Page 112 of Donovan's Men

“Sure.” No missing the amusement. “So she knows about—”

I cleared my throat. “Well, she was there when I called Tyson to ask him to check on Cole, and she deduced…” I swapped out toasted bread for untoasted and put the warm ones in the oven on a tray. “And…I might’ve gotten a little tipsy.” Jesus, I didnotwant to remember the third party. Or had it been the fourth?

“A little tipsy.” Tyson stood at the entrance to the kitchen, languorously leaning against the doorframe. While Hamish was lithe, Tyson was solid. Not as solid as me, but still pretty muscular. He filled out the black sweater perfectly, and those jeans encased his thick thighs and his substantial package admirably. “You’re gawking.”

Swiftly, I moved to stand before him.

I kissed him hard.

Then I returned to dish out the eggs into a glass container. “Set the table?”

“With pleasure.”

Things got a little crowded as Tyson nabbed everything he needed and Hamish finished cutting the tomatoes. By the time I had the bacon resting on paper towels to absorb the grease, everything was done.

Hamish sat and—I swore to God—clapped his hands when I presented the toast, tomato slices, and eggs.

Tyson guffawed. “Tired of oatmeal?”

I cocked my head.

“He eats the shitevery day.” Tyson scrunched his nose. “I only eat it when I’m working. And, like, only in the winter.”

Hamish mock glared.

This time, I guffawed.

We didn’t say a word for the first five minutes while we inhaled the food. Both men murmured their thanks, but that was about it.

Tyson had turned off the television, so we sat in silence. I couldn’t even hear the city below. “Good soundproofing?”

Hamish nodded. “Yeah, and Jervis at this end is pretty quiet. I hear garbage trucks and stuff, but the buses are too far away. In the spring and summer, though, I like to open the windows. Not just for fresh air, but because birds sometimes come up this high.”

I glanced to his balcony. “Probably because you have a feeder.”

He shrugged, but I caught the hint of a smile. “Yeah, possibly because of that.”

“Does this building allow pets?”

“Yep. Small dogs and cats. No more than two per unit.”

“You ever consider getting a pet?”

He glanced up. “Yeah, frequently. But with my work and crazy schedule, I’d be nuts to try.”

“Cats are pretty self-sufficient. You could get two, and they’d keep each other company.”

“Or drive each other nuts.” Tyson shook his head. “We had two lovely cats. One died suddenly, and the other was bereft. We got her a companion kitten.” He snickered. “Oh my God, those two hated each other until the day she died.”

“Ouch.” Hamish’s eyes softened. “What happened to the companion kitty?”

“My wife got him in the divorce.” Tyson swiped a piece of bacon, eyed it, grinned, and ate it.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, the damn thing never liked me. He’d have made my life miserable if I’d tried for sole custody or even shared.” He eyed another piece. “Thank God we never had kids.”

His comment hit me square in the chest. I’d assumed because he seemed like a guy who would be honest about something like that—but having that assumption confirmed reassured me.