Love and Neckties - Lacey Black Page 0,28

to our table. Of course, the most convenient place to add seating is at the end of the table. Right by me. I go ahead and give my younger brother a stern look, just for good measure, and his returning grin lets me know this new table arrangement was all part of his master plan.

Emma walks around and greets everyone, offering hugs and warm smiles. She makes her way over to where Freedom and I sit, her aged eyes dancing with mischief. I can already tell I won’t like this.

“Samuel, so good to see you again. And with the lovely Freedom, who looks like she enjoyed a few rides on the baloney pony last night too.” Emma smacks her lips together and pulls Freedom into a hug. For a tiny, frail-looking woman, she’s crazy fast and strong.

Freedom just snorts. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

Emma returns with her own smirk. “That’s why you come sit next to Aunt Emma. I’m no lady,” she teases, and suddenly, the thought of Freedom sitting next to my crazy aunt has me all sorts of twisted up. Freedom doesn’t need any of Emma’s influence, that’s for sure. She’s perfectly capable of torturing me on her own.

“And how about you, Samuel? Keeping that joystick active? Even if you have to use your hand, regularly firing your love gun will do wonders for your complexion, let alone your stress level.” She turns those big, innocent eyes my way, as if she wasn’t just asking me about my… gun.

“No comment,” I tell her, taking my menu and studying the brunch selection.

“Just ignore her, Samuel,” Uncle Orval says as he takes a seat beside his wife. “That’s not something you discuss at the table.”

Emma snorts her indignation. “What are you talking about? We talk about it every night.”

“No, we fire the gun every night. We don’t always talk about it before it goes off.”

My stomach is lurching. I’m stuck in a Twilight Zone hell with my crazy aunt and uncle and a woman who I married, yet don’t recall any of it. “Please stop talking about your gun. It’s a family establishment.”

Freedom leans toward me, her long hair dangling on my lap as she whispers, “You know, I always heard a guy could go blind if he messed with that too much.”

I groan.

“Oh, dearie, there’s no such thing as too much. It’s important to have a healthy sexual appetite. When you marry, you’ll understand what I mean. If you find yourself with a man who doesn’t make you want to drop your panties and grab your ankles on a regular basis, then you’re with the wrong fella,” Emma says, giving Freedom a decisive nod.

I concentrate on my menu and pretend I don’t feel Freedom’s gaze on me. I’m saved from any further discussion about ankles and grabbing them when our server arrives at our table and starts refilling coffee cups. A leg to my side slides against mine, whether by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure. I just ignore the way Freedom’s limb is pressed against mine and the way her fruity shampoo is permeating my senses and making it difficult to think of anything but her.

“And you, sir?” our server asks as she steps behind Freedom to take my order.

“I’ll take a cheese, mushroom, and green pepper omelet with a side of bacon.”

A gasp echoes over the conversations around us. “Bacon?”

When I turn her way, I find Freedom’s eyes wide in disbelieve. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Bacon? You can’t eat bacon,” she states, folding up her menu and handing it to the server. “He’ll have the tofu cakes too.”

My stomach does a pirouette straight south into Yuckville. “No, I will not eat that weird crap. I’ll have the bacon,” I tell our server, who just looks at us with a confused look on her face.

With one final glance our way, she quickly turns to Emma and Orval for their orders. I turn to the woman on my left, lower my voice, and ask, “What’s wrong with bacon?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, per se, but I’m just really devastated about how they treat those pigs at the farm in Missouri. Did you hear about it?”

My television, when it’s on, is usually on some news program, so yes, yes I’ve heard about the large hog operation where the owners were supplementing their food with some less than quality products. A few of the pigs even died from the bad diet and the owners left their corpses in the pens for