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“How does this look?” Angel asked, having arranged a pile of veggies neatly onto one of the many trays we had set out.
My mouth full with a bite of fresh pineapple I’d snuck from one of the platters, I made a circle with my thumb and index finger to indicate that it was exactly what I was looking for.
After working for a few minutes in companionable silence, I took a deep breath and said, “I really appreciate the job, Angel. Thank you for taking a chance on me. You don’t know how badly I needed the money. Things haven’t gone as smoothly as I would have liked since taking over the business, and your hiring me got me through a really difficult financial time in my life.”
Angel stopped what she was doing to walk over and give me a bolstering hug. “I’m so glad I could help you, Evie! That’s what friends are for. To help each other up whenever life gets us down. Right?”
Not wanting to tear up at the kind gesture, I nodded and kept my head down as I assembled the meat platter. Several older women walked into the kitchen then, instantly filling the room with loads of positive energy.
“How can we help?” A dark-haired woman named Trish asked me enthusiastically.
“You can take these trays of food out to our hungry boys,” Angel said, handing over an assortment of deep-fried appetizers.
“They smell great!” Trish popped one of the mini mozzarella balls into her mouth. “And they taste even better!”
I smiled with satisfaction. “Thanks. They’re really easy to make but always seem to be a crowd pleaser.”
The women took turns sampling, then complimenting, the appetizers before bringing them out to the ravenous men. Thankfully, Angel, who knew the Clubhouse inside and out, directed the women to the appropriate stations. It seemed like I’d only just blinked when I checked my phone and saw that two hours and three courses had passed by.
Trish came in with a pile of empty trays as I was washing dishes and said, “Those meatball sliders went fast, girl! I don’t know what you put in them, but the men practically came to blows over the last few bites.”
I laughed. “My friend Bobby gave me the recipe. The secret ingredient is onion soup mix.”
Trish grinned. “You and I are going to need to talk later. I’m a real fan of the way you cook, hun. My old man is, too. He wants me to learn how you made that taco meat so soft and spicy.”
“A touch of quinoa and a butt-load of spices,” I confessed with a grin.
“I’m going to need your number before you leave here tonight,” the exuberant woman told me, before grabbing the last tray of steaks resting on the counter to be tossed on the grill.
“Sure thing,” I called after her, starting to collect the empty trays to start washing those next.
Once I’d cleaned the kitchen inside and out, I retrieved the desserts from the fridge and began loading the cake with sparklers. Though it wasn’t anyone’s birthday, Angel had thought it would be nice for her husband’s buddy to be able to blow out candles spelling out the words, “Welcome Home Bishop”, in bold, black piping, and I’d agreed. It was a sweet touch and gave the enormous strawberry cream cake a whimsical feel.
A series of little images such as handcuffs, jail keys, and nail files, were meticulously piped along the cake’s edges in frosting. The background of the cake had black lines running through it like prison bars, a suggestion Bishop’s sister contributed. Though I didn’t do a lot of confectionery work in my catering business, I was impressed with the final product and thought I’d gone above and beyond anything I’d done in the past.
Because there were so many people to feed, I’d decided to make the main strawberry cake for Bishop to cut into and dozens of cupcakes for everyone else to grab and go. There was an assortment of flavors to choose from including strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, and peanut butter. There was something for everyone, and enough to feed an army.
“Are you ready to bring out the cake?” Angel queried, as she swept into the room, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail.
“Almost there,” I told her, lighting the last few sticks.
Angel ran her hands together in excitement. “Bishop’s going to love this cake. His sister told me it’s his absolute favorite! You haven’t met Amelia yet, have you? You’ve been cooped up in this kitchen all night. Not to worry. I’ll introduce you later. Everyone’s raving about the food by the way.”
I smiled. “That’s good to hear. I was so worried they’d think the menu was too basic.”
Angel scoffed. “If by basic you mean Bishop’s favorites, then yes.”
“You’re too nice, Angel,” I told her.
“No way. I’m just honest. Now, after Bishop cuts the cake, you need to mingle a bit. Meet my friends and some of the guys,” she concluded with a mischievous wink. “Several of them have asked me about you and are threatening to storm the kitchen if you don’t present yourself after dinner.”
Carefully lifting the cake onto the rolling cart Reaper had provided me, I chuckled. “No need to do that. I’d love to meet your friends. I can relax now that I know all the food prep has been taken care of and the kitchen is cleaned up.”
I followed Angel out into what she told me was once a restaurant in this converted hotel the MC had renovated. The room was filled with boisterous bikers and women who were every bit as colorful as the men. It looked like a pinata had vomited its contents into the large space. It was filled floor to ceiling with balloons, streamers, and confetti of all shapes and colors.
As the cake came into view, everyone began to cheer. The enthusiasm was contagious as the crowd started to chant the party boy’s name.
“Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!” the mob cried out in unison.
