Meemaw turns off the electric range with an embarrassed wave of her hand. “Oh, don't mind me. I'm just having some fun with this separate living arrangement you decided on instead of rockin’ the trailer all night like Crazytown and me would’ve done if we hadn’t seen each other in a near year. But if Waylon wants to court you and do breakfast dates with you at my place before work, that’s his business. And if Crazytown were here, he'd be fussing at me to stay out of other people's mess. But, why don’t you sit down, Amira? I’m about to dish up some pancakes, eggs, and bacon if that sounds good to you.”
Food does sound good. Heavenly, in fact. Sitting across from the dangerous man who brought me here, though? Not so much.
I in no way want to eat breakfast with Waylon. But I don't want to be rude to Meemaw. Also, I'm hungry.
I awkwardly take the seat farthest away from Waylon, and Meemaw sets a plate of food in front of me like a reward.
“There you go,” she says approvingly. “And, by the way, these are for you.”
She points to a vase beside the lazy Susan with six roses sticking out the top. “Waylon brought them for you special!”
Waylon brought me flowers? My eyes fly up to the criminal, who has never bought me anything but condoms and fast food.
He looks away like he’s embarrassed to have been caught in the act of doing something thoughtful.
Meanwhile, Meemaw adds, “After I handed him a pair of cutters and told him to bring you back some flowers from my rose bush. But he did it! Just goes to show, you can teach an old dog new tricks. If you give him explicit instructions.”
Meemaw titters at her own joke, and I let out a weak chuff. I appreciate Meemaw telling him to do something nice for me. But I’m not sure how to feel about him actually doing it.
I give Waylon a nervous glance, and he doesn’t just meet my eyes this time. He holds my gaze as he says, “Meemaw, she's not the one that does the teaching in our relationship.”
My cheeks burn, but Meemaw laughs uproariously as if he’s told the best joke of the morning.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your breakfast date,” she says. “I’ll be in my bedroom. Just holler if you need me.”
I do need her. I need her to stay and not leave me alone with Waylon. But she bustles away into the downstairs bedroom before I can tell her that.
So I concentrate on my food, practically shoveling the eggs into my mouth. The faster I eat, the faster I can…
Actually, I'm not sure what I'll do after I’m finished with breakfast. But it definitely involves leaving this room and going back upstairs to hide in my temporary quarters for as long as it takes for Waylon to go away.
Waylon doesn’t say anything at first. He just eats his meal with a stoic efficiency that doesn’t feel very breakfast datey at all. Good. I'm hoping his silence will last until we’re both done with our food.
But just as I'm about to cut into my pancakes, he says, “Hades texted me last night. He wants to know exactly what Persy said to you yesterday morning.”
I inwardly startle but concentrate on keeping my face and voice completely neutral. “She just told me that you were waiting for me outside.”
“Hades mentioned something about you having a conversation about obeying me.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I answer with fear bubbling in my stomach. “We talked about that, but obviously, I decided to go a different way last night.”
“Obviously.” Waylon stabs his fork into the sausage patty as if it did something to him. And even though it’s daytime, that shadow comes back to harshen up his face.
“Hades is my brother—not to mention the president of our Louisiana chapter. If Persy told you something, asked you for something, you need to let me know right now. Crossing him is the same as crossing me.”
“She told me I should do what you say. And then, she told me you were downstairs,” I repeat firmly.
I’d like to accompany that statement with a bite of food like we're just having a casual conversation, and I’m completely unbothered. But it takes everything in my power just to keep my voice level. I don’t have the courage to test whether my hand would shake like my voice wants to if I attempted to add fork work.
“That's all she said to you?” Waylon asks. His face is hard as stone. “You're sure?”
I nod quickly. I’m more than willing to lie for Persy, but I hate the way Waylon scans me as if he has some sixth sense and can tell I’m not being entirely truthful.
I remember how he guessed that Jonathan had dumped me and how he basically interrogated the story out of me.