He cleared his throat, and I could tell he was mentally searching for a change of topic. I drank my coffee to give him time.
“I’m going to send out the invitations to your big summer bash this week. Is the list finalized?” His words had desperation around the edges, so I let our former conversation die.
Groaning, I shook my head. “I have to add a few people whether or not I want them to show up. I’ve been putting it off.”
His nostrils flared and an imperious downward twist of his mouth let me know a lecture was coming. “That’s the danger when you throw a party like this. You don’t want to offend clients. There will always be a few who turn up that you wish wouldn’t, but you must invite them anyway. We can’t lose money because someone didn’t get to eat a few ribs on your lawn.” His nose wrinkled.
“Indeed.”
He straightened and his shoulders went back. “You should invite Indy Yves.” He spoke so softly I had to lean toward him to catch the words. “His shop is up-and-coming in St. Loren, and I’ve heard he has mail-order clients as far away as New Gothenburg and Los Angeles. He would really enjoy socializing with everyone, and he’s making most of your wardrobe.” Maurice stared across the room rather than looking at me, and there was something peculiar about the way he was acting, but I couldn’t work it out, so I wrote it off as him still not quite being awake.
“Okay, do it.”
He nodded, and we didn’t talk about much else. After we finished breakfast, I showed Maurice to the Rose room, which had a beautiful, connected suite and a good view of the grounds.
“The walls are blue!” he said with a laugh as I opened the window and the spicy smell of blooms invaded.
“That’s the reason for the name,” I said.
We got ready for work separately, and I didn’t love it, but I did enjoy that we arrived at work together. I checked the parking lot, and as usual, we were the first in. I turned toward him and leaned close because I wanted one last kiss before the day started, but he put up his hand and touched his fingers to my lips. The gesture that was supposed to ward me off only drew me closer as he traced along the seam of my mouth.
“Not here.”
An unhappy pang reverberated in my chest, but I nodded.
The day was too fucking long because we were still doing storm cleanup on most of our projects, on top of the normal day-to-day work. It was after one in the morning before we stumbled out to my car again.
On Wednesday we ended up going in early and staying close to midnight. Maurice ate a late dinner with me, which I loved, and then went home to his place on the lake. I’d tried to convince him to stay over at my house, but he’d said he had to check his kitchen for mold, and I couldn’t argue with that. The weather had torn up St. Loren more than I would’ve thought possible.
By Thursday morning he was wavering about staying with me outright until the electricity was fixed, probably because I’d asked Mrs. Riggins to make all the dishes I’d noticed he tended to order when we had meals together. After a lot of consideration, he drove home at the end of the day. It really, really sucked. I wanted him in my bed.
Friday morning I was determined to get him to stay overnight with me because I’d liked it and wanted him beside me to sleep... and do other things. Maurice and I were seated in the dining room and already showered and dressed for work, when Justine brought out loaded plates of biscuits and gravy, along with the usual coffee.
Maurice let out a contented sigh as his food was set in front of him, and Justine grinned and gave me a wink. She was in on myspoil Mauriceplan and seemed to approve.
After one forkful, he smiled. “This is delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” I grinned. I loved it when Maurice was happy.
“I haven’t been lifting all week, though. I should probably eat lighter.” His sad tone had me setting down my own silverware.
“Eat what you want. We’ll make it up over the weekend and next week. I want to see you heaving around weights.”
He studied my face. “You want to go work out with me? I don’t really do cardio.”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
He nearly bounced in his chair like a kid and grinned. “Okay!”
We both stared at his pocket as his phone vibrated because the buzzing was louder than a pesky fly. He sighed and dragged the nuisance out of his suit jacket pocket, then scowled at the phone screen so hard my heart began to race.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lacey.” He glared as if he wanted to set her on fire. “She wants us to go to the Sloppy Frog tonight with her.”
“I do owe her a drink.”
He gasped as if I’d shot him. “For what?”
