“I’m making another pot of coffee. Give me two minutes,” Jillian says, dumping coffee beans into a countertop grinder.

I nod. “Anything I can do?”

Jillian presses the button on the grinder, and it whirs to life. She shakes her head in response to my offer for help.

My gaze roams the kitchen. The breakfast table has been turned into a pastry station. It’s covered in flour, and a large lump of dough and a rolling pin are sitting there waiting for Jillian’s return.

I make myself useful and begin drying dishes so that I don’t do something incredibly stupid like ogle all four brothers. It’s already embarrassing enough how much Logan’s presence seems to affect me. My stomach tingles with nerves, and my hands feel clammy every time I’m around him.

In the adjoining dining room, the breakfast conversation is loud.

With wide eyes, I take in the scene before me. There’s arguing, and laughing, and bacon being stolen from a plate, and one brother slapping another upside the head . . . it’s a lot different from what I’m used to as an only child. My life is quiet, and so to be thrust into the middle of this is a little disorienting.

“Austen, grab the lady a chair, would you,” Grandpa Al says from the other end of the table.

Austen hops up, momentarily abandoning his own plate of eggs to fetch me a chair from the breakfast table, and carries it over to the larger dining table. He sets it down next to Logan, who still hasn’t acknowledged my presence. Okay, that’s awkward.

Standing uncomfortably in the doorway, I’m not sure how to feel, but I shoot Grandpa Al a grateful look. He stabs a sausage link with his fork and goes right back to his breakfast.

Jillian steers me by the shoulders toward the breakfast table. “Sit. Eat something.” She places a mug of coffee in front of me.

I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head with a firm look. “You’ve done enough already. Besides, we can’t spoil these boys too much, or they’ll never leave my house and go off and find themselves wives.”

At this, Matt, who’s seated beside me, chuckles. “I’m not in the market for a wife, Mom.”

“And how could you be when they all leave your bed after one night?” Austen says with an eye roll.

Matt grins and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Plenty of satisfied customers, though.”

“For goodness’ sake, behave, boys,” Jillian says, handing me a clean plate.

I fill it with two strips of bacon and a blueberry scone.

“A truly satisfied customer would be a repeat customer,” Grandpa Al says from one end of the table.

When it dawns on me that he’s teasing his grandson about basically being a hit-it-and-quit-it player, inappropriate laughter bursts from my lips.