Something heavy falls onto my shoulders, and I jolt, almost dropping my phone.
“Are you crazy?” I try to remove the coat Slate’s placed over me, but he hangs on to the lapels. The air inside the house is cold enough to turn mercury solid, so he can’t possibly be warm. “You’re going to freeze.”
“And you’re going to knock all the enamel off your pretty teeth.”
I start to pull the coat off, but he holds out his palms. “I promise I’m all right.”
Before I can protest any more, he backs up into the foyer and then pivots toward the kitchen, illuminating his own way. I walk past Adrien, who’s still chatting with Charlotte, cross the breakfast nook with its round table and wicker chairs, then burst into the kitchen. Slate’s running his light over the sunny granite countertops and wooden cupboards painted a happy yellow.
“They really liked bright colors,” he says.
“Not your style?”
A side of his mouth hooks up. “I’m more of a fifty-shades-of-gray man.”
My jaw tingles with a blush that I try hard to suppress. Why can’t I be like Alma, who doesn’t even know what shame feels like? Besides, he was obviously talking about the color not the book. The fact that my mind went to the book is all kinds of deranged. I didn’t evenreadthe book.
I blame the cold and the ghost.
I look away since he hasn’t, then backtrack to the foyer. “Want to see the bedrooms?”
“Thought you’d never ask, Mademoiselle de Morel.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me doing it since I have my back to him.
Since Adrien’s still on the phone, it’s just Slate and me traipsing around.
“You should really put your coat back on.” I peel it off my shoulders and try to hand it back, but he moves off, his gaze scouring every inch of his parent’s bedroom, from the bare mattress to the carved headboard, to the wooden trunk at the base of the bed bearing the initials E.H.
He lifts the lid, and dust puffs out. Coughing, he swats the air until it clears. Inside are neat stacks of yellowed linens hemmed with fancy embroideries.
“Want to grab dinner after this?” I don’t know wherethatcame from. Just popped out of my mouth while I was scrutinizing a black-and-white picture of the university.
The lid of the trunk bangs shut. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Heat flares anew through me. “Not a date. Just a friendly dinner.”
He chuckles. “At the tavern?”
“Or at my house. I’m sure there’s a hot meal waiting for us.”
“I really need a house elf.”
“House elf?” I spin around, and the beam of my phone scrapes across his throat and black button-down.
“Nothing. And yes, I’d love to go out with you, Cadence, but let’s go toLa Taverne. Not in the mood to dine by candlelight with your papa. Three’s a crowd.”
“It’s not a date.”
He smiles at me. “Uh-huh.”
“You are so—”
“Alluring?”
“Don’t make me regret suggesting dinner.”
He slings his arm around my shoulders and pivots me back toward the hallway. “I noticed one more door on this floor.”
