the dishwashers. She fully expected a slow but steady progression of employees past the table in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Never before had she come in with only a man. Usually she came in alone to eat and meet with one or both of the owners to discuss events. Sometimes she would bring in clients who weren’t familiar with the restaurant. Speculation would run wild.
“Sarah, can you let Samuel or Paul know that I’ll need to talk to them after we have lunch?”
“I’ll do it, Miss Anne.” The hostess’s blond hair bounced as she made her way to the kitchen.
By the time Anne and George placed their meal orders, four different people had come to the table to make sure they were being served. Anne could barely contain her laughter. She hated to think how many it would have been if they’d come in after the five-thirty dinner shift came on duty.
“Now that we have a few minutes,” she said, taking a fresh yeast roll from the basket George offered, “I’d like to go over a few of these forms I’ll need you to fill out.” It was all she could do to be polite and cut the roll open, spread butter slowly onto it, and leave it sitting on the bread plate rather than stuffing the whole thing in her mouth.
George anointed the steaming roll with cold butter. His stomach rumbled at the yeasty aroma as he tore off a bite-sized piece and brought it to his mouth. The saltiness of the butter mingled with the sweetness of the bread and melted on his tongue. He had to stop himself from sighing in contentment.
The shuffling of papers across the table drew his attention back to Anne.
“Now that the terms of the contract have been agreed upon, there are a few fact-finding forms I need filled out.” She handed him a packet of several pages stapled together. “This is the registration form.”
He glanced over the first page. Bride’s full name, groom’s full name, maid of honor’s name, best man’s name, number of bridesmaids, number of groomsmen…. Guilt robbed him of his appetite.
“Some of the items on this list are going to be very important to me as I work on the final budget next week. I would appreciate it if you could get the information back to me by Monday morning.”
Another server stopped at the table and asked if they needed refills of their mostly untouched beverages. George didn’t quite understand the smile on Anne’s face when she declined the offer. He found the constant interruptions somewhat annoying.
As they ate their meals, he unobtrusively but carefully watched the wedding planner. Her manners were impeccable—better than those of most of the aristocracy he’d served over the years. She took small bites, laid down her fork between them, kept her left hand in her lap, and maintained a straight posture without looking stiff. She might be able to help him give Courtney a few lessons before the formal parties, just to keep Courtney from being so nervous about her social skills.
The waitress was just clearing their plates when an older man with dark hair approached the table.
Anne stood and received a kiss on each cheek. George stood as well, laying his napkin beside the silverware.
“Sarah mentioned you were here.” The man’s decidedly Irish accent surprised George, though he didn’t show it. “You fell into a bit o’ luck, darlin’, as I didn’t know myself that I would be here today.”
“I have a new event I’m planning, and I hoped to check some dates with you.”
“Aye, I knew you were here for more than just our fine food.” The restaurateur turned his attention expectantly toward George.
“Samuel Maguire, this is my client George Laurence.”
George shook hands with the Irishman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Pulling a chair over from another table, Maguire joined them. He put a black, leather-bound planner on the table, winked at Anne, and then turned to George. “Our little
George gave the man the smile he knew was expected but didn’t say anything. As he watched her interact with the restaurant owner, he was impressed by her ability to make the negotiation sound like casual, friendly conversation. From the obvious shorthand between them, they had a long-standing relationship, and George got the feeling the restaurateur would do anything within his power to accommodate whatever she requested.
The date Courtney wanted the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner had been booked for months. Anne showed no outward sign that this bothered her at all.
“If they happen to cancel, call me; but for now, let’s go ahead and reserve it for that Friday night instead, and I’ll discuss the date change with the bride.” Anne made a notation in her file. “When can you meet to discuss a menu?”
Maguire consulted his calendar. “How about…next Tuesday afternoon?”
Anne looked across the table at George. “Mr. Laurence, are you available next Tuesday afternoon?”
George knew he would be, but pulled out his PDA just to put the appointment in his schedule. “What time?”
“Is three o’clock all right?” The Irishman looked from George to Anne and back.
“That should work well in my schedule.” George notated the appointment.
The waitress returned to the table with the check for the meal. Maguire whisked it from her hand before Anne could take it. He stood, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s on me, darlin’.”
“Thank you, Samuel.”
“My pleasure, Anne.” He extended his hand to George. “Mr. Laurence.”
George stood to shake hands. “Mr. Maguire. Thank you for your hospitality.”
The owner escorted them to the front door of the establishment. “We’ll be seein’ you next week, then.”
Outside the restaurant, Anne handed George the second file folder she had with her. “These are all of the forms I’ll need back by next Monday. Can we meet around ten?”
“Ten on Monday morning will be fine.”
“Very well.”
He thought he could sense a stiffness in her body language but couldn’t be sure. One thing about this woman that continued to impress him was that she could mask her feelings as well as or better than he could.
As she walked back toward her office, he couldn’t help but admire her shapely figure. That combined with his growing admiration for her could be dangerous. Very dangerous.
Chapter 6
George stared at the form he’d been trying to fill out for two days, then tossed the pen on the desk and stood to pace the tiny antechamber. How had he gotten into this position? He had signed a contract agreeing to lie about his identity. Every scripture he’d ever read about the evils of lying jumbled in his head.
His gaze fell once again to the paperwork littering the desk. He couldn’t face it any longer. Besides, why was he sitting alone in the house wasting this beautiful Saturday morning by becoming more and more frustrated with his job?
Tucking his keys and cell phone in the pocket of his jeans, George grabbed his sunglasses on his way out the door. He hadn’t attended church last weekend and had a sudden need to find one to attend tomorrow morning. He consulted his city map and set out toward the shopping district, where he’d seen several churches.
After a quarter hour, he passed the large stone arch marking the entrance to the University of Louisiana. He could picture Anne Hawthorne as she must have been years ago as a student here— sitting on a stone bench in the shade, chatting with chums.
The random thought surprised George. He couldn’t let his fancy get the better of him. He had a professional role to maintain.
How gutted would she be when she learned the truth? He hoped she would be happy for the opportunity rather than upset, but the more he got to know her, the more he worried about her reaction.
“Father, give me strength. I do not want to hurt Anne Hawthorne. Not when I’m coming to care for her—” He let his prayer stop when he spied a large structure on his right. The pictorial stained-glass windows reminded him of
