First off, thank you all so much for your support and feedback on For Your Sake. I wasn’t sure what direction to go in once I finished it. I had planned on going somewhere different, but wound up combining efforts with a different idea in order to bring you Taz’s story.
Below is the synopsis, prologue and Chapter 1. Fair warning, Ch 1 is a tad explicit. You’ve been warned! Hope you enjoy and thank you all, again, so much!
There are three things Gabriel ‘Taz’ Morrell loves: his club, his ma and women – and exactly in that order. Freedom to spend his days and nights doing what needs to be done for the Mountain Skulls MC plays a big part in why the thirty six year old biker remains single – much to the displeasure of his former rock groupie mother. Black hair, pierced face and inked body, he’s the go-to guy when extreme measures need to be taken to extract information – proclivities which more than earned his childhood nickname, The Tasmanian Devil. His bond with his brothers, the call of the club and the admiration for the woman who bore and raised him are pretty much all he needs.
Enter Karen Hanson.
A personal crisis cost her everything – from her Cincinnati high-rise, to her managerial position. Though innocent, her association with a man she trusted brought shame to the upper-crust life her family encircles. Counseled to ‘lay low and start over somewhere’ she packs up what’s left of her life and heads east on Interstate 70 – right into West Virginia and up to the small town of Tippitt. More her father’s strong, independent daughter than the puppet her sister is to their manipulative mother, Karen secures employment, a roof over her head and a steady assortment of interesting town acquaintances.
Including one Taz Morrell.
The devilish looking outlaw can’t resist a pretty face, and Karen’s sudden presence in his town raises his curiosity – and piques his interest. Though content being free to love whatever woman strikes his fancy, he finds himself gravitating towards the green eyed beauty – a move which breaks his personal rules for living. But the saying is true – that all it takes is the right woman to throw a man off his course and Karen sends Taz to the edge. Playful banter soon becomes physical desire which spin their respective worlds. Karen never came to town looking for a relationship and Taz has fought tooth and nail to avoid his mother’s quest to get him settled. Neither can seem to avoid the other, though his lifestyle is a stark contrast to hers while her appearance in Tippitt poses a dozen questions.
And when answers are finally given, a common thread between what Karen’s trying to put behind her and a series of crimes assailing the town of Tippitt puts Taz in the middle. The man who loves the company of many women now finds himself championing one.
There were pros to having a brother-in-law who was a judge. Having your name kept out of your fiancé’s embezzlement scandal was a biggie as far as Karen Hanson was concerned.
The cons, of course, were the aftermath. The damage control. The caution of flying under the radar while an attorney she couldn’t afford worked his magic to keep any association Karen had to Preston Vine out of the media. Her massive saving grace throughout their relationship was insisting upon keeping her job as a loan manager at Huntington National Bank in Cincinnati rather than take the plunge with him in his upstart hedge fund business. For two years Preston had grown Vine Holdings, Inc. after taking his expertise, and current client list, from a former employer where he shined as a personal investment specialist.
And for two years he tried to woo Karen to join him – to work side by side in business as well as in life. Designer clothes, spontaneous get-away weekends, sumptuous dinners at five star restaurants while drinking obscenely expensive wine – none of that pressed her to leave her job, nor her luxury high-rise condo, to co-mingle anything with Preston until she was sure. And when he presented her with a three carat solitaire in a platinum setting, her mother couldn’t set the date quick enough. Nothing gave Betsy Hanson more pleasure than the chance to show up those ladies at her weekly book ‘n brandy group with the news of marrying another daughter off to another financially prestigious man.
Unfortunately, Karen didn’t share her mother’s enthusiasm for high fallutin’ bragging. This is what a woman was supposed to want – well, at least according to the Bible of Betsy. A man of taste for the finer things in life steeped in financial and social prestige like her sister’s husband was just the kind of man Karen’s mother wanted for her. But whereas her sister, Shelia Watkins, was formed from the same mold as their mother, Karen took after her laid back dad who analyzed everything to death. And the more she looked at that sparkling stunner on her finger, the more it felt like a choke collar cutting off her air supply. Something in her gut told her to hold off ordering the ‘save the date’ cards Betsy pushed for so Karen could be married and carrying a grand-baby before she turned thirty one.
And then it all came crashing down.
“More coffee, miss?”
