“Anyway,” Trin indicated the burritos she’d made for breakfast. “I thought I’d switch it up. That’s what you’d expect from a burrito, but it has eggs and bacon in it.”
“Weird.” Wilder grimaced at the platter of burritos.
“Says the vegan.” Evan laughed.
“I made you a tofu scramble one,” Trin offered. “I’ll go and fetch it.”
Ainsley shook her head while picking out the center of the burrito, obviously against the idea of lifting it to take a giant bite out of the thing the size of her head. She took a dainty portion. “Remember when you used to tell me to fetch things for you? Almost like I was NO10JO.” She batted her eyelashes at Hiker, a smile hiding below her expression.
“I never treated you like a dog,” Hiker grumbled while indicating the cyborg dog stationed on the other side of the threshold to the Castle’s dining hall.
“Oh, no,” Ainsley teased. “Dogs get treats and told how good they are.”
Hiker set his coffee mug down on the table with a little more force than he probably intended. “Are we truly doing this? I thought we were past all that.”
Ainsley coyly held her cup of steaming tea up to her chin, hiding her grin. “Oh, where would the fun be in letting go of centuries of being your housekeeper because I’d lost my memory saving your life?”
Hiker shook his head. “Obviously nowhere.”
Trin returned, carrying a plate with a single burrito on it, and laid it in front of Wilder.
“Thanks.” He looked at the rolled-up tortilla with uncertainty.
Sophia laughed and picked up her mammoth burrito. “You simply lift it and stick it in your pie hole.”
He watched her and copied the movement, cramming a bite into his mouth.
“Why is it that Mama Jamba and Wilder get custom orders every morning?” Evan pointed at Mother Nature, who was polishing off what would probably be her first of many plates of banana nut pancakes.
“Well,” Trin began, “I think it’s obvious why Mama Jamba gets whatever she wants.”
“Because of my southern charm,” Mama Jamba remarked, then handed the empty plate to Trin and pulled the next short stack toward her.
“Because she made everything on this planet,” Wilder corrected. “Including the planet.”
Evan, who still hadn’t touched his burrito, folded his arms over his chest. “I once made a table out of old wood.”
Mama Jamba patted Evan on the arm. “It was very nice. Not sturdy or well-made, but nice nevertheless.”
“Thanks.” Evan cheered up slightly.
Trin continued, “Wilder has special dietary needs.”
“Wilder,” Evan held up a single finger and corrected, “has special dietary preferences because he’s a special pain in the ass due to the way he was born.”
“It’s true,” Wilder affirmed and ate a bite of his burrito. “What’s your excuse?”
Trin ignored their banter, pursing her lips. “I made the breakfast burritos because I thought you’d like them. If you don’t, then fine. I won’t try anything new.”
“Sounds good to me.” Hiker eyed his burrito, which was also untouched.
Trin stormed back to the kitchen, her black boots making noise as she stomped.
When the kitchen door swung shut, Wilder shook his head at Evan. “Smooth move, mate. Please teach me your ways, Casanova.”
Evan kept looking over his shoulder, back at the kitchen—worry on his face. “Man, I didn’t mean to offend her.”
“Still, it’s who you are, and there’s no way of avoiding it,” Wilder stated.
“It would seem,” Evan grumbled, turned back, and glared down at the burrito.
“Don’t worry.” Ainsley sounded sympathetic. “You guys will find your way. It’s hard when you serve someone and also are in a more complex relationship.”
Evan nodded and picked up the burrito, not at all looking sure about the food.
“Does anyone want to know what I think about Evan fancying the housekeeper?” Hiker speared a roasted potato with his fork.
“Not really, son.” Mama Jamba snapped her fingers, and a skiing magazine appeared beside her half-eaten short stack of pancakes.
“You also could be a little nicer to Trin,” Ainsley said to Hiker and nodded at the burrito. “She’s trying and putting her spin on the job.”
“You seem to have loved the change to the menu,” Hiker teased and eyed the burrito she dissected with a fork and knife but didn’t eat much of.
“I thought it was an interesting adventure,” Ainsley said smugly.
“I like eggs for breakfast, not adventures,” Hiker argued.
“This is delicious!” Evan exclaimed, having taken a bite finally. “What’s wrong with you old sticks in the muds? Breakfast burritos are the best thing ever!”
Wilder leaned forward in the other dragonrider’s direction. “I think she heard you in the kitchen,” he whispered. “I think the chickens who laid those eggs far outside the Gullington heard you.”
Evan took another bite and chewed with a delighted smile. “You miss eggs, don’t you?”
Wilder shook his head. “The only thing I miss is stealing your bacon.”
Both guys’ eyes darted to the tray in front of them where there was one hash brown left. They seemed to both have the same idea, rushing to pick up their fork to snag the potato. Sophia had less decorum. She reached out and grabbed it with her fingers, stuck it in her mouth, and winked at Wilder and Evan, who both regarded her with offended expressions.
“While you two battle, the real culprit will steal your treasure,” she said through a mouthful of hash brown. “So be careful what you spend your time doing.”
Hiker cleared his throat and pushed away his plate. “Speaking of which. I want you all in my office straight after breakfast. We have to discuss this Rogue Rider situation. Something tells me that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Sir, your optimism is always so inspiring,” Evan commented and continued to eat his burrito.
Hiker stood, his presence commanding. “I’ll see you all momentarily. We have much to discuss.”
Chapter Three
“What company makes the best snow gear?” Mama Jamba asked no one in particular from her place on the Chesterfield in Hiker’s office. She was thumbing through a magazine and eyeing a pair of skis.
Hiker scowled at her from behind his desk. “How am I supposed to know?”
“How do you not know that?” Evan asked Mother Nature from where he perched against the far wall next to the bank of windows overlooking the Pond. “Don’t you pretty much know everything?”
She shrugged. “Who has time to keep up with all that stuff?”
“Papa Creola,” Sophia answered from her seat beside the old woman.
“Where do you plan to go?” Wilder asked Mama Jamba, hanging over the back of the sofa, draped between the two women.
She shrugged again. “Maybe the Alps or the Rockies, or I’ll make a new mountain range.”
“Or you can help us with our latest enemies, the newest set of Rogue Riders,” Hiker urged, irritation in his voice.