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“I smell cinnamon.”

“Sean already asked. The rolls aren’t ready.”

Trent walks in.

“How long?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

He sits beside Sean.

“I’ll wait.”

“You could go back to sleep.”

“No.”

Holt appears.

Then Taylor.

Will enters last.

Within two minutes, all seven men fill the kitchen.

Again.

Arthur finds the bacon.

Kane starts coffee.

Trent takes plates from the cabinet.

Holt rescues the first pan after I nearly forget it while answering Taylor’s questions about frosting.

Will stands beside me and begins cutting biscuit dough.

“You’re doing that wrong,” I tell him.

“I’m using the cutter.”

“You’re twisting it.”

“So?”

“It seals the edges. They won’t rise properly.”

He looks at the biscuit in his hand.

“It’s dough.”

“It’s a biscuit.”

“It isn’t a biscuit yet.”

“Give me the cutter.”

He holds it away.