Saved from having to relive that mess in her head all over again, Karen picked up the stoneware cup to finish what was left. Droplets of coffee plunked back into the saucer where they formed a ring before placing it back down. “Yes, please.”
Coffee and uncertainty pretty much dominated Karen’s being until she could score a paycheck. After the fiasco cleared and all traces of her involvement with Preston Vine were under wraps, Karen had sold her high-rise, brand new Impala and especially the engagement ring to pay off the lucrative attorney Judge Samuel Watkins enlisted to clear his wife’s sister’s name. It left her with barely five grand to her name.
She then hocked every gift Preston had ever given her and consigned most of her designer clothes – with the exception of her coveted, red-soled Louboutins – scraping together enough for a 2004 Ford Focus with a busted radio and sporadically functioning air conditioning. She tucked aside the rest to cover at least six months of rent and living expenses.
The waitress finished pouring. “Can I get ya menu, hon? You look a little peaked.”
Yeah, you would too if all you lived on for the past four hours was a large, iced Starbucks, peppermint Lifesavers and half an everything bagel stuffed with cream cheese, Karen thought, even as her stomach grumbled. She had at least another hour on the road and didn’t want to rely on motel vending machine fare later on. “I think I’ll take a patty melt.”
The waitress pulled a pencil out of a tight bun at the back of her head along with a pad out of her apron pocket. “Fries or slaw?”
“No thanks.” The grease and cheese would be enough for her empty stomach to take. “And a glass of ice water.”
Scribbling the order down, the waitress re-affixed the pencil back in her bun. “Be up in fifteen, hon.”
After traveling east on Interstate 70 since four p.m., Karen slumped down in the booth of the roadside diner – the vinyl seat cooling her bare arms and legs in this July heat. Not many people inside, considering it was a Friday night. She had long since clipped up her hair and was fanning herself with a napkin. It was closing in on eight and what should’ve been a straight four hour ride turned into a drawn-out nightmare due to traffic, bathroom breaks and strange sounds coming from the Focus. But she wanted to get over the state line and into a comfy motel bed before ten p.m. Getting away as far as possible from the disaster her life had taken several months ago and starting over away from the glare of the big city – and the even bigger glare of Betsy Hanson – was priority.
Karen was way out of her comfort zone as she never went through life on the fly. Like her father, she carefully thought out every move, every major decision. To put her entire life up for sale, pack what was left in a ten year old clunker and drive it straight across central Ohio was uncharted waters. A diet of coffee and hard candies kept her functioning until she reached the destination her brother-in-law suggested.
“Northern West Virginia, Karen,” Judge Watkins told her. “Straight down 70. Quiet. Out of the way. Close to Penn and only a three hour ride back home on a good day.”
Yeah, where her sister regarded her with silent pity while her mother turned up her nose at her. And Karen hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. It didn’t matter. She had been engaged to a man who was secretly siphoning client funds. Shame by association. Shame to her mother who couldn’t face her friends for weeks after her daughter’s intended was all over the news. But Karen didn’t feel one iota of that shame, getting up in good ol’ Betsy’s face to remind her how it could’ve been:
“Imagine if I listened to you, mother, and quit my……how did you state it….lowly bank job to join Preston in his business? Those pretentious bitches you booze it up with over nauseating romance books would kick you out of that little club for having a daughter suspected of possibly aiding and abetting an embezzler.”
Her mother had wanted to slap her when she spewed that much-deserved venom. For the first time in a long time, Karen had never felt more empowered – especially at a time where she had less than nothing.
According to the map, I70 would take her directly into Wheeling. Reaching for her iPhone, she did a quick search of the nearest motel off the exit just as the waitress brought her sandwich and water. The delicious aroma made her mouth water as she found a Super 8 right off the exit. With a quick call to confirm an available room with WiFi and possible long-term rates, she put her phone away, grabbed a triangular section of her section and took a much needed bite. For the first time in months she felt……relaxed. Away from where she grew up, away from the pressure of her status-hungry mother, away from the mess she barely escaped from because she chose to follow her gut rather than cave to a life she was bred to have. Perhaps being out of her comfort zone was a good thing. Maybe an unstructured plan was something she needed to experience. To take a chance, find a job and cheap place to meet her simple needs, kick back and see what happens.
