“So, you know what I’m thinking? Concrete floors.”
Meredith prepared to laugh, then realized that Antoine Delacroix looked like he really meant what he said. “Concrete floors?”
“Yeah. We rip out all this old wood—it just makes everything dark and closed in—and do painted concrete floors.”
The months of lovingly restoring the crown molding, the door and window facings, the built-ins made Meredith’s fingers tingle with indignation. “Rip out the wood?”
“Yeah. And I’m thinking a totally modern kitchen—colored, laminated, stainless steel and glass, very streamlined.”
Mouth agape, she could only stare as Alaine’s brother—her much younger brother—wandered from the dining room into the barren kitchen. When he’d shown up—almost an hour late—she’d been surprised that someone as young as he appeared to be was already a licensed contractor. And when he’d handed over his credentials, the recent date on the license had confirmed her suspicions.
“Maybe I didn’t explain properly over the phone.” Meredith followed him into the kitchen. “I want this house restored not remodeled.”
“Same diff.” Antoine waved his hand over his shoulder and continued on into the utility room. “Hey, that den is on the other side of this wall isn’t it?” He knocked on the back wall. “We could knock this wall out and put in a kickin’ wet bar.”
This walk-through couldn’t end soon enough. What had Alaine been thinking? If she’d meant to set Meredith up with Antoine romantically, she’d overlooked the fact that Meredith was a good ten to twelve years older than this kid. If she thought Meredith would like Antoine’s aesthetic, she’d been sorely mistaken.
She leaned heavily against the back door. “You know, Antoine, what I’m really looking for is someone who can come in and restore the house and keep the historical integrity while bringing the utilities and features, like kitchen and bathrooms, up to date.”
The wall-knocking stopped, and he stuck his head out of the utility room. “Really? Most folks I talk to want everything modern these days.”
“Well, call me old-fashioned, but I bought a craftsman-style house because I love the craftsman style.”
“Dude. You should have told me. I really don’t do old stuff.”
“I guess there’s no reason for me to waste more of your time, then, Antoine. I’ll walk you out.” Meredith waved him toward the front of the house.
“Yep. You’re probably right.” He preceded her to the front door. “But you really should think about that wet bar idea. It would be sweet.”
“I wouldn’t have any use for a wet bar.” Besides, Ward had suggested taking away half of the space. And Ward knew an architect who could draw up plans before the end of the week so that he could get started soon and have it finished before Anne and George returned from England at the end of March.
Antoine grabbed the front door’s handle but turned before opening it. “So, wanna go out sometime?”
Meredith cleared her throat to mask a chuckle. “While I’m flattered by the offer, I...” Was she really going to turn down an offer for a date? Yes. Yes she was. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Cool.”
She should be indignant at the relief that showed in his dark eyes, but she couldn’t quite conjure it. “Bye.”
“Later, dude.” He loped down the porch steps and sidewalk to his monster-sized luxury SUV, which dug trenches in the driveway and sprayed gravel everywhere when he gunned the engine backing out.
High-pitched yapping from behind the house caught her attention. She hurried through and out onto the back porch. The fuzzball stood with his forepaws on the trunk of one of the massive oaks, barking his head off at a tabby cat.
Meredith put her fingers to the corners of her mouth and whistled. The puppy—who really needed a name if she was going to keep him any longer—whipped around. Overjoyed to see her, he broke out into his lumbering puppy run, tripping over his too-big feet a couple of times before he reached her.
She brushed off a few dead leaves and scooped him up, holding him low enough that his tongue couldn’t reach her face. So he concentrated his kisses on her hands instead.
“Come on, li’l booger. Let’s drop you off at home so I can get back to work.”
Since the afternoon had turned out somewhat pleasant, Meredith decided she could take the risk of leaving the puppy outside in the small fenced area beyond the swimming pool Anne figured had been set up as a dog run by previous residents.
She put him in it then ran inside to get the kennel she’d borrowed from her parents, the bottom padded with the old towels he’d been sleeping on, along with his water dish.
