Anne forced a smile. “I hadn’t heard he was getting married.”
“I just think it would be awesome to know what his wedding’s going to be like. It’s going to be the social event of the year, no matter where he gets married. But could you imagine planning his wedding? Whoever that wedding planner is, she’s set for life.” Kristin tucked her notepad and calendar into her pink gingham purse and stood.
Anne shook hands with the couple and walked them to the door. “Please let me know if you’d like me to write up a contract.”
“Oh, we’ll be in touch soon.”
Anne stood at the front door and watched as the couple crossed the square toward the restaurants on the other side. For a newly engaged couple, they weren’t very affectionate with each other. Oh well. Everyone showed their love in different ways. Odd that they didn’t even hold hands, though.
Where had they heard that Cliff was getting married—and in Bonneterre of all places? She prayed that wasn’t the case, although if it was true, it would have been on the front page of the Reserve. Planning his wedding, indeed. Besides the fact that he would never hire her personally, he would never stoop to hiring a local to plan what Kristin had aptly called the social event of the year. He probably had some overpriced Beverly Hills event planner on retainer—someone like the character Martin Short played in the remake of Father of the Bride: pretentious, foreign, and way overpriced.
The phone rang and interrupted her ponderings.
“Happy Endings, Inc. This is Anne Hawthorne.”
“Good morning, Anne.” George’s silky accent brought her fully to the present.
She sank into her chair and leaned her elbows on the desk. “Good morning, yourself. I guess you got my message?”
“I did. I would love to have dinner with you tonight. Shall I meet you or pick you up at the office?”
Her heart did a happy dance. “Actually, I’m coming to you.”
A warm chuckle melted through the phone. “I’d love to cook for you some night, but with no advance notice and Mama Ketty’s not being here…”
“The chef will be there at four o’clock to start cooking.”
“The chef?”
She laughed. “Major O’Hara, the executive chef for Boudreaux-Guidry. Tonight is the only time he has available to do a tasting menu for the rehearsal dinner. Since you didn’t have a chance to taste his food before agreeing to his catering the engagement party, I hope to set your mind at ease tonight.”
“Ah. And here I was thinking you were trying to surprise me with a romantic, home-cooked dinner.”
Were he standing in front of her, he would wink and give her that enchanting crooked grin of his. She bit her bottom lip and took a calming breath. Have fun but don’t indulge. “I’ll see you at six o’clock.”
The caterer arrived at four. After a brief interview, George turned him loose in the kitchen and returned to his quarters. Less than two hours before Anne arrived. Plenty of time to get ready.
He rummaged through shopping bags until he found the table linens. He hadn’t expected the enormous discount store to have quality linens, but the ivory fabric with an embossed pinstripe was at least as nice as what he could find at the local department stores. He ironed the creases out of the tablecloth and napkins and carried them into the small room off the kitchen that would serve as the employees’ dining and break room, once he hired a full house staff.
Covering the large round table with the cloth, he placed a glass vase of lavender tulips in the center. He’d gone to nearly every florist in town trying to find Anne’s favorite flowers, eventually securing the last two dozen at April’s Flowers—finalizing the purchase just as someone else called in looking for some.
He opened the french doors onto the promenade that ran the length of the back of the house. The small iron café table with a glass top and two matching chairs, which he’d found at a locally owned hardware store, made for a perfect alfresco dinner for two. He whistled as he arranged the table, finishing with the second vase of tulips and two taper candles.
Distance, remember. Don’t let’s get in too deep, aye, old boy?
His watch beeped. Five thirty. He’d taken too long with the decorations. He left a book of matches on the table and closed the doors to keep the cool air inside a little longer.
He moved the rest of the spoils of his quick shopping trip into the walk-in closet. He made up the bed with sheets freshly laundered by Mama Ketty, a new duvet, and pillows. In the extra bathroom, he put out the towels Mama Ketty had insisted on laundering before being used. The navy and gold colors were the same he’d used in his quarters in Cliff’s two other homes. His brother Henry would laugh and call him set in his ways. He liked to think of himself as consistent.
He showered, then dressed in gray pants, a blue button-down, and a colorful tie. His short hair dried quickly. He leaned close to the bathroom mirror. The dark brown around his temples seemed to sprout new grays every day, and it needed trimming.
He heard a sound and realized it was his phone playing “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love.” Anne. His heart leaped, then stalled. She couldn’t be calling to cancel. “George Laurence here.”
“Anne Hawthorne here.” Her voice sounded amused. “I’m pulling up to the house now, but I thought I should ask—should I come to the front door or…?”
Only someone else who worked in a service industry would even think about that. “Since my employer is not in residence, the front entrance is fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a sec.”
George switched the phone to silent mode, then snapped it into the holster on his belt. He needed to know if Cliff or Courtney called but didn’t want dinner disturbed. He straightened his tie, then headed to the front of the house. Through the etched glass in the door, he could see Anne, hand raised to knock. He opened the door and ushered her inside.
Her tremulous smile betrayed a surprising nervousness, given this had been her idea. “This is for you—a kind of housewarming/host gift.”
He took the white gift bag from her, surprised by its weight. “Thank you.” He kissed her cheek, then turned and made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “Welcome to my employer’s home. Would you care for a tour?”
She smiled. “Maybe the upstairs part. I’m pretty familiar with the ground floor. Aunt Maggie used to cater events for the Thibodeauxes here a few times a year. Once I was old enough, I came out to help with setup, service, and cleanup.”
“Ah. That’s why you asked about the service entrance.”
She stuck her head in to glance around the formal front parlor. “This is the first time I’ve ever come in through the front door.”
He took her by the hand and led her upstairs. “Obviously, it’s not fully furnished yet. I expect a shipment later in the week, and once Courtney returns”—he winked at Anne—“she will address decorating the guest bedrooms.”
“And the thought of that frightens you?” She glanced in each room as they wandered through both upper levels.
“Not so much as the thought of her mother doing it.” He should have known she’d see through him. He opened the door at the top of the service stairs at the back of the house to take her down to the kitchen. “The one time Mrs. Landry came into the house, she suggested a pink faux-fur rug for one of the upstairs rooms.”
Her laughter resonated like chimes in the enclosed stairwell. “Hopefully she’s not planning to give Courtney the one that’s in her own house as a wedding present. Maybe you should find an interior designer to recommend to her.”
“I’m meeting with three on Thursday.”
The chef turned when they entered the kitchen. “Hey, Anne.” He wiped his hands on the red-and-white-striped towel draped over his shoulder and crossed to embrace her.