Page 70 of Love You To Pieces

They love him here.

The realization is made stronger when the waitress doesn’t even stop to take Fox’s drink order. She just brings him a mug of coffee and a glass of tea, then offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she tells me kindly. “I just know what he gets because he’s here so much. What can I get ya?” Her southern drawl is strong, but I find I’m getting better at not needing time to work out the words in my head.

Maybe Deacon and Fox are rubbing off on me. Maybe in a few more months, I’ll know how to add that fancy drawl to my words that everyone down here can do without trying.

“Could I, umm, get chocolate milk, please?” The woman nods, promising to bring us biscuits, and it’s not until she’s gone that I realize Fox is grinning at me. “What?” I ask, feeling myself flush with embarrassment. “It’s not just for kids, you know. I⁠—”

“Never said it was,” he interjects smoothly. “I just like learning more about you.” He moves, then stops with a wince, and I see his hand go to his side under the table.

“You should be in bed.” I know he won’t listen to me. He barely listens to Deacon, and I gaze down at the menu even as I say it.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a long sigh. “I should. But that’s no fun. I don’t like being Deacon’s patient if I can help it. The power goes to his head and”—he waves a hand dramatically—“then I’m stuck with him peacocking around the house in his ‘EMT mode’ for the next week. Besides, Pearl is still there to keep him company, and he needs some rest too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, darlin’ girl, but he’s almost as fond of that dog as you are.” Fox pauses, considering. “Our last two dogs died about a year ago. Broke his heart,” he admits.

“Get new ones?” My response is immediate and questioning. “What kind of dogs were they?”

“Don’t know. Just mutts that Deacon found during his shift. They lived long, happy lives. It’s not like anything particularly nasty happened to ‘em. But I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders, prompting another wince. “I’ve been letting him take the lead on that. Think I should just get him a puppy?”

It occurs to me that this is not a conversation I expected us to have. The waitress comes back with biscuits and my chocolate milk, which she gives me in a chilled, frosty glass. It feels so…homey. In a way that I’ve certainly never encountered when I eat somewhere in Nashville. But maybe I’m just not going to the right places, or taking the time to appreciate it.

“I take it you’re getting your usual?” she asks Fox, giving me a few moments to look over the menu again. I thought I knew what I was getting, but when she looks at me expectantly, I meet her gaze blankly.

Instead of getting irritated, the waitress smiles. “Want to know what I recommend?”

“I would love that.”

“Eggs in a basket.” She doesn’t even have to look down to tap the item on the old, laminated menu in my hands. “But if you like cheese, I can have them add cheese to the top when they grill it. That’s what I do. And I really love our hash browns, so that’s my recommendation for a side.”

“That honestly sounds great,” I admit, handing her the menu back. “Cheese too. Umm. Eggs over medium, please?” The girl nods, not scribbling down my order in her pad, though I doubt she’ll need any help to remember.

When she’s gone again, Fox looks at me expectantly, and I retrace the conversation in my head before answering his earlier question, “Yes. I absolutely think you should get him a litter of puppies. He was up all night, you know? Making sure you were okay. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Fox’s smile has turned mischievous, and his eyes glitter as he leans carefully across the table. “Making sure I was okay? Sure. Maybe for a few hours,” he agrees. “But I was drugged, not deaf. And you, Sadie-Rae…are not quiet.”

I can feel the flush across my face at his observation, though I glare at him instead of letting him win. “Neither is Deacon.”

“Of course not,” he agrees with a soft laugh. “But Deacon has been known to, uh, have time with himself when I’m hurt to make a point about what I’m missing. I’m used to that. It was definitely a new thing to hear you being a part of it.”

I scrub at my face, fighting back the heat as I sit back in my side of the booth while trying not to squirm. “He told me about dinner,” I say to shift his focus, and I don’t expect that to catch Fox off guard like it does.

His smile fades and he looks down at his place setting, one hand coming up to adjust his bundle of napkin-wrapped silverware. “Yeah?” he asks, suspiciously taciturn. “I see you’re not running for the hills or holding another knife to my throat. Which I’m very grateful for, if I’m being honest. I’m a little over getting stabbed for the week.”

Staring at him, I search his face, his mannerisms, and I don’t miss the way he eyes me from under his lashes. He’s watching me the same way I’m doing with him, though trying to be much more subtle about it. “Stabbing is last week’s tactic. I’m into strangulation this week, actually.”

That earns me the ghost of a smile, and he finally looks at me, his eyes warm and not at all apologetic. “I won’t say I’m sorry. Because I’m not sorry,” he admits quietly. “I won’t even say I wasn’t part of deciding to do that. Sadie-Rae.” He reaches for me, fingers outstretched, and I find it’s so easy to just put my hand in his, like it belongs there.

So I do.

“I want you to stay, but you have to stay for all of this. Not just the parts that are easy.”

“God, you sound like Deacon,” I grumble, pulling my hand back and rolling my eyes. “I swear, both of you have mastered the art of parental talking-tos. Very adult of you.”

He snorts and sits back, his face returning to its usual amused, charming visage. “When we’re done eating, we’re going to Mindy’s,” he tells me. “It’s not the best, but at least we can get you some clothes that aren’t mine or Deacon’s. Not that I’m complaining about you wearing our things.” Fox’s grin widens. “But I guess we can compromise.”

“I could, umm. Get my stuff sent down from Nashville down,” I say slowly, watching him with every word.

Fox’s expression turns guarded, and he tilts his head to the side. “You could,” he agrees, just as carefully as my proposition had been. “But that feels very permanent, don’t you think?”

A pang of anxiety goes through me, and fears that I hadn’t even considered suddenly surge into my head.