Anne’s cell phone went straight to voicemail—must be with a client—so Meredith left her cousin a message to check on the dog if she wasn’t home when Anne got there. She pulled out of the driveway headed north, toward downtown.
Corie was just clearing her desk when Meredith hurried in.
“Hey. Everyone’s been looking for you.” Corie handed her several sticky notes with messages.
Meredith flipped through them quickly. “I already talked to most of them on the way back here. I’ll call this one back tomorrow.” She wadded the unnecessary messages and handed them to Corie to throw away. “Any deliveries come while I was out?”
Corie shook her head. “I called them several times. They said the linens were on the truck to be delivered today.” The assistant put her satchel down in her chair. “Need me to stay and help out with anything so you’re not here all night?”
“No. I’ve got that meeting in”—Meredith glanced at her watch—“two hours. And then I’m out of here.”
“Want me to go pick up something for you to eat?”
“Won’t be necessary.”
Meredith whirled around at Major’s voice. He carried a tray with several dome-covered dishes, a pitcher of tea, and a glass full of ice.
Warm gooiness—like a chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven—stuck to Meredith’s insides. “Is that for me?”
“Who else?” He nodded toward her door. “Unless you don’t want it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Meredith stepped out of his way and motioned him into her office.
“I remembered you said you had a late meeting tonight, and I figured you might appreciate not having to reheat cold leftovers.” Major slid the tray onto her table and began putting out a place-setting, complete with cloth napkin and placemat.
“I guess you’re taken care of, then.” Corie joined Meredith in the doorway. “Here’s all the stuff you’ll need for the meeting.”
“Thanks.” She took the stack of folders. “Have a good night.”
Corie’s gaze cut toward Major; then she grinned at Meredith. “You, too.”
Instead of correcting her assistant’s erroneous conclusion, Meredith bade her farewell and carried the thick stack of folders to the table.
“You look like you’ve gotten some sun.” Meredith’s voice just over his shoulder startled Major, making him clank the plate cover against the ceramic.
Embarrassment kept him from looking up at her; instead, he concentrated on setting the dishes out just so. “Yeah. Alaine suggested I go to a tanning salon and get a little more color so they don’t have to use so much makeup on me tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Meredith picked up one of the folders she’d just put down. “So, that starts tomorrow, huh?”
“Mmm.” Major was so not ready to get in front of the camera again. How had he ever agreed to do this? Oh, yeah, that’s right. He hadn’t. He’d been told he’d agreed to do this.
“Do you know what you’re going to cook yet?” Meredith perched on the edge of a chair across the table.
“Alaine suggested starting off with a kitchen basics lesson—talking about different techniques, different utensils that most people will be using at home.” He swallowed hard. “We’re going to be doing it at my condo.”
Meredith’s head rocked back slightly, and her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Something about not wanting to intimidate the viewers by showing me only in a professional kitchen.” Of course, once they saw his kitchen at home, they’d kick him off as a fraud. No professional chef had anything at home as laughable as what he had. “Then it’ll mostly be based on viewers’ suggestions and questions as to what I cook each week.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Meredith fingered the edge of the folder her arm rested atop. “How is this going to affect your work schedule? I heard the filming is pretty much going to eat up your whole day on Tuesdays.”
Major added a last-minute garnish of chopped chives and parsley to the blue cheese mashed potatoes and pulled out the chair for Meredith. Really looking at her for the first time since their meeting last Friday morning, he was surprised by how exhausted she looked.
“Can you stay a few minutes?” she asked before sitting.
“Sure.” He sank into the chair she’d just vacated. “I’m not sure yet how this thing is going to impact the work flow. Steven has been pretty much running lunch service upstairs for the past five months, so he’s ready to step up as chef de cuisine and handle everything. I’m just a little concerned that we only have three and a half weeks until the banquet. Normally, tomorrow would have been my day to start calling vendors and placing orders. I did some of that today, but Monday’s a really bad day for getting in touch with anyone in the food industry.”
Meredith finished off her Caesar salad quickly and started on the blackened lemon fish with the citrus beurre blanc. At the first bite, she closed her eyes and sighed.
