped into the kitchen. I started by filling the big thirty cup coffeepot on the counter and then opened the fridge. There were plenty of items to make breakfast, but I had a feeling it would be a few more hours before anyone came down.

Walking to the pantry, I scanned the shelves and found everything I needed to make cinnamon rolls. It would keep mebusy while I waited for the clubhouse to wake up, and what better way to show my gratitude for being allowed to stay here than with some pastry.

Forty-five minutes later, I had three bowls covered with towels, waiting for the dough to rise. I sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee, and thought about everything that had happened in the past week.

I didn’t have the best introduction to Nebraska. I had yet to really meet anyone outside of the club. Maybe it was nerves. The reception here was 50/50. Who knew what it would be like in town?

Once my bedroom was done and I could be in my own space, I would venture into town and start getting to know the residents.

“Mornin’.”

I looked up at the man that walked in. He was handsome, of course; they all were. He wasn’t quite as tall as the others, but he wasn’t short. I would have guessed he was maybe five foot ten or eleven.

“Morning.”

“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes on the bowls.

“Well, I’ve been up for a while. I didn’t think anyone would be up for a few more hours, so I thought I would make some cinnamon rolls.”

He snapped his head in my direction. “You made cinnamon rolls?”

“Yea,” I said hesitantly.

“You use a recipe?”

“No, I’ve been making them since I was a kid. It’s second nature now.”

“Marry me!” he begged.

I laughed at the sincerity in his expression. “How old are you?”

“What does age matter?”

“How old?” I asked again.

“Thirty-two.”

“I am old enough to be your mother,” I told him, standing from my seat and walking to the sink. I rinsed my cup and set it on the counter beside the sink.

I spread flour out on the counter and grabbed the first bowl, dumping the dough on the counter. I proceeded to knead the dough and rolled it out flat while the young man in the kitchen with me tried to convince me of all the reasons we would make a great couple.

“Young guys have more stamina,” he said, and I stopped to look at him.

“Really? That’s what you are starting with?” I shook my head and continued what I was doing.

“Hey, that’s an important aspect. That, and my recovery time is only ten minutes. There’s a lot I can do in that ten minutes while we wait.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at me, and all I could do was laugh.

“I don’t even know your name,” I said, as I sprinkled the cinnamon and sugar mixture over the dough.

“Hash.”

“Really?”

“Yea, well, I’m the cook,” he said with a shrug.

“It has nothing to do with smoking?”

When he hung his head, I laughed.

---