“Smells good,” Quinn said, stepping into the kitchen.

“It does, though I say so myself.” Mirabelle flipped over the steaks. If she kept her focus on her work, his arrival might not overset her. She’d not entirely recovered from the way he’d held her in the kitchen that morning. It had been fleeting and confusing and, though she fought the inclination, hopeful.

“Is that a chocolate cake?”

“It is.”

He brought his gaze back to her. “Are you always going to make sweets when you have company?”

She smiled at that. “Probably.”

“Well, then, I’m glad Trev got himself invited over.”

“So am I.” She did enjoy company. “I think I have everything ready. The potatoes can come out of the oven in another minute or so. These steaks are ready now. If you’ll have the men sit down in the dining room, I’ll bring it all in.”

Quinn left, presumably to do exactly that. Mirabelle dished the steaks onto a serving plate and set the plate on the large platter she always used to carry food into the dining room. The potatoes went in another dish, placed beside the steaks. She had snap peas and applesauce to round out the meal.

The men’s eyes didn’t stay on her long when she stepped into the dining room. All five men immediately focused on the food. Trevor eyed each dish as she set it out. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a meal like this. You’re an angel from heaven, Mrs. Quinn.”

“Worth busting my thumb,” Will added. His thumb was, indeed, wrapped in bandaging.

“What happened?” She placed the bowl of peas on the table. “Did you miss the nail?”

He hung his head a little and nodded.

Mirabelle gave him an empathetic look. “I suppose you’ll need an extra large slice of chocolate cake then, to help you through your suffering.”

Her eyes met Quinn’s as she laid out the last of the food. His was a look of gratitude. That meant more to her than nearly anything else she might have seen in his face. In that moment, she felt appreciated.

She cut a generous slice of chocolate cake, set it on a small plate, and walked to the head of the table where Tiernan sat. The older man looked as surprised as all the others.

She set the plate of cake beside his dinner plate. Voice lowered, she said, “I have not always remembered to have enough cake for you to have as much as you wish. I will make certain of it going forward.”

His eyes raised slowly from the plate to Mirabelle. His surprise had only grown, but with an added hint of approval. She knew he’d not appreciated the scolding she’d given him over the tea cakes. Whether or not the scolding had been deserved, she didn’t wish to have that disagreement coming between them forever. If providing him with cake would ease their tension, she would make certain he always had some.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I can make most any kind of cake or sweet roll. Please tell me if there is something in particular you’re wanting.”

He nodded, enthusiasm beneath his hesitancy, then pulled his plate of cake closer.

Mirabelle did her best not to show how significant that moment had been. Tiernan had never been happy about her being in his home. He seldom spoke to her, and when he did, it was generally to lodge complaints. But he had just thanked her. He had accepted her offering without disapproval. Perhaps she had begun to strike a tentative peace with one of the two men in this house.

Now, if only she could find the key to Quinn’s elusive affection.