Major relaxed. It had been a favorite of his to prepare in culinary school, but he hadn’t made it in years, before Friday night. It was definitely going on the short list for the restaurant menu.
“Is that something Steven can help out with?”
“With vendors for the banquet? I’d rather have him concentrating on lunch service. I’m going to have him do the final inventory and budget this week, as well as have him start ordering for next week. I’m going to work closely with him on it, but it’s something he should pick up pretty easily. He’s a quick learner.”
“He’s got a good mentor.” Meredith gave him a soft smile.
His insides turned into goo. “Thanks.”
“Hey, when are you guys going to sing at church again?” Meredith moved her cleared dinner plate aside and pulled the dish of sliced baked apples forward.
“Forbes said something Thursday night about a few new pieces he’d found for us. It’s just a matter of us all having time in our schedule to get together and practice. With Clay working most nights, George off gallivanting all over the world, and Forbes and me working long hours, we hardly cross paths anymore.”
“That’s too bad. Everyone loves to hear y’all sing. It’s the only time we ever get to see Forbes doing something that seems completely out of character for him.”
Major laughed. “Yeah, he doesn’t seem the southern gospel type. Of course, he’s the main reason we dress in suits rather than just making sure we’re wearing similar color shirts up there.”
Meredith lapsed into silence for a moment, stirring the baked apples around in their sauce. “Major, I don’t mean to pry into your personal life, so tell me if I’m overstepping bounds here, but I’ve always been curious about your family.”
Frozen iron settled in Major’s gut. “Curious about what?”
“Well, you never talk about them. You know so much about mine—have practically been part of our family for a really long time.”
His forearms started twitching from how tightly he gripped his fists. “I don’t talk about my family because there really isn’t much to say.” He should tell her. He would tell her.
Meredith looked over at him, head cocked, a half smile playing about those very inviting lips.
No, he couldn’t tell her. He didn’t want that open, carefree gaze to be tainted with suspicion, wondering when he was going to go off his rocker, too. “I’m an only child who was raised by a single mom.”
“And your mom is...?” She pressed her lips together.
As tempting as it was to let her think his mother had passed away, he couldn’t lie to her. “Still living.”
“Does she still live in Bonneterre?”
“No.” Because technically, Beausoleil Pointe Center was outside the city limits.
“That’s too bad. So you probably don’t get to see her very often.” She looked genuinely sad for him.
Guilt pounded in his head and chest. Why couldn’t he just bring himself to tell her the truth? “I see her as often as I can.” Like every Wednesday evening and Sunday afternoon.
“Well, if she ever comes in town, let me know. I’d love to meet her and tell her how much I ... appreciate her son.”
Wouldn’t Ma love that? Someone to rave about him to. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He refilled her tea glass. “Want me to leave the pitcher? Jeff and Sandra can pick it up when they come down with the snacks for the meeting.”
Meredith’s eyes lit up. “Is Sandra making cookies?”
Major stood and started collecting the dinner dishes. “Yes—that’s why I only brought you baked apples for dessert.” He winked at her.
“You know me too well, Major O’Hara.”
But not as well as he’d like—oh, there was no use in entertaining those kinds of thoughts anymore. He’d created the recipe for their relationship; now he had to live with the product.
Meredith rose and stretched, her back audibly popping a couple of times. “Guess I’d better get back to it.” She leaned across the table and dragged the pile of folders toward her.
“You’ll be careful leaving tonight?” He made sure his expression was as stern as he could make it.
“In addition to my facilities maintenance managers, I’ll have all of my security supervisors here. Do you think any of them would let me walk to my car alone?” She laughed. “I’ll be okay, you old worrywart.”
“If I didn’t worry about you—” An all too familiar ring interrupted his retort. His heart sank as the ringtone he’d chosen for Beausoleil Pointe Center’s main switchboard trilled into the silent office.
Giving Meredith a tight farewell smile, he hefted the service tray up on one shoulder, grabbed the phone with his free hand, and backed out of her office.
