Knox’s gaze slid to Memphis and he nodded before returning back to the task at hand. It was more than they’d gotten out of the boy yesterday. So, that was a win, right? He had to consider it a win.
Little victories.
“There’s some orange juice in the fridge.”
Memphis wandered to the large stainless steel fridge and pulled open the double doors. There was orange juice. Fresh squeezed from the looks of it. But not much else. Eggs. Bacon. Milk. Memphis recognized a bachelor’s fridge when he saw one. He bet if he opened the freezer, he’d find a bunch of frozen meals, just like back at his little loft. It kind of made Memphis feel a little better. Maybe Preacher wasn’t that perfect.
When he closed the doors to the refrigerator, Preacher was there, holding out a small glass. “You’ll need this,” he murmured.
Memphis’s gaze slid over Preacher’s naked chest down to the trail of hair below his navel, which disappeared beneath low slung jeans. Words escaped him, so he just side-stepped the larger man and nodded, setting the glass on the counter and filling it with the orange juice before taking a tentative sip. “Wow, that’s really good.”
“Thanks, there are orange groves on the far side of the property.”
“You squeezed this yourself?”
“Well, nobody else was around to do it,” Preacher said with a smile before turning that smile on Knox. “Is it ready? No lumps?” Knox handed over the bowl to Preacher and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good job.”
“What are you making?”
“Pancakes.”
“You know how to cook pancakes?” Memphis said, then blushed at the astonishment in his voice. The man was making pancakes, not disarming a nuclear weapon.
Preacher chuckled. “I worked in the prison kitchen for a while. It’s like one of twelve meals I know and the other eleven aren’t even appetizing if you’re starving to death.”
Memphis smiled, making himself at home on one of the stools at the counter so he could watch the muscles of Preacher’s back flex as he cooked. At the sound of a soft snicker, he looked at his brother whose gaze was swinging back and forth between him and Preacher with a knowing smirk. Sometimes, Knox seemed so young and other times, far too old. Memphis stuck his tongue out at his brother, and Knox returned the gesture.
“Cy and Nicky are coming by in a bit and bringing the owner of the property with him as well as his husband,” Preacher said without turning around.
“Do you know any straight people?” Memphis asked.
“Outside of prison? No. Not really,” Preacher said, not sounding a bit bothered by the prospect.
Considering Memphis worked in the flower business in Los Angeles, his circle of gay friends was more a straight line from him to his friend Owen, and even he was more an occasional acquaintance than an actual friend.
“There are dishes in that cabinet,” Preacher said. “Mind grabbing four of them?” Memphis stood, looking in the direction Preacher nodded, pulling dishes from the cabinet and holding them out to him. He took the top plate and then said, “Can you set the table?”
Memphis took the dishes to the table and did as Preacher asked. Once the food was ready, they all took a seat at the small rectangular table, with Preacher at the head and Memphis and Knox on either side. Preacher filled his plate from the stack in the center of the table while Memphis exchanged a hesitant glance with his brother.
Preacher frowned. “What? Do you not trust my cooking?”
“No, it-it looks amazing,” Memphis said truthfully, taking his fork and putting two on his plate, relieved when Knox did the same. Memphis made a show of putting butter and syrup on the food and moaning obscenely at the first bite. “It’s really good.”
Knox took a bite and nodded in agreement. Preacher gave them both an odd look but said nothing. Memphis didn’t know how to tell him that they’d never had a meal around an actual table before. Well, Memphis hadn’t. He could only assume Nash wasn’t one for family dinners seeing as how he’d kept one brother in chains and their father was in prison.
Tennessee Camden had never cared for that ‘family bullshit.’ He’d preferred to eat his meals in his recliner, hunched over a tv tray with a bottle of Jim Beam and whatever Rita had managed to make from their refrigerator’s meager offerings.
He shook the memories away, focusing instead on the food in front of him. Preacher filled the silence with talk of the property, telling them there was a fishing pond and an orchard. Knox’s eyes brightened at the mention of the fishing pond, but still, he didn’t speak.
When they were finished eating, Memphis jumped up and took the dishes before Preacher could attempt it. Memphis had to do something to earn his keep around the place. Knox wandered into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, his attention once more on cartoons. “It’s probably not good for him to watch so much television,” Memphis said with a sigh.
“He’s had a rough time of it. He’s probably not seen a television in weeks, maybe longer,” Preacher reminded. “We’ve—You’ve got plenty of time to worry about getting him on a normal schedule. Besides, I have something that I think will make him want to get outside a bit more.” Memphis’s pulse leapt at the thought of Knox outside alone, but Preacher shook his head. “Supervised, of course.”
Before Memphis could argue, there was a buzzing sound. “What’s that?” Memphis asked, hating the fear in his voice.
“The gate. Nicky and his boss are likely here.”
Preacher pulled up an app on his phone and pushed some buttons, presumably to let them in. Memphis took a deep breath and let it out. He really wasn’t good with people. He could fake it for the sake of customer service and, in truth, most people didn’t give him a hard time because he was decent looking and good at his job. But these were Preacher’s friends. Cy and Nicky probably already thought Memphis was a dick. He had no idea why he even fucking cared, but he did.
