Eden stood in the industrial kitchen at the Y, wearing a Rough Riders jersey that was three times too big and had Croft emblazoned on the back. While pancakes cooked on the griddle, she tossed blueberries into her mouth and watched Beckett crouch in front of a little boy about seven or eight years old. The child too wore a jersey with Croft across the back. A lot of people who’d come and gone over the last two hours were Beckett’s fans.
One of the guys had plugged his phone into a speaker, and an eclectic mix of alternative rock, modern country, hip-hop, and rap played through the space. The Y had opened the huge kitchen they used for cooking classes and events to a series of other rooms where tables and chairs had been set up for diners. Hundreds of patrons had come through the line, been served breakfast by the seven Rough Riders here today, then stayed to snap, chat, sign, and donate.
“This is the last bucket.” The female voice drew Eden’s gaze. Faith, Grant Saber’s girlfriend, plopped a five-gallon bucket half filled with pancake batter on the counter beside Eden.
She sighed. “Oh, yippee.”
Faith started laughing, making Eden smile. The woman was beautiful and had an extra sweetness about her. With long blonde hair and blue eyes, she drew a lot of attention, most of which she didn’t seem to notice.
“Are you sure these are going to freeze?” Eden asked. “I understand they don’t want to waste it, but…frozen pancakes?”
“Sure. You just pop them in the microwave or the toaster.”
“If you say so.” Eden shrugged. “I don’t eat much of anything that isn’t prepackaged or premade nowadays.”
“You’re a trouper. I wouldn’t have been so mellow if Grant had introduced the mob to me like this.” Faith meant the other Rough Riders, and Eden scanned the crowd between ladling pancake batter on the griddle and tossing on a handful of blueberries. The plastic bracelets created for the event slid along her forearm. She and Faith had donned one of every color, and seeing the rainbow made Eden happy.
Faith sang along with Train’s Marry Me as she returned to the job she’d been doing before she’d gone to fetch batter and wrapped cooled cakes for freezing. A male voice picked up the lyrics and came up behind them.
Grant pressed a kiss to Faith’s neck, and she smiled over her shoulder at the dark-haired Rough Rider. He was a little younger than Beckett, and the love in Faith’s and Grant’s eyes both softened Eden’s heart and terrified her on some level.
Grant set down two stools. “Rest your feet, ladies.”
“Oh God, thank you.” Eden slid onto the stool and sighed. Tate came toward the grill, still wearing the same grin he’d been sporting since she’d first seen him two hours ago. “Doesn’t your face get tired? Smiling like that?”
He reached past her and grabbed some blueberries. “Takes more muscles—”
“To frown,” she finished with him, then added, “That doesn’t account for gravity,” as he tossed the berries into his mouth.
“Smarty-pants.” Andre stepped around Tate and grabbed a pen from the counter. His thick Russian accent always made Eden smile, no matter what he was saying. “What the hell you doin’ with Beckett?”
“Thank you,” Tate said to Andre. “I’ve been wanting to know but had too many American manners to ask.”
“You are welcome,” Andre said, serious. “Any time you need my thick Russian skull, you only need to ask.”
Laughing, Eden threw a blueberry at Tate. With moves as quick as lightning, he opened his mouth and caught the berry.
“Whoa,” Eden said, truly impressed.
He grinned, curled his fingers, and brushed his nails on his jersey.
“Throw me one.” Andre told her.
Eden tossed a berry high. Andre bent his knees, opened his mouth, and jockeyed for the perfect spot to catch it. At the last second, Tate slammed the other man with his shoulder, knocking him out of the way to catch the berry himself.
Faith, Grant, Eden, and Tate laughed. Andre was grinning when he shoved Tate. “Cheater. You Americans are a bunch of cheaters.” He turned to Eden. “Another. I’m going to show this cheater how to play.”
“Game on,” Tate said.
Both men crouched in a ready position, just outside the main kitchen area. Before Eden even tossed the first berry, the men were throwing shoulders and grinning like idiots. Eden couldn’t help but laugh as she watched the two full grown men turned four-year-olds battling to catch fruit in their mouth. And she got a different view—a positive view—of that competitive spirit all these men embodied. Of course they also kept score and continued upping the ante—three out of five, five out of seven, seven out of nine—until Eden ran out of berries.
When Andre fought off Tate for the last berry, raucous applause surprised Eden, and while Andre and Tate bowed for their audience, Eden took in the spectators with embarrassed heat in her cheeks. But when she found Beckett in the crowd, he was watching with the same joyous smile, as if he’d found her juvenile behavior with Andre and Tate just as entertaining as the others. When he locked eyes with her, she had three startling and profound revelations—one: he wasn’t a jealous man; two: he didn’t mind sharing the spotlight; and three: it pleased him to see her enjoying herself.
Those had all been problems in her life for as long as she could remember, with either her father, her boyfriend, or both.
“Mmm,” Faith hummed at her side. “I know that look.”
“What?” Eden said, pulling her gaze from Beckett with butterflies in her gut. “What look?”