I rang the doorbell, my heart thumping. I was nervous, I realized. About seeing Trey, a guy I’d known most of my life. Which was stupid. I was here on an errand of mercy, damn it.
He opened the door. “Amy.” His voice was surprised. “Hi. What’s this?”
I shifted the carton in my arms. “I brought dinner.”
He smiled. “Dinner, flowers, and...” His gaze slid over my shoulder. “Aunt Phee.”
The dog yipped.
I smiled wryly. “And Polly.”
“We came to see James,” Phee announced. “Don’t leave us standing here on the porch. Invite us in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took the box from me, his eyes alight with laughter. “Where do you want this?”
“The kitchen? Unless you’ve already had dinner. In which case, I can put everything in the fridge.”
“No, this is great. I was just about to nuke us something in the microwave.”
I’d always admired the Laurence house, the dark wood, theantique rugs, the smell of furniture polish and old money. Not my style—too traditional—but very elegant. We crossed the foyer to the library. Mr. Laurence sat in his customary leather chair on one side of the fireplace. He was wearing what I thought of as his rehab clothes, a gray T-shirt and sweatpants. His hair stuck up in tufts on one side. Even with the slackening of his face, I could see the resemblance to Trey—the long, straight nose, the high, wide forehead.
“Hey, Mr. Laurence,” I said softly. “I figured since you couldn’t come to the party, we’d bring the party to you.” He stared at me, his jaw working. “You know, like a picnic? We could set up trays in here.”
“No,” he said.
Well, that was clear.
“James and I are too old for picnics,” Phee announced. “He and I can visit while you set the dining room table.”
“Sure. If that’s what you want. Is that all right with you?” I asked Trey’s grandfather.
He made a grunt that could have been assent.
Trey carried the box to the kitchen.
“You sure it’s okay?” I asked. “Us being here?”Me, being here.
“Very okay. It’s good for Granddad to have company.” He grinned. “Unless the dog bites him.”
“Or Aunt Phee does.”
His chuckle released something inside me, iridescent as a flight of soap bubbles. I arranged the food on plates, fresh Southern ingredients with a German twist, a nod to Eric’s mother.Rouladenmade with heritage pork. Schnitzel with chowchow. Rabbit stew with pillowy potato dumplings.
“Amy, seriously... This is great.”
The bubbles expanded, swelling my chest. “Eric made everything.”
“But you brought it.” He kissed me, a brief, hard kiss. Not particularly lover-like, but my pulse scrambled anyway. “Thanks.”
“The food will get cold,” I said.
“Right.” Another lightning grin. “Don’t want Phee to come looking for us.”
I picked up the flowers. He grabbed the plates. Together, we went into the dining room.
This was very nice.” Phee dabbed her lips with a napkin. “But it’s getting late. We should go.”
Reluctantly, I stood. It wasn’t that late. But Mr. Laurence must be tired. He’d done great all through dinner—greatbeing a relative term for a patient recently sprung from rehab. He seemed to enjoy his stew. He smiled and nodded to the stream of gossip and reminiscence from Phee. Now he sat with Polly curled in his lap, his hand resting on her silly topknot. My heart tugged.
