Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(72)

“It’s the light,” I said shortly. “I haven’t been to Pete’s. I didn’t know it was also a restaurant. What’s good?”

Ben dropped his eyes to the menu and said, “Most everything. I eat here whenever I’m in town. It’s a decent, inexpensive breakfast.” Which was something my daddy would have said and was high praise for a churchman. And . . . that was what Ben was, no matter how townie he dressed. A churchman. Through and through.

I didn’t know why that made my eyes fill with tears. I blinked them hard and smiled at the waitress when she brought coffee I hadn’t ordered. “Extra cream and sugar,” I said to her. “Thanks.”

“You folks ready to order?” she asked.

I opened my mouth to reply but never got the chance.

“Yes,” Ben said. “The lady will have the cinnamon French toast with sausage. I’ll have a Greek omelet, sausage, bacon, and biscuits.”

It was exactly what I would have ordered, but . . . but Ben ordered without asking me. Just like the weird nanny stuck her fingers into my plants. Without permission.

“With two eggs,” I said. “And actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have hot tea instead of coffee. And bacon instead of sausage.”

Ben looked nonplussed and I said, “And that will be separate checks.”

“Got it,” she said. She walked away.

I studied Ben. A faint blush had spread over his cheeks and down his neck as I spoke to the waitress. I figured he was embarrassed at my behavior in changing my breakfast order instead of being a docile woman. Churchmen might think that ordering a woman’s food was a compliment instead of an intrusion. Carefully not using any church-speak, I said, “We were interrupted yesterday before we got to the meat of the discussion about you and me. I’m not a churchwoman, Ben, not anymore, if I ever was. You say you know it, but you don’t.”

I leaned in and stared him down, dropped my voice like I’d heard the cats do, and said, “I’m not a child to be married off by my parents. I’m not a hillbilly backcountry hick, or too stupid to know beans from bunny droppings. I’m a law enforcement officer and a paranormal investigator. I don’t want to spend my life spittin’ out babies like an assembly line. I don’t want to make my own clothes or cook for a huge family and live and die in the house and the church. Maybe . . . maybe if we’d met right after John died and before the churchmen decided to try and kill me, things mighta been different, but they aren’t.”

“I heard you fought back. I like that in a woman. I don’t want a woman who—” He stopped.

“A woman who lets a man order her food for her? A submissive little doormat?”

The waitress set our plates in front of us. Pete’s cook was fast. My tea went to the side and my coffee cup was whisked away. I poured tea from the small pot and added cream and sugar as Ben and the waitress chatted about us needing more of anything. The tea was a little weak yet, but the warm mug felt good in my cold hands. I held it close to my face so the steam would warm me.

The waitress walked off and Ben turned back to me. “I asked your brothers and sisters what food you liked best. It didn’t occur to me that I’d come across as bossy. So I propose we start over.” He held his hand across the table. “Hi. I’m Ben Aden. I like walking in the rain, singing in the shower, working wood, and making things grow. I’m not always real bright about women, but I’ll never lie to you, hit you, or make you be anything you don’t want to be.”

His hand hung across the table. I stared at it, thinking over what it meant if I accepted it. Thinking about Occam’s kiss. Slowly I reached out and clasped it. “I’m Nell. I’m independent, got a big mouth sometimes, and like living alone. I’m a cop of sorts. And a farmer. I like making things grow too. Mostly vegetables and fruit.”

Ben released my hand. “See. We got something in common already.” He dropped his head and closed his eyes for a moment. I realized he was praying over his food. And that he didn’t expect me to pray with him the way a churchman would. I seldom prayed anymore—the church had put me offa praying—but I closed my eyes and said a silent word of thanks for the food and the company and the strange handshake, which surely cemented a deal of sorts. And for Occam. And asked God if he had put them both in my path, and what I might learn from the presence of two such different men in my life. When I opened my eyes, my unplanned prayer over, Ben’s blue gaze was on me. He nodded and we dug in.

The breakfast was pretty good. The company was better. Ben was charming and kind and told me about his first year of school and classes and how he was a fish out of water in the normal world. He asked me about getting my GED and going to Spook School. He told me about his ideas for sustainable farming with ancient aquaculture, specifically, integrated multitrophic aquaculture, a method devised in ancient Asia. I’d read about it, but Ben’s degree in agriculture gave him a deeper and wider understanding of the pros and cons of the farming methods. I brought up permaculture principles of farming and what animals he might suggest for a half acre of dedicated land. His answers made me want to try permaculture on Soulwood.

The conversation was light and cheerful and fun. And it wasn’t a discussion I could have had with Occam.

At nine o’clock Ben checked his cell and said, “Nellie, I gotta go. I got a shipment of well dried manure being carted in from Daddy’s land, now that the weather’s eased up. You can get home on your own? Your watchdog took off about half an hour ago.”