She hungrily devoured the rest of her sandwich which pushed down the lump in her throat. Finishing her water, she flagged down the waitress who brought over the check. Reaching into her purse, Karen pulled her wallet out and peeled off a ten and two singles and left it on the table before leaving. Taking one last bathroom break, she was out the door and back on the road.
Forty five minutes later she pulled off I70 in Wheeling, immediately spotting the looming, neon sign for the motel. After checking in, she weighed up what she absolutely needed from what was stuffed into her car. Clothes – definitely clothes. All of them. Toiletries, laptop, chargers, makeup, hair stuff and pilates mat (did she ever need to stretch after this ride!).
After hauling everything into the stuffy room, she went to crank up the A/C then rummaged through one of her suitcases for a pair of knit shorts and a tank top then sought out her bottle of shower gel, shampoo and conditioner. The bathroom was standard white from the counter to the porcelain to the shiny linoleum squares to the towels. A wicker basket sat on the counter containing little wrapped soaps, mini bottle of mouthwash and a shower cap. She ran the shower to hot as she could stand then washed almost six hours on the road off her body.
After toweling off and dressing, she combed out her wet hair as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Thank God the only evidence of her mother’s fire engine red hair was in the form of highlights, unlike her sister Shelia who inherited a head of the entire color. She had her dad to thank for her mostly dark hair and pale green eyes. She had her dad to thank for a lot of things – mainly being the calm presence which kept her from strangling her mother on several occasions.
Grabbing her purse then hopped in the middle of the bed. As exhausted as she was, she had two things to do first. Pulling out her phone, she texted her dad. ‘In Wheeling. Staying at Super 8. Tell mom in a.m. Don’t wanna talk now. Love u’
Hitting ‘send’, she fished out her day planner. That was another thing she was old school about. She liked writing things down – schedules, lists, to-do’s, anything. It was a much faster way to purge than entering it into her phone calendar. She barely had the thumbs to text. Sliding the mechanical pencil out of the elastic holder, she flipped the calendar pages – past February when Preston presented her with a diamond on Valentine’s Day, past March when his office got raided, past April when he was indicted and completely past May and June while his ugly trial and sentencing stretched out. Under strict orders from her attorney she didn’t venture within ten miles of the proceedings. Her life had consisted of going to work with the sympathetic eyes of her co-workers upon her. But it was a hell of a lot better than holing up in her condo ditching calls from Betsy.
Plain piece of paper in front of her, she began her list. First and foremost, get a job. She couldn’t do anything till Monday, but needed to go to sleep tonight knowing she had mapped out a plan. She had several thousand left which she was saving towards a security deposit if she decided to stay out this way so she needed to get flush as soon as possible. Firing up her laptop, she Googled a map of northern West Virginia then did a search of area banks since that’s where her experience was. She Mapquested directions from Wheeling on up – into Wellsburg, Weirton and New Cumberland with distance being anywhere from twenty to forty minutes apart. Maybe she’d do a dry run tomorrow or Sunday to get a feel for the area, but also wanted to be mindful of gas.
Her eyelids felt like anvils as sleep was desperately pulling her to move under the covers. Before closing her laptop, her phone beeped. Her dad texted back. ‘Please come back home. Never wanted this.’
God, she hated breaking his heart. Ed Hanson was a saint of a man. He had to be to put up with Betsy. Karen never understood how those two stayed married, assuming her mother wasn’t the status hungry vulture she was when they met. Ed was a forensic accountant with a prestigious public accounting firm in downtown Cincinnati who played tennis every Saturday and sang in the church choir every Sunday. He liked his life simple and quiet which is why he preferred to do his thing while Betsy did hers. After sliding a St. Christopher medal into the sun visor of her Focus, he had hugged her – hard – his voice cracking as he kissed her forehead. “Come home soon.”
Fighting that lump in her throat again, she texted him back. ‘Need to do this. Maybe when things die down. Please understand.’
He never texted back.
Moving the laptop to the night stand, she found the charger and juiced up the battery. Before closing out for good, she looked at the map one more time. Above New Cumberland, at the tip of the northern most point of the state, was Tippitt. Quirky, yet apropos.
Finally getting under the covers, she lifted her semi-dried hair and let her head sink into the pillow. The name ‘Tippitt’ still on her brain caused her to stifle a laugh. She wasn’t sure why she held it back. It should’ve felt good to finally find humor in something.
