I smiled up at him as Tucker made his way into the kitchen. “It is never okay to be all over my wife, but especially not when she’s only wearing my t-shirt and panties,” he warned his friend.

“Message received,” Wes told him as he threw his hands up and backed away to go take his seat on the stool on the opposite side of the counter again.

Tucker leaned down and placed a kiss on my shoulder before he grabbed juice out of the refrigerator. “What are you making?” My head was spinning from the PDA in front of his friend, so I just stared at him for a moment, until his brows went up into his hairline as he questioned my silent staring.

“Oh! Um, I figured I’d make French Toast. It’s simple.” His brows came together as his nose crinkled in distaste. “Please, don’t tell me you’re one of those heathens who hates French Toast!”

Instead of admitting to it, Tucker went to sit beside Wes on the other side of the counter as I continued to work. “I happen to love French Toast, so your efforts won’t be wasted,” Wes informed me.

I laughed. “Good to know, but just for the record, everyone will at least try it because I make fabulous French Toast. It really should be world famous by now, but I don’t let just anyone sample my wares.” The minute the words were out of my mouth I wished I could pull them back. Of course, the men sitting across the counter from me both started laughing.

“Hear that?” Wes asked Tucker. “You should be honored that she let you sample her wares,” he teased as he clapped a hand down on Tucker’s shoulder.

“I am so honored,” Tucker agreed. “Sweetest honor ever,” he continued as he winked at me. I waved my spatula in a threatening manner toward his face.

“Hush now! A gentleman doesn’t sample and tell.”

“I thought we already agreed at some point that I was no gentleman.”

“I thought we might be able to change that over time,” I argued as I flipped the bread I’d already saturated with my special mixture of ingredients. When I finally pulled the first one off the griddle and plated it, Wes rubbed his greedy little hands together.

“It doesn’t even look soggy,” he mentioned.

It was my turn to scrunch my face in disgust. “Whoever has been making you soggy French Toast should be punished.” I slid the first plate to him after I buttered it and added powdered sugar. There was syrup on the counter too. “Normally, I like to have some fruits prepped when I make this, but I didn’t have the time to get them ready the way they should be.”

“I’m not complaining,” Wes told me.

“Why did he get fed first?” Tucker asked, a cute little pout pulling his mouth down at the corners.

“Because he didn’t make ‘yuk’ faces at my food suggestion,” I told him before sliding a plate his way too. Then I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took his first bite and moaned. A grin spread across my face as I flipped the next batch on the griddle.