“This is Major O’Hara.”
“Danny, it’s Ma.”
Major hurried down the hall to the executive dining room and through to the kitchen. “Ma, what’s wrong?” He slid the tray onto the island and went back to stop the swinging door’s flapping.
“Does anything have to be wrong for a mother to call her son?”
“No, but you don’t usually call me unless something’s happened. So what’s wrong?”
“Well, you see, Joan and I were going into the dining room for supper—but they call it dinner around here, and I don’t know why. You need to tell them that dinner is lunch and dinner at nighttime is supper.”
“Ma, focus. What happened?” Major snapped the lights on, tucked the phone between shoulder and ear, and set to hand-washing the dishes.
“We’d just gotten our trays, but Gene—he’s the one with the daughter I was telling you about, the one that just got married.” She paused, obviously expecting a response.
“Yes, Gene with the daughter who just got married.”
“Right. Anyway, Gene was behind someone else who stopped right in front of him, and Gene ran into her and both of them spilled their iced tea, see?”
“No, Ma. I don’t really see yet. Keep going.”
“So, Joan and I were talking and we weren’t paying much attention to Gene. You know, all he ever talks about is his daughter who just got married. It’s like he’s rubbing it in that his kid is married and mine isn’t. I want grandchildren, Major.”
He needed to bang his head against something hard. “What happened, Ma?”
“I fell.”
His hands stilled—but his heart pounded faster. “Fell? Are you hurt?”
“No. But they’re trying to make me go to bed. I don’t want to go to bed, Danny. Tell them I don’t have to go to bed.”
Head throbbing, he set the clean dishes on the drain board and found a clean towel to dry his hands on. “Put the doctor on.”
“There’s no doctor, just that little boy who keeps saying he is one. But I don’t think he’s old enough. You need to come out here and tell them I don’t want to go to bed.”
“Give the phone to him, please.”
“You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, Ma, I’ll come. Now give the phone to ... the little boy.”
A bit of fumbling on the line ended with, “This is Nick Sevellier.”
“Dr. Sevellier, how bad is she?”
“She’s a little banged up and hit her head pretty hard when she fell. But it’s not a concussion, so we see no reason to have her taken to the emergency room.”
Major’d taken his share of spills, working in kitchens since he was fifteen, and he knew just how dangerous even falling on a wood floor like those at BPC could be. “Was she knocked out?”
“Not at all. But she’s developing a pretty good knot on the back of her head.”
“And your medical opinion is bed rest?” The kid called himself a doctor, but Major didn’t know this kid’s credentials.
“My previous rotation was in the emergency room, Mr. O’Hara. I had to deal with a lot of head traumas there. I’m more worried about how sore she’s likely to be tomorrow. She wrenched her back a little bit, so I’d like her to lie down and let the nurses give her an ice and heat treatment.”
“Okay. Thanks. Put her back on the phone.” Major sighed.
“Did you tell him I’m not going to bed?”
“Ma, let them take care of you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
By the time he convinced her, he was back in his office gathering his coat and duffel. “Ma, I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, to avoid Jeff or Sandra hearing him out in the kitchen. “Hang up the phone and let the nurses take you back to your room. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“I don’t like you very much right now.” The line clicked and went dead.
“I love you, too, Ma.” Major threw the phone into his bag and turned off the office light.
“Everything okay, boss?” Sandra asked. The cookies she’d just taken from the oven filled the large space with a heavenly aroma.
“Yeah, just fine.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Jeff, there are some dishes on the drain board down in the executive kitchen. Will you bring those up and run them through the sterilizer with everything else before you leave tonight?”
“Can do, Chef.” Jeff didn’t look up from the cheese straws he was piping onto a large baking sheet with a pastry bag.
“Meredith is in her office if you need anything.”
“Yes, Chef,” both cooks responded.
Once in the elevator, Major leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing his forehead. Though he hated keeping secrets from Meredith, tonight’s episode with Ma reminded him of why he needed to keep her as far away from Meredith as he could, lest she ruin Meredith’s life, too.