“Lead the way.”
30
TANNER
“Will you knock it off?” Deacon huffs as we pull into the Thayers’ driveway and park. “It’s going to be fine.”
“I’ve never done this.”
“What do you mean? Your parents didn’t meet Fallon?”
“Of course they met Fallon, but it wasn’t like,‘Hey, here’s my girlfriend, isn’t she neat?’It was, ‘Hey, here’s this cool girl I got pregnant and we’re getting married and also please pass the mashed potatoes.’”
Deacon tries and fails to hold back his laugh, the deep baritone a rumble that’s more soothing than it is irritating.
“Tanner, you’re not a kid.”
“I wasn’t a kid then either but?—”
“You know what I mean. You were young and figuring life out and now?—”
“I’m still figuring life out.”
“But are you afraid?”
“What?”
“Are you afraid? When we go in there, will you be afraid of what will happen?”
“No.”
When I inhale to add thebutin there, he shakes his head. “You’ve called all the shots with this. There are no surprises waiting for us, and if you hate it, we’ll leave.”
“It’s really unfair that you’re this perfect.”
“You can remind me later,” he murmurs, leaning over to kiss me in what starts as a sweet acknowledgment but ends up stealing my breath. I’m panting by the time he pulls away, my face flushed when he rounds the front of his truck and opens my door for me.
It’s still something I haven’t gotten used to yet, but I don’t hate the way my stomach dips when he stands there, caging me in with his presence. I’m momentarily dumbstruck by his dark wash jeans, work boots, and the button-up shirt that is one quick movement from bursting open.
How is he so damn hot?
“Stop starin’ at me like that, Sweetheart, or we won’t make it inside.”
“You’re distracting.” I sigh, getting a whiff of his cologne and going momentarily lightheaded.
“I’m flattered.” When I grin, he adds, “And you’re stalling. Let’s go.”
“Are you boys gonna stand outside all night? Vincent has been itchin’ to start without you.” Flora Thayer stands on the front porch in a light yellow dress, dish towel in her hand, and a mischievous expression that says she knows she’s interrupting something.
And she’s not wrong.
“Sorry, Mrs. Thayer,” Deacon croons with a megawatt smile.
“Psh, it’s Flora or Mama; none of thisMrs. Thayerbusiness.” She acts put out but I swear even in the setting sun I can see her blush as we climb the porch steps. He hands her a bouquet of flowers and accepts her hug before standing off to the side.
Flora hugs me tight, her embrace lasting a beat longer than usual, before she pulls back and ushers us into the house.
It smells amazing, like fried chicken andhome.Before I moved to Tennessee, I never would have put those two things together, but it’s like you can taste the love that’s baked—or fried—into everything here.
