Pulling herself out of the memory, she smiled at him. “Just where would I put it?”
Between the two of them, they talked her into a cappuccino and the signature house bread pudding.
“And?” Trey prompted. “You thought of something before.”
“It’s strange. I haven’t thought of any of it for years. She said I’d face a betrayal, which would hurt but provide a fortunate escape and open opportunities. I’d be wise to take both. And that I’d make my home in a house of history and secrets overlooking the sea.”
She picked up her water glass. “Looks like she was pretty damn accurate on that part, too. Spooky,” she repeated, and drank. “I never believed any of it; any of the, well, spooky stuff before I came here.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Yet to be determined.” She shrugged. “Or partially. I love that house, Trey. Like Yoda, it was love at first sight. Which I also didn’t believe in before I saw the house or Yoda.”
“Practicality or cynicism?”
“Maybe a little of both. And I insist on maintaining at least some of both.”
“That and your resiliency will help you deal with what’s in the house.”
Charmed, simply charmed, she shook her head. “You’re not even the tiniest bit, we’ll say cynical, about the manor.”
“I grew up with it, and to some extent in it. You’ve had about a month.”
He glanced over as a woman with short, boldly red hair arrowed toward their table. The white chef’s coat gave her away.
“Interrupting. Mind?” She snugged into the booth beside Sonya. “Bree Marshall.”
“Sonya MacTavish. Trey told me you were a wonderful chef. He didn’t say you were a goddess in the kitchen.”
“I like you. I like her,” she said to Trey.
Ian brought the coffee and dessert.
“Can I get you something, Chef?”
“No, I’m only on a short break. We’re winding down, thank Christ and all his followers. I just need Trey for one quick minute. It’s not private. Eat,” she added, and waved at the dessert plates. “Manny,” she said to Trey.
“Manny? What about him? I had a beer with him a week or so ago. He’s fine, right?”
“Sure. Right. Manny and me.”
“Manny and you what? Oh.” Now Trey sat back. “When did this happen?”
“It hasn’t yet. Completely. Just around the edges. You know me, you know him.” She turned to Sonya. “We all go back. High school. Trey and I had a thing in high school. Don’t worry about that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good. Confident. Like her even more. We—Trey and I—had not even what you’d call a thing a few years later. Not to worry there either.”
“I won’t.”
“Bree.” Trey managed to infuse the single syllable with deep frustration, mild embarrassment, and endless affection.
“Right. Back to it. Manny and me. A friend—you know Marlie—talked me into going over to Ogunquit a couple weeks ago. Rock Hard had a gig. Rock Hard’s Manny’s band. He’s a drummer. I don’t know if the name’s a reference to the Maine coast, the music, or woodies, since they’re an all-male band.”
“Jesus, Bree.”
“Sorry.” As Trey rubbed his face, Bree turned to Sonya again. “Was that offensive?”
“Not in the least. Sounds to me like it could be all three.”
Bree jabbed a finger at her. “Bet you’re right. Anyway, Manny used to drum for Trey’s band back in the day. Head Case.”
“Head Case?” On a rolling laugh, Sonya picked up her cappuccino. “I love it.”
“They weren’t bad. So I went to Manny’s gig—they’re solid, Trey, you’ve heard them. And Manny and I hung out some, and things clicked. Not that way. What do you take me for?”
“I said nothing.”
“You thought it. Then he came in the other night, hung around until closing, and more clicked. Still not that way. But. So, what do you think? Yes or no.”
“If I say yes and things go bad, you’ll be pissed. If I say no and it’s what you want, you’ll be pissed. So I’m going to say you’re both friends of mine, both all grown up, and don’t need anyone’s permission to … click.”
“I screwed up before.”
“Bree, no, you didn’t. You got out of a bad relationship because you’re not an idiot.”
“My ex-husband turned out to be a scumbag who cheated on me with my sous chef.”
“I caught my ex-fiancé banging my cousin in our bed a couple months before the wedding.”
“Okay, you win. I like Manny. I’ve always liked Manny. I don’t want to mess him up.”
“Then you won’t,” Trey told her.
“Then I won’t.” She nodded, pushed out. “I’ve got to get back to the wars. Bring her in again. I like her.”
As Bree arrowed away again, Sonya spooned up some bread pudding. “I can see why you had a thing with her. Twice.”
“The second time wasn’t really a thing.”
“I can see why. So, if I take a vow of silence, will you tell me what you think about Bree the chef and Manny the drummer?”
“I think I wonder why it took him this long. He’s had a soft spot for her for years.”
“That’s nice. And it’s nice you didn’t tell her that. It keeps things balanced between them. So.” She took another bite of bread pudding. “Head Case?”
* * *
Nearly three hours after they’d driven away from the house, he parked beside her car.
“I didn’t know how much I needed this. You did.”
“Everybody needs a break.”
“The lamp’s on in my bedroom,” she noted as she got out of the car.
“I’ll go up and check.”
“No need, really. My … chambermaid? I don’t know what to call her. I assume her. She does that every night when she turns down the bed, puts the fire on. And from the sound of it, the dogs are on guard.”
The barking stopped the minute she opened the door. Both dogs greeted them as if they’d been separated for months.
“I’ll walk them around.”
“I could use the walk, too.” Instead of getting the leash, Sonya pointed at Yoda. “I’m trusting you to stick to the program.”
It didn’t take long to realize he’d not only stick to the program, but very close to Mookie, his new best friend.
“Thanks, for every bit of this,” she said when they walked back to the door. “Please don’t expect anywhere near the same level of cuisine on Friday.”
“We’re looking forward to it. All of us. Call,” he insisted. “Anytime. No bullshit on that, Sonya.”
“Message received.” She knew when a man was about to kiss her, and he wasn’t. So she scooped up the dog and opened the door. “Thanks again, and I’ll see you Friday. Good night.”
Inside, she snuggled the dog, leaned back against the door.
Tonight’s music choice, Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”
“It wasn’t a date.”
* * *
The next afternoon, she bundled Yoda in the car. Armed with her mother’s shopping list, she drove to the market for the supplies needed for the dinner party she now feared more than the room on the third floor.
She took Yoda into the flower shop, much to the delight of the florist.
She sent flowers from Yoda to his foster family.
And left with flowers and the possibility of another client, thanks to the work she’d done on Practical Art.