He rummaged through shopping bags until he found the table linens. He hadn’t expected the enormous discount store to have quality linens, but the ivory fabric with an embossed pinstripe was at least as nice as what he could find at the local department stores. He ironed the creases out of the tablecloth and napkins and carried them into the small room off the kitchen that would serve as the employees’ dining and break room, once he hired a full house staff.
Covering the large round table with the cloth, he placed a glass vase of lavender tulips in the center. He’d gone to nearly every florist in town trying to find Anne’s favorite flowers, eventually securing the last two dozen at April’s Flowers—finalizing the purchase just as someone else called in looking for some.
He opened the french doors onto the promenade that ran the length of the back of the house. The small iron café table with a glass top and two matching chairs, which he’d found at a locally owned hardware store, made for a perfect alfresco dinner for two. He whistled as he arranged the table, finishing with the second vase of tulips and two taper candles.
His watch beeped. Five thirty. He’d taken too long with the decorations. He left a book of matches on the table and closed the doors to keep the cool air inside a little longer.
He moved the rest of the spoils of his quick shopping trip into the walk-in closet. He made up the bed with sheets freshly laundered by Mama Ketty, a new duvet, and pillows. In the extra bathroom, he put out the towels Mama Ketty had insisted on laundering before being used. The navy and gold colors were the same he’d used in his quarters in Cliff’s two other homes. His brother Henry would laugh and call him set in his ways. He liked to think of himself as consistent.
He showered, then dressed in gray pants, a blue button-down, and a colorful tie. His short hair dried quickly. He leaned close to the bathroom mirror. The dark brown around his temples seemed to sprout new grays every day, and it needed trimming.
He heard a sound and realized it was his phone playing “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love.”
“Anne Hawthorne here.” Her voice sounded amused. “I’m pulling up to the house now, but I thought I should ask—should I come to the front door or…?”
Only someone else who worked in a service industry would even think about that. “Since my employer is not in residence, the front entrance is fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a sec.”
George switched the phone to silent mode, then snapped it into the holster on his belt. He needed to know if Cliff or Courtney called but didn’t want dinner disturbed. He straightened his tie, then headed to the front of the house. Through the etched glass in the door, he could see Anne, hand raised to knock. He opened the door and ushered her inside.
Her tremulous smile betrayed a surprising nervousness, given this had been her idea. “This is for you—a kind of housewarming/host gift.”
He took the white gift bag from her, surprised by its weight. “Thank you.” He kissed her cheek, then turned and made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “Welcome to my employer’s home. Would you care for a tour?”
She smiled. “Maybe the upstairs part. I’m pretty familiar with the ground floor. Aunt Maggie used to cater events for the Thibodeauxes here a few times a year. Once I was old enough, I came out to help with setup, service, and cleanup.”
“Ah. That’s why you asked about the service entrance.”
She stuck her head in to glance around the formal front parlor. “This is the first time I’ve ever come in through the front door.”
He took her by the hand and led her upstairs. “Obviously, it’s not fully furnished yet. I expect a shipment later in the week, and once Courtney returns”—he winked at Anne—“she will address decorating the guest bedrooms.”
“And the thought of that frightens you?” She glanced in each room as they wandered through both upper levels.
“Not so much as the thought of her mother doing it.” He should have known she’d see through him. He opened the door at the top of the service stairs at the back of the house to take her down to the kitchen. “The one time Mrs. Landry came into the house, she suggested a pink faux-fur rug for one of the upstairs rooms.”
Her laughter resonated like chimes in the enclosed stairwell. “Hopefully she’s not planning to give Courtney the one that’s in her own house as a wedding present. Maybe you should find an interior designer to recommend to her.”
“I’m meeting with three on Thursday.”
The chef turned when they entered the kitchen. “Hey, Anne.” He wiped his hands on the red-and-white- striped towel draped over his shoulder and crossed to embrace her.
“Hey, Major. I’ve been looking forward to this dinner all day.”
He cut his gaze toward George. “I’m sure you have.”
George wasn’t sure how to read the look that passed between Anne and the caterer, who was not wearing a wedding band. George led her out of the kitchen. “How do you know him?”
“Major? He started working for Aunt Maggie when we were in high school.”
George smiled and shook his head.
“What’s so funny?”
He led her through the dining room and opened the french doors. “I grew up in London. For the last five years, I’ve shuttled back and forth between Los Angeles and Manhattan. I knew Bonneterre was smaller, but with a quarter of a million population, it’s not a village. Yet listening to you, seeing how you cannot go outside of your office without seeing someone you know…it’s very quaint.” He held her chair as she sat.
She looked over her shoulder with a grin. “It used to be a lot more ‘quaint’ than it is now. The city has nearly doubled in size in the last ten or fifteen years.”
He sat as she told him about how Bonneterre had changed over her lifetime. At the first lull in the conversation, he stood. “May I offer you a beverage?”
“Oh, that reminds me, you never opened your gift.” She pushed the white bag on the table toward him.
“Quite so.” He reached through the tissue paper and wrapped his hand around something rectangular and solid, with a smooth surface. Drawing it out, he grinned when he saw it. “Is this a hint for later?”
“I thought you liked flavored coffee.” Her protest was overshadowed by the laughter lacing her voice.
“Yes, but if I guess correctly, hazelnut caramel is your favorite flavor.”
She bit her bottom lip, and her smile grew wider. “Busted.”
He loved her laugh. “Would you like some now?”
“No, save it for dessert. I could really go for some iced tea.”
“The only kind we have is without sweetening.”
“That’s fine. I can drink it either way.” She started to stand.
He stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. “No. You’re my guest. Stay there and let me serve you.”
Anne’s blue eyes sparkled, and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
The dinner Major O’Hara put before them was nothing short of perfection, from the spinach salad with muscadine vinaigrette to the medium-rare London broil with Cajun garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed baby asparagus.
“I hope this sets your mind at ease,” Anne said after O’Hara cleared their dinner plates. “Major is one of the best chefs I’ve ever worked with. He’s done a ton of catering for me over the years.”
George reached across the table and covered Anne’s clasped hands. “I’m happy you came.”
The candlelight glittered in the sapphire pools of her eyes. “I’m happy you didn’t mind the intrusion.”
They both turned at the sound of a cleared throat. “Are you ready for dessert?” O’Hara stood in the doorway, a silver tray balanced on one hand, a coffee service cart beside him.
Anne groaned dramatically. “I don’t know how I could eat another bite. What is it?” She leaned back to make
