I quickly measure out the ingredients, wipe the muffin tin down with oil so they won’t stick to the pan, and grab the strawberry jam. Muffins that taste like doughnuts filled with jam are the best, but Van likes them jam-free, so I leave a few without.
It only takes about ten minutes to whip them up and put them in the oven. While I wait for them to bake, I melt butter and prepare the cinnamon-sugar topping.
The muffins have just come out of the oven when I hear the crunch and pop of gravel under tires. I quickly pop them out of the tin, but I don’t have time to let them cool. I grab a pair of tongs and dip the first muffin in the butter, then allow it to drip for a few seconds before I roll it in the cinnamon-and-sugar mix.
I manage to get four done before there’s a knock at the door. The one that opens into the garage, rather than the one that opens to the landing outside.
I wipe my hands on my apron and rush to open the door, moving aside as Van backs into the loft carrying my reading chair. Aaron appears at the other end. It’s a bit loud, being hot pink with gray polka dots, but it will go well with the yellow walls and the navy-and-white wallpaper I picked out.
“Where’s this thing going?” Aaron grunts.
“You can set it over there for now. I’ll figure out placement later.” I motion to the corner.
Dillion appears a few seconds later, holding the seat cushion and the gray lumbar pillow that says I LOVE BOOKS MORE THAN BOYS. It’s not untrue. Good books very rarely let you down.
“Oh, wow. Why does it smell so good in here?” Dillion tosses the pillow on my bed and looks around the space, her eyes widening when she notices the fresh paint and the new wallpaper.
“Right? What is that? Some kind of candle?” Van asks.
Aaron and Van carry my chair across the room and tuck it into a corner, out of the way. I’ll move it later so it has a better position in the room and acts as functional art.
“Wow. When the heck did you have time to paint and hang wallpaper?” Van asks, but he’s not looking at me; he’s looking at Aaron.
“He didn’t. I did.” I clasp my hands behind my back, waiting to see what they’re going to say and if Aaron will make a snide remark about the color.
“When did you have time to do this?” Van asks. “And since when do you know how to paint? Or wallpaper?”
“Last week. And I watched a couple of DIY videos.” I’d like to say it wasn’t that hard, but it sure was a lot of work. Still, I think it came out decent for a first-timer.
“The color looks great. I would never have the balls to paint a room that shade of yellow, but it works,” Dillion says.
“Thanks. I looked at a bunch of Pinterest pictures and thought it would complement the space, especially with the east-facing windows.”
“I’m glad you didn’t paint the entire place that color, or we’d all have burned-out retinas.”
And there’s the comment I was waiting for.
“You wanna grab the couch now, Van?” Aaron starts heading for the stairs.
“Sure, sounds good. The place looks great, Teag.” Van gives me the thumbs-up and disappears back downstairs with Aaron.
Dillion starts to follow, so I assume I should probably come down and help with the cushions, even though I’d prefer to finish dipping and rolling the muffins while they’re still warm.
Dillion spins around, though, and nearly crashes into me. “Shit. Sorry.” She grabs me by the shoulders to steady me and herself. “Okay, so what the heck is going on with you and Aaron?”
“Nothing?” It’s more question than anything else, because I honestly have no idea.
She shakes her head. “Not buying it. He’s being super weird around you.”
“If by weird you mean mostly grumpy and jerkish, I would have to agree.”
“He wasn’t jerkish at lunch.”
“I had something he wanted.”
“He can get Boones’s literally anytime he wants. It’s on his way home from work, so I don’t think that’s it.”
“What’s his story, anyway?” I glance toward the open door, the sound of Aaron’s and Van’s voices carrying up the stairs.
“I’ll tell you later, after he leaves,” she whispers. “What in the world is that glorious smell?”
“Muffins that taste like doughnuts.”
“Is that a candle scent? I swear those companies thrive on masochism, making something inedible smell that good.”
“No, I made muffins that taste like doughnuts. I was finishing them off when you guys showed up.” I motion to the stove, where most of the muffins are still naked. “Do you want one?”
“Do bears eat garbage?”
I smile. “Yes. Yes, they do.”
I love Dillion. She’s not like any of the women I used to hang out with back in Chicago. She’s down to earth and generally doesn’t give a crap about things like style and makeup. I think I’ve seen her wear lip gloss once. And her hair is mostly in a ponytail because it’s curly and unruly.
She follows me to the stove, and I hand her a plate with one of the dipped, jam-filled muffins. She takes a generous bite, cinnamon sugar falling on the plate and sticking to her lips. “Oh my gosh,” she mumbles through a mouthful of muffin. “These are the best muffins in the history of the universe.”
“Thanks, they’re super easy to make. I can give you the recipe if you want.” The muffins have cooled enough that I don’t need to use tongs to dip or roll them anymore. I make quick work of those and set the last one on the plate as Van appears at the top of the stairs, carrying one end of the couch. It’s wide for the doorway, so they rotate it on its side and do some maneuvering to get it up the final stairs and into the loft.
The guys set the couch down once they’re inside the loft, and Aaron lifts the hem of his shirt, swiping away beads of sweat from his forehead and exposing his delicious, rippling abs.
“So yummy,” Dillion mumbles.
“I know.”
“I’m talking about the muffins, not Aaron,” she whispers.
“Oh.” I tear my eyes away from him and shoot my soon-to-be sister-in-law a warning look.
“Where do you want this?” Van asks, still out of breath.
“With the back of the couch facing the wallpapered wall, please.”
Dillion shoves the last of the muffin into her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans, then decides that’s not going to work and washes them in the sink. While Van and Aaron move the couch into position, Dillion and I grab the cushions from the truck.
When we return, Aaron is standing by the fridge, drinking a root beer, and Van is holding a mostly empty glass of water while drooling over the muffins.
“The ones on the small plate are jamless; the rest have strawberry jam in them. Feel free to help yourself,” I tell them as I put the cushions back on the couch.
“I love you more than words, sis.” Van shoves an entire muffin into his mouth.
I cringe and look away, not wanting to see the sugar and cinnamon sprinkling the floor because he’s failed to use a plate.
“You need to try one of these, man, they’re the best,” Van says to Aaron through a garbled mouthful of food.