Nothing like a little afternoon tail – times two.
Unburying his face from an nicely, trimmed pussy hovering above, Taz looked down at the blonde riding him. “Put some effort into it, gingersnap. Some of us gotta get back to work.”
The blonde picked up the pace, bobbing up and down as Taz thrusted his pelvis up to pitch his cock even further up her snug little snatch. “Much better.” With his trademark devilish smile, he went back to his feast, lapping his studded tongue over the brunette’s clit. One hand anchored her hip while shoving two fingers of the other deep inside. She sighed first, then squealed. Loud.
“Guess I found Disneyland,” he gloated. The brunette was on the brink. And judging from the blonde’s little cries, so was she. “C’mon ladies, let’s bring this threesome home.”
Several more moments of licking, shoving, thrusting and rocking, the trio finally orgasmed. In what order, it didn’t matter. Taz didn’t need confirmation. His cock and fingers felt all the evidence he needed, which was absolute heaven. The brunette moved away towards the head of the bed while the blonde carefully climbed off, both lying on their stomachs. Sitting up, Taz peeled off and discarded the condom before rubbing his hands together. “Lunchtime’s over, sweet things,” he announced, giving both their asses a sharp slap. “Think ma’s got some pastry in the fridge. Go help yourselves. Then you gotta get dressed and book.”
With coy giggles, both women slid off the bed, careful to do so slowly and seductively, thrusting out ass and tits to give him the best view. Naked, they disappeared out of his old bedroom while he flopped back down. Twirling the barbell stud over his right brow, he checked the clock. He had exactly a half hour to gas up his bike then back to the body shop where he’d be up to his studded face in crumpled metal. Since his mom’s house was within pissing distance of the gas station and clubhouse, he figured he’d lay back and chill for another fifteen. Hell, he probably could’ve done that to the very last moment if he just ate his lunch – and his roast beef grinder! – in his dorm. It was certainly quiet enough there. Ben and Tanner were at the mill, Wes was manning the shop with a prospect while Vic, Aero and Doug were up in Ohio meeting with the Hogs before swinging over to southern Penn to discuss ‘vetting’ procedures with Antonio Conti. The consligliere for the Caprese family was ‘old school’ and preferred face time over anything that could be traced.
He sighed with satisfaction, stroking the brunette’s juices left behind on his beard before sucking his fingers like a lollipop. Damn, he loved pussy. Almost as much as loved the healthy fee coming in every month from the Caprese gambling enterprise. Weekly security at the ‘rings’ set up near the four Mountain Skull charters in-state, as well as two new ones waiting to be established as soon as Conti approved of the men Vic personally hand selected, fattened their wallets. Yeah, things were going good. Smooth. No drama. A good thing on the surface, but it itched a man like Taz. If his proclivity to inflict his own special kind of drama couldn’t be scratched he’d go stir crazy. Which is why he fucked like a freight train in multiples. Better than resorting to Dahmer-esque tactics on innocent, furry woodland creatures to expend his pent-up energy.
Bored just laying there, he sat up – his inked body from his clavicle to his torso, from wrist to shoulder was a sea of color against the white bed sheets. It was all invisible under long sleeves. His piercings, well…..that was a different story. His brows, nose, lip and tongue and nipples either bore studs, bars or miniscule hoops. Only his ears were kept clean of any metal. Combined with his demon-black hair, brows, goatee and eyes, he looked every inch the Tasmanian Devil his mother nicknamed him when he was ten. Twenty six years later, that name was symbolic with behavior far worse than being a mischievous rascal.
A squeak, sucked in voices then an opening door followed by a crash pricked his ears. What the hell were those bitches doing in there? Then a loud, familiar voice summed it up.
“Taz? You here………..what the hell!?”
Speaking of his mother.
Before he could pull on his jeans, both girls bolted back into the room, their hands doing a poor job of covering their naughty bits. Hearing footsteps closing in, he sat back on the bed and threw the covers over his lower half. No sense in giving his mother her second shock of the day. “In here.”
