Page 63 of Deacon

Somebody flicks the rim of my hat. Jack swims into focus.

“Light’s on, Ryder, but nobody’s home,” he says.

I shut the stall door. “I’m just thinking.”

“She’s got you whipped.”

I don’t respond. Everybody I’ve ever talked to about Freya has said the same thing—that I’m well and truly whipped for her, even before we officially met. It seems like Freya’s the only one who doesn’t know we’re supposed to be together.

We head to the porch. Freya stands by the door, weight on one hip. Her arms are wrapped around her body. She looks from me to Jack shyly. He takes off his hat and holds out his hand.

“Jack Russell,” he says.

She steps forward and shakes it. “Freya Hatfield.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says. “I won’t ask you if you’re related to the Hatfield family if you don’t ask if it’s Jack Russell like the dog.”

She smiles, the ice melting. “I’d be rich if I had a dime for every time it happens,” she drawls in that sweet accent.

“Oh, I’d be a millionaire,” Jack says, putting his hat back on his head.

She’s so pretty, I barely hear what he says. Then, my attention is pulled elsewhere as a smell so good, it makes my mouth water, hits my nose.

“You cooking, sweetheart?” I ask.

She nods, pulling the door open. “Y’all want breakfast?”

We both nod, climbing the porch. She slips into the house and disappears into the kitchen while we kick the mud off our boots and follow her inside. In the kitchen, Freya has a plate in her hand and she’s piling it with food.

“Go sit,” she says.

We both sink down, not a thought in our heads. She sets two plates in front of us and pours coffee.

“Eat before it gets cold,” she says.

As stereotypical as it is, I’m trying to figure out how soon is too soon to propose the minute I put the fork in my mouth. It’s no slight to Ginny. She’s good at her job, but there’s something about the meal Freya makes that turns my brain off until my plate is clean. Everything is creamy, crumbly, and perfectly fried, seasoned to perfection, and drenched in brown sausage gravy so rich, it makes my head sweat.

We sit in silence for a second. I think Jack is speechless.

Freya gets up and starts clearing plates. I take her elbow.

“Don’t worry about that,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You said I could cook, so for right now, it’s my kitchen,” she drawls softly.

My head spins. I wish Jack wasn’t here, because I’d have this girl up in my bedroom right now. As if he’s reading my mind, Jack stands and reaches for his hat.

“I should head out,” he says.

“I’ll walk you.” I get up.

We leave through the front. Jack stands by his truck and takes out a cigarette. He gives me one, and we smoke for a second. Finally, he gestures back at the house.

“You’d better put a ring on that girl,” he says.

My brain doesn’t catch up with my mouth before I answer.

“I plan on it,” I say.

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