“Fine.” He chuckled and sounded more like usual as he closed the trunk.
We went inside and the lights in the foyer blinded me until I got used to it. I’d planned to shower first, but Mrs. Riggins strode toward me from the hallway to the right of the stairs.
“Sir, your meal is ready.” She came directly toward me and took Maurice’s suit and backpack. He raised his hands to snatch the items from her, but she was quick and went directly up the stairs. “I’ll take these things to the Rose room.”
“It’s beside my bedroom,” I said, in answer to his questioning glance. We could put everything where it belonged later. She probably assumed he was staying over because of something to do with the storm, but that was fine. Soon enough everyone would know Maurice belonged with me.
He looked stiff enough to shatter as I guided him to the dining room. I sat at the head of the long table because it was the seat I’d inherited when my father passed away, and I supposed it was habit at this point.
“Wow,” Maurice said, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he turned one of the mahogany chairs so he could get a better view of the elaborate backrest. “These weren’t here before when I visited.”
“Oh, I had them hauled out of storage. A man by the name of Mr. Vidal carved all sixteen chairs and the dining table by hand. There is a china cabinet somewhere. I think it’s in what used to be my mother’s sitting room.” I took a deep breath and started in on a tale I knew by heart. “The story goes that in 1860 my great-great grandfather Lawrence Hazard Guidry lost a duel to Mr. Vidal. The man was within his rights to shoot him dead, and Lawrence was already wounded. He carried the limp from the fight his whole life.”
“Oh.” Maurice traced a finger along the head of a knight in the center of the chair, then along the spiral supports on the sides and the detailed windmill that made up one leg underneath.
“The reason for the duel was that my great-great grandfather wanted to marry Mr. Vidal’s youngest daughter. She was the prettiest of ten, and Lawrence Guidry, romantic fool that he was, said Mr. Vidal might as well shoot him through the heart, if he wouldn’t allow his girl to marry him. You see, she was supposed to go back to Spain and marry a boy there, rather than some American, who was clearly not good enough for any of the Vidals.”
Maurice smiled and gestured at me. “Lawrence didn’t die.”
“Not then.” I knocked my knuckles against the table. “Mr. Vidal was so moved by Lawrence’s declaration that he allowed the wedding to happen, and as an apology for giving Lawrence a limp that pained him every single day, he carved this dining set and the accompanying pieces. Its theme is Don Quixote, which I always thought was Mr. Vidal’s little continued joke at Lawrence’s expense.” I grinned at Maurice as he studied the detailed carving around the edge of the table. “My father told that story at parties with vigorous reenactments. Depending on how much he’d drunk, the duel was a sword fight, sometimes pistols, and once it occurred at sea with cannons on ships.”
Maurice snickered. “Do you actually know what happened?”
“Hell, for all I know, Mom bought the dining set at a yard sale. We do have a Lilliana Vidal in our family tree, though.” I winked at him.
He chuckled and sat on my left, then gave Justine, one of Mrs. Riggins helpers, a nearly painful smile when the girl carried out a tray of food, her red braid bouncing against her back with her quick steps. She grinned back at him as she set down our plates, and I enjoyed seeing the people in my life get along together.
“I’ll be right back with your coffee, Mr. Guidry. What would you like, sir?” she asked Maurice.
“Nothing special. Coffee is fine.”
She nodded and hustled off.
“This looks good,” Maurice said with his eyebrows raised.
“It’s standard.” The scrambled eggs and toast were typical, but there was a small bowl of cubed avocado and raspberries to go with it, so clearly we were showing off for guests today—and I wasn’t opposed. “Mrs. Riggins makes sure everything in the house is edible.”
He hummed and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth, and his eyebrows danced higher as he ate another bite. I dug into my own food. The coffee was served while we were eating, and again Maurice was a bit awkward about taking his mug, but maybe he would get used to things if he were simply around more. As Maurice tipped the coffee to his lips, he moaned.
“Thank you,” he called after Justine, and she turned to wave but kept moving.
I shook my head at him. “More awake now?”
“Mm.” He closed his eyes to savor the dark brew.
“Shower with me?”
He coughed and set down his mug. The way he licked his lips had my groin tightening and stomach warming. “Do we have time for that?”
With a shrug, I rubbed my hand across his lower back. “I am the boss.”
He took another deep sip of his coffee and shook his head. “No. No, you can’t have that attitude or everything will implode at work.”
This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d planned. Leaning my chin on my fist, I widened my eyes in his direction. “You’re right.” Embarrassment heated my face and had me squirming in my seat. “What do you suggest we do to keep things the way they should be?”
He shrugged and slurped his coffee, staring hard at the tabletop. “It’s not bad that you want to do things like... that with me. I just don’t want to mess everything up at the office.”
“I get it.”
