I sense Hopper looming beside me. I look up to find him staring at my plate.
“You gonna eat all those?” he asks, earning my laugh. It’s all in good fun, and yet Karen hops off her wooden crate and chases him away with her spatula and “Get outta here!” like he’s a stray dog.
He scuttles out the door, snatching his winter coat on the way.
My breath catches as Tyler passes him on the way in. He gets more attractive every time I see him.
“The man with the gold has come for breakfast!” Karen exclaims in the same singsong tone she used for me.
“I heard there was a hot meal in here.” Pretty eyes drift over faces, stalling a few extra beats on mine.
I feel a stupid grin forming, so I shovel in a forkful of pancakes to quell it. Only it’s too much food, and I’m left struggling, pretending that my mouth isn’t full. This can’t be an attractive look.
“Hungry?” Karen asks, already loading up a plate.
“Not as hungry as Marie, from the looks of it.” Tyler’s smile is sly as he shucks his coat and hangs it.
I focus on chewing and marveling at the way Tyler moves, remembering what’s under that thick wool sweater and ski pants.
“Ration’s five pancakes and a sausage link. Two for you, because you need your strength.” Karen winks as she hands him his plate. “Just don’t tell Hopper.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He sidles in beside me, though there’s more space on the other side. “Good?”
I moan in answer, unable to manage a coherent word.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs, digging in.
“You’ve surprised a lot of people, rookie.” Gary shuffles over to pour himself more coffee. “You’re a real contender now.”
“As opposed to before?” There’s a hint of arrogance in Tyler’s tone, but in this case, it seems warranted. He did win the Finnmark race.
“Alaska’s its own beast, as I’m sure you’ve already learned. Hope you got a few hours of decent sleep last night.”
“Started out rough, but I definitely didn’t want to leave my bed when I woke up.”
I keep chewing, hoping my flushed cheeks aren’t too obvious.
“Yeah, I’ll bet a warm tent is better than a bale of straw out in the snow.” Gary sets the empty pot back on the machine.
“You empty it, you brew it!” Karen chirps, not even turning from her griddle.
“Jeez, you got eyes on the back of your head, woman?”
She responds with a raucous cackle. “Sure do. And that thing takes twenty minutes, so you better get started.”
Gary smooths fingers over his graying mustache while he studies the machine, a perplexed frown on his face as he lifts a flap and tests a few buttons. “This is different from mine.”
“Here. I got it.” Tyler shifts past me, his hand brushing my thigh in the process—whether by accident or intentionally, I can’t tell—and sets his plate down to free his hands.
Another plus for Tyler: Doesn’t balk at stepping in where needed, even for something as trivial as making coffee. My brother-in-law Jim would not have budged.
The list of appealing qualities grows.
Saves neglected animals, check.
Helps injured people, check.
Incredible kisser, even while unconscious. Check, check.
Gary moves out of the way to watch Tyler measure the grinds. “You got some good-lookin’ dogs there.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says smoothly. “They come from strong lines of distance runners.” A practiced response that he’s probably given countless times.
“Oh, no doubt! Winning that big Finnish race, now makin’ good time in the Iditarod as a rookie. There’s talk you might win this. Wouldn’t that be something? It’s been decades since a rookie won.” Gary’s voice brims with approval. “You planning on breeding any of those dogs for sale? ’Cause I know of a few people already askin’。”
“I’m considering it. To the right people.” Tyler sets the brewer, collects his plate, and shifts back to his spot beside me.
Gary’s momentarily distracted by a question from the other volunteer, and I’m guessing that’s fine with Tyler because he doesn’t seem overly interested in continuing that conversation.
I’ve finally swallowed my pancakes. “I didn’t think you were serious about breeding them.” I thought he said that in a moment of spite.
“I wasn’t. But I also was.” He carves into his sausage link. “The idea’s growing on me.”