Potato Chip Quilt Block Novels & Stories

I say, hoping he’ll catch on. He looks at me for a moment before reaching out to kiss my forehead. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been prouder of my pack members.” He says, walking into the kitchen. “Tell me, what do we have here?” He asks, pointing to some food preparation. An omega looks at me and I nod encouragingly at her. “Well, Alpha, we have a lot of potatoes that were harvested recently. For lunch we made homemade potato chips and for dinner, we’re going to make roasted rosemary potatoes with rosemary from our garden.”

One rule for them, one rule for us. “Well, if he disapproves, I’m sure he’ll send me a sign.” I looked up expectantly. Nothing happened. “Looks like he’s fine with it.” We continued eating. Ours was finger licking good, theirs like ash in their mouths. More meat was brought out. More vegetables. I baked some potatoes (or some tuber type of plant) and drew oohs and ahs from the crowd as I passed them around. Technically speaking, the skins were a little burnt, but they didn’t seem as horrified by this desecration. I was winning them over with my potato strategy (although some would say all my strategies were potato strategies). They’d never seen anything as soft and fluffy as my potatoes. Onc

But every time she returned to the house—no, her house, Kat supposed—she didn’t have the heart to go through with a sale. A few days ago, she’d stood in Lillian’s pink kitchen with its retro appliances, flipping through old cookbooks. The pages had been sticky with use, and Kat had found one of the cookie recipes that Lillian had made for her as a child: potato chip cookies. She’d gotten the ingredients to make them herself but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

“Welcome to the family, Athos.” “Thank you, ma’am.” He said cutting the ribbon with his pocket knife. “Nana Dixie.” She gently corrected. He simply smiled at her as he handed Evie three of the bags. “Oh, momma.” Evie said pulling out a twin sized quilt with various motorcycle prints in a starburst pattern. Tank removed a matching full-sized quilt from his blanket. Ink removed his quilt which had the same materials in a log cabin pattern. The other twin blanket bore the same pattern.

Or was he just nonchalant? I shrugged. I didn’t know, nor did I really care. As long as he comes home tonight, there’s no problem then. “So, what are you making?” He asked, peering over my shoulder to see what I was trying to throw together. “We have some potatoes left, so I thought that I would make some loaded fries, what do you think?” “I think that sounds amazing,” I chuckled at his reply, preparing the ingredients. I started by peeling and slicing the potatoes into thin pieces, then I diced some tomatoes, onions, and garlic before I remembered that Julian had asked me to keep his arrival a secret from his brother.

Take the rewards and have a good meal. Isn't this mashing two potatoes with one fork.

"There. That should get things warm." I'm already warm, I think with a coy smile. I don't say it because I'm hungrier than anything else—I don't want to distract him from cooking. Yet. He stacks four russet potatoes on top of a wooden chopping block built into the counter. It's big enough that once he's done peeling and chopping the potatoes, he still has room to dice some shallots. Their purple chunks, all perfectly uniform, are scraped to one side. He moves with skill, the definition in his forearms obvious in the overhead lights.