He really didn’t have to announce it. All his mother had to do was follow the trail of naked girls. And when she did, Janice Morrell stopped in the doorway looking a cross between pissed and mortified. She also looked as if she needed to lay off the tanning spray, but she insisted they camouflaged the wrinkles and age spots which crept up on her fifty-five year old face over time. Eyes made up with lilac shadow and spiky mascara went from her son to the two tarts jumping into their clothes. “Really, Taz?” Hand on hip, she really didn’t have to expound upon that.
“Little privacy, ma.”
“What’re you doing here?”
He smiled lasciviously. “Mid-day sustenance.”
“In my house?”
“You’re supposed to be at the bakery?”
His mother didn’t look as if she wanted to have this discussion as the girls shimmied their lovely assets out of the room, having to squeeze by Janice in the process. Giving the girls a chastising look, she turned it up on her son. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain your lap candy in my house.”
“I wonder why.”
“Girls haven’t cleaned.”
Janice huffed. “Haven’t I taught you to pick up your own shit?”
He shrugged. “They’re better at it. Chill, ma. I ain’t fuckin’ ten anymore.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Watch that mouth, Gabriel. You’re not too old for me to smack it, if I didn’t think I’d snag my hand on something.”
Taz cringed whenever he heard his given name. Of course, like most mothers, his used it when she was on the warpath. “Uh….can you leave so I can get dressed. Gotta get gas and back to the shop.”
Shaking her head as if he still was that ten year old rascal, Janice left. Taz popped up, closed the door then threw his clothes on as fast as he could. He loved his mother to death, but she was getting a bit ornery as she began her ascension towards sixty. He was all she had after conceiving him in a backseat at eighteen. But to suck her teeth at his sexual escapades after she most likely sucked half the dicks of every hair metal band in the eighties was a little hypocritical, not to mention, cringe-worthy.
But he knew her constant shift in moods was due to one thing and one thing only. She could care less what outlet he plugged his dick into, so long as the recipient had a ring on her finger and her future grand-child in her belly. What for? He had a roof over his head, money in his pocket, top shelf booze at his disposal and pussy who didn’t nag about taking out the garbage or hogging the remote or – geez Louise – drag him shopping. No thanks. No-fucking-thanks.
Slipping his cut over his mechanic’s shirt, he left the room. His room. Had been ever since they were able to move out of his aunt’s after his ma began making decent money as a grocery cashier by day and bartending at The Water Rock at night before it was shut down in the late eighties when the Skulls moved in and took over. Up until then, Janice Morrell had more interest in dressing up in spandex and attending rock concerts every other weekend rather than being a home maker. As Taz got older, he didn’t mind his mother leaving him on a Friday or Saturday night only for her to pour herself in the following morning reeking of booze and weed with backstage stickers still clinging to various parts of her body.
He couldn’t fault her for her past. She got knocked up young, the provider of that sperm which sprouted him being some dumb jock who was trying to piss off his girlfriend. His mom survived being kicked out of the house where her sister took her in, sowing the oats she missed out on later on by being a groupie until she finally got her shit together, stashed away her tips and paycheck to move into this tiny, 2-bedroom ranch which was still her home.
And still just as dated. Paisley carpet in muted brown spanned every room. Dark paneling covered the walls from floor to mid-way while pale yellow paint covered up to the ceiling. Mirrors covered in gold squiggles favored one wall in the living room furnished with a green tweed couch, beige La-Z-Boy recliner and matching brass and glass coffee and end tables. His mother was of the mind that if it wasn’t broke, it didn’t need fixing or replacing. It enabled her to save even more to open a little cookie and cupcake place in the center which, over time, ballooned into Sugar Me, named after her favorite Def Leppard song.
After washing his hands and face in the bathroom, he headed to the kitchen. He found his mother leaning up against the gold counter top, cigarette in mouth, lighter in hand. “Didn’t answer my question, ma.” He opened the fridge, leaned in and pulled out a mini éclair. “Why’re you home?”
Flicking the silver lighter, Janice puffed on a Marlboro. “Closed up. Took a half day. Place was a zoo this weekend, so I’m tanked.”
Taz wasn’t buying it. Not one bit. His mother never – ever – closed up early. Tuesday was the bakery’s only official ‘closed’ day. That’s when a service came in to do a thorough cleaning. State officials could be pricks about these things. Shoving the éclair in his mouth, he grabbed a half gallon of milk. “I ain’t stupid, ma. You’re lyin’. What’s up.”
