She’d set their places at the end of the dark walnut table. Whelan set a glass at each place. He pointed at the salad. “Peaches and tomatoes, I get, but is that cottage cheese? I haven’t had that since my grandma’s house.”
Traci laughed. “It’s burrata, and it’s very on trend. Sort of a soft, whipped mozzarella.”
He tasted and nodded vigorously. “Damn, this is good.”
“Are you a grilling kind of guy?” she asked, getting up to clear their plates.
“Always. It’s the thing I miss most in my rat-hole of an apartment. No place to grill.”
“You’re in luck tonight,” Traci told him. “We’ve got filet mignon and they’re seasoned and ready to go, I just need someone to man my grill pan. I confess, I’m totally intimidated by it. Once that fat starts sizzling I panic and either take the steaks off too early or too late.”
True to his promise, Whelan turned out to be a grilling ninja. Lola stationed herself under Traci’s chair and whined and begged until Traci relented by tossing her the one tiny morsel she had left on her otherwise clean plate.
“Let’s take dessert out to the screened porch,” Traci said, pointing to the pair of French doors in the living room.
Traci sat on one of a pair of rattan pretzel chairs and Whelan seated himself opposite her with a glass of red wine and the chocolate dessert, which Traci pronounced herself too full to try.
The evening had cooled considerably, but a ceiling fan whirred overhead and the pinprick of fireflies flashed in the low-hanging branches of a gigantic live oak tree that shaded most of the backyard.
“This is nice,” Whelan said. The backyard was smallish, but landscaped with colorful beds of ferns, caladiums, blue-and-pink blossoming hydrangeas, and the thickest, greenest grass he’d ever seen. “You take care of this yourself?”
“God, no. Junior, who is officially retired from the hotel now, does everything, including planting all the annuals and perennials. It’s his baby, and he takes huge pride in his work.”
“I’ve noticed that with quite a few of the folks who work at the Saint,” Whelan said.
“Treat people right, and they’ll do right by you, my dad always said.”
“Are your parents still living?”
Her smile faded. “My mom is. They moved to Arizona twelve years ago after Dad retired, and Dad passed away a couple years later.”
“And your mom stayed in Arizona?”
Traci picked up her wineglass and swirled the dark liquid before taking a drink. She knew what he was getting at. “They were living in one of those ‘active adult communities.’ Mom has her ladies she plays bridge with, her book club, and her church friends.”
Whelan nodded, but she could see he still didn’t quite understand.
“I love my mom, and I know she loves me, but we were never very close. She doesn’t understand my life, what I do. After Hoke died, she couldn’t believe I wouldn’t just move away from here. From the memories.”
“You never considered doing that?”
“Not really. We were finishing up the remodel of the hotel. I couldn’t just walk away from the thing that had been his passion, and mine.”
“Good marriage?” Whelan quirked one eyebrow.
Traci lifted her chin. “I think so. We were happy. We had so many plans…” Her voice drifted away. She was ready to close down this discussion.
“How about you?” she said. “Any family?”
Whelan stood abruptly. “Another glass of wine? It’s Friday night, you know.”
“Yeah, it is. No curfew for me, right?”
When he came back he set her glass carefully on the glass-topped table, but she noticed he hadn’t refilled his own glass.
“I told you I had something to talk to you about, and I’ve been avoiding the topic all night,” he said.
“Why is that?”
