“They are crazy good,” Harper answered through a second mouthful.
“You know why that is?”
Harper shook her head.
Frankie grinned. “Because they’re made with actual sugar and not that fake crap in the kitchen.”
Harper smirked. “You clearly don’t know what life in L.A. is like.”
“Nor do I want to,” Frankie said. “This right here is all I need.”
Harper nodded, her gaze turning toward the water. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?”
“How are you going to befriend Mitch if he hates everyone?”
Harper took another bite of her oatmeal bar and chewed. “I have no idea. But you know what we should do today?”
Frankie shrugged. “I was going to work, unless you make me a better offer.”
Harper grinned. “I can do that.”
ChapterSeventeen
Mitch woke up not because he was ready but because of the noise Joyce was making in the kitchen. It wasn’t that much noise, but it wasn’t peace and quiet, either. At least it wasn’t barking.
He groaned, his body stiff from sleeping on the couch in his office. He gingerly sat up, rolling his shoulders and working his head back and forth to loosen things up.
He really needed to get a decent night’s sleep. In his bed. Tonight, he would. If that woman next door could keep her enormous mutt corralled.
An image of her appeared in his head. Shapely legs illuminated by moonlight and those big eyes that had looked up at him, already filled with an apology for disturbing him.
She shouldn’t have let the dog run onto his property in the first place.
More noise from the kitchen, but it was the scent of coffee that pushed him to his feet. There were baked goods, too. What kind, he wasn’t sure, but the smell was making his stomach rumble. He scrubbed his hands over his face and decided to brave the inevitable encounter with Joyce.
He walked out to the kitchen.
Joyce was taking a tray of muffins out of the oven. Another tray sat on a cooling rack already. She glanced in his direction. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon. Didn’t sleep well, eh?”
He looked at the time. It was just turning eleven. Not exactly afternoon. “No. Your new friend’s dog is a menace.”
Joyce straightened and put the muffins on the rack next to the other tray before narrowing her eyes at him, her skepticism on full display. “You wouldn’t be talking about that sweet pup Archie now, would you?”
“I don’t know the beast’s name.”
She pursed her lips. “Archie’s no beast. He’s a dear creature. Sweet as pie.”
It was just like Joyce to take the dog’s side. “So you didn’t hear him barking like a maniac last night?”
She shook her head. “Nothing gets through my white noise machine. You should try one yourself.” She tipped her head toward the counter. “There’s coffee and cinnamon apple muffins. The new batch is hot, but the first should be cool. Help yourself. I’ve got cleaning to get done.”
She picked up her caddy of cleaning supplies and left.
He got out a big mug and filled it with coffee. He stood at the counter drinking it until it was half gone, then he refilled it, grabbed two of the cooled muffins and went outside. Another stupidly beautiful day. Wretched sun. How was he supposed to work in these kinds of conditions?
He sat and ate the muffins and drank more coffee until he felt relatively human. The muffins were very good. They weren’t just cinnamon apple, they had raisins and chopped walnuts in them, too. If Joyce asked him what he thought of the muffins, he’d complain about the nuts later, but he didn’t really mind them that much.
In fact, he sometimes wondered if she put nuts in the baked goods just to see if he was paying attention.