He went to chug from the container, only to wisely reach for a glass after a glare from his mother. “Nothing’s up, Taz. Just……tired.”
Washing the pastry down, he then pulled the cigarette out of her mouth. “Then stop smoking and go lay down.” He tossed the cigarette in the sink and ran the faucet.
“Shit, Taz. I only got three left.”
“I don’t give a fuck, ma.” He ignored his mother’s look at his obscenity. It wasn’t as if she were a virgin to the word, but he tried to respect her by keeping his language clean. Then he went and nailed two bitches in his old bed. Damn, he was a hypocritical douche. “You’re beat. You’re home. Lay off the tobacco and go rest. I’ll stop by after work, bring Chinese or somethin’. I mean it. I don’t want you……”
“Alright, enough.” Janice pressed blood-red polished fingers to her temples. Stacks of rubber and various metal bracelets ringed both wrists. “You talk too much.”
He grinned. “Part of my charm.”
“How about using some of that charm to get a decent girl?”
Here we go again.
She held up her hand, eyes winced closed. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just….you’re pushing forty. Time to think long-term. Ben did.”
Taz shrugged, swigging more milk. “He lucked out. Smart, knows her shit. Plus, you see the body on ‘er?”
“Yeah – and it’s pregnant.”
And here comes the second thorn in Janice’s side.
“You ain’t gonna let this go, huh ma?”
He knew that look. She gave it to him often. The ‘why can’t I get you to understand where I’m coming from as a mother?’ look. “I don’t want you to wind up alone. I’m not gonna be around forever for you to crash on that couch every Sunday and fuck whores in your room while I’m out.”
He scratched the back of his head looking sheepishly regretful. “I’m sorry, a’ight? And you’re only fifty-five – same age as Elle. Don’t see either of you kickin’ the bucket anytime soon.”
“Least if she does go, she’ll have the memory of a married daughter.”
Oy, the woman would not let this go. Maybe it was a stretch to compare his mother to Elle Connors who was steeped in town importance, clout and – right now – wedding plans for her daughter. Even though the two women had club ties, he knew his mom always felt several rungs below Elle’s ladder. As the president’s wife, just about every woman was, including the old ladies. Going from an unwed, teenage mother tossed out of her home to the owner of a successful bakery in town she built from scratch (no pun intended) didn’t seem enough to separate Janice from her wild past. Then again, maybe if she stopped dressing as if it were still 1989, toned down the makeup and nail polish and relaxed her thick head of auburn hair she’d be looked at more seriously. But as his ink, piercings and devil-cut facial hair was what made Gabriel Morrell ‘Taz’, his mom seemed comfortable looking as if she were about to attend a Poison concert.
“C’mere, Jan.” Just like she used his given name when she was ticked at him, he used hers to soften the mood. He put his arms around her shoulders and gave her a good, long squeeze. Janice had never married. A string of boyfriends here and there – most which Taz scared away with so much as showing up – was all the male company she had in her life. Her nagging him was just her way of making sure he didn’t wind up like her – alone. “I’ll be fine, ma. Maybe……someday.” It pained him to make even that much of a half-promise. Being saddled with an old lady, house and kids may suit Vic, Tanner and – more recently – Big Ben Lawson, but Taz wasn’t sure if or when he was ready for that.
And with his penchant for performing pain-inducing tactics for the club on some miserable human being, he wasn’t even sure if he was capable of leaving that on the doorstep to be a loving and tender husband and father as soon as he crossed the threshold. His mom was different. She pushed him out and sacrificed to raise him. He owed her every ounce of love and affection he could muster. But a ‘nice, decent girl’ as she put it? A civilian, most likely, as ‘nice, decent girls’ don’t exactly troll the clubhouse? Ben did it. But like he said earlier, Ben lucked out.
She gave him a kiss right between his temple and ear to where she wouldn’t catch her lip in his brow piercings. Pulling back, she had tears in her garishly made-up eyes which were beginning to liquefy all that damn mascara she wore. “I love you, Gabe.”
She also used his given name when she was emotional as shit as well. “Love you too, ma.” He pulled back and swiped the pack of Marlboro’s off the counter. “I’m takin’ these. Go rest. What do you want to eat later?”
“Don’t bother. Got left-over lasagna in the freezer. Swing by for some?”
He gave her sparkling smile. “Food’s the second thing I never pass up.”