He nods and leaves for real this time with a sigh.
“He’s a handful,” I mutter. “There’s a reason why they’re born adorable and smelling good. Because otherwise they wouldn’t make it past the toddler stage.”
“He’s just worried that he’s going to miss something good,” Mr. Baker says. “And I’m sure he’s excited to have his favorite player staying here.”
“True,” I reply and check the scones and cookies before leaving the room to see to my boy, who is already in bed, in his jammies, but the teeth brushing is questionable. “Did you brush?”
“My toothbrush is wet.”
I smirk. “That doesn’t mean you brushed your teeth.”
He smiles angelically, and I sit at his hip and tuck him under the covers. “I love you, my sweet baby boy.”
“Love you too.” His eyes are already heavy. He’s like me, in that he runs and runs all day, and when he lays his head down, he falls asleep quickly. “Thank you for the puppy.”
“You won’t be thanking me when you’re cleaning up his poop.”
He giggles at the mention of poop, and I kiss his cheek, then his forehead.
“Good night.”
His eyes are already closed when I leave the room, his door cracked, with the hall light shining the way he likes it.
Everyone has left the drawing room, retiring for the night. I can hear some footsteps upstairs, and low murmuring voices, but I’m alone for the rest of the night.
Thank goodness.
I wander into the kitchen and place a slice of the leftover peach pie on a plate and carry it out to the front porch, once again taking my favorite seat. I leave the lights off, comfortable in the dark of the bayou, and watch the lightning bugs as they flit through the trees.
“I thought I heard you come out here,” Rhys says as he steps outside, holding two wine glasses.
“I’m sorry, I thought everyone had gone up. Did you need anything?”
He’s shaking his head before I can stand up. “No, I’m fine. Thought you could use a glass of this.”
He passes me a cold glass of my favorite wine. “How did you know I like this one?”
“Because it’s in your fridge, and not in the one available for guests.”
“And yet you got in it.” I raise a brow and take a sip. The sweet wine complements the pie well.
Rhys simply shrugs and sips his own wine. “That pie is awesome.”
“Yeah, I was following my heart and it led me to the fridge.”
He laughs and I have to grip firmly onto my fork as chills run up my arm.
This man is potent. Sexy.
So damn sexy.
I finish my pie and set the plate on the ground, then settle back with my wine as Rhys leans his hips on the railing, facing me. I can barely see his face in the dark.
“What do you think of Louisiana so far?” I ask.
“It’s beautiful. Hot.”
“It is hot,” I agree.
“This porch is nice and cool.”
“It’s the trees.”
“May I?” he asks and points at the swing next to me.
“Sure.”
“What do you mean, it’s the trees?” he asks and leans his arm across the back, much like Beau did this afternoon. I’m acutely aware of Rhys’s fingertips brushing my shoulder and sending zings down through my nipples.
Damn nipples.
“The trees were planted hundreds of years ago, before the house was even a thought,” I reply, trying to maintain my professionalism. I can repeat this speech all day.
And often do.
“It’s not clear if they were planted with the plan of a home being here at the end of them, but what we do know is that they form a wind tunnel. The Mississippi is right over that levy.” I point straight ahead. “The wind flows right through these massive trees, and onto the property, providing the world’s first air conditioning.
“So, my ancestors would open the doors and windows, and let the cool air through. But thankfully, we’ve since added the electric AC.” I glance over at Rhys, able to see his face now, and feel the smile leave my face at the sight of his deep green eyes watching me.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Gabby.”
I frown and glance down but murmur, “Thank you.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I reply and turn my gaze back to him. “I come from beautiful people. Strong people.”
He nods. “You’re certainly that too. This place is impressive.”
That makes me grin. “Thank you.”
He picks a piece of my hair off my shoulder and lazily twirls it around his fingers.
“How long have you lived here?” he asks.
“All my life.”
He raises a brow, prompting me to continue.
“We lived in the city during the school year, then came here in the summers. After Daddy died, and Mama wanted to stay in the city all year, it made sense for me to stay here and turn this into an inn. I’ve always seen it like this.”
“Where is Sam’s dad?” he asks. Not rudely, and not with any judgment in the question. If any of that were in his voice, I’d tell him to go to hell.
Instead, I answer with, “Gone.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Since the moment I told him I was pregnant.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“His loss.”
“Fuck yes, it’s his loss.”
I whirl my head, surprised by the anger in his voice. He drops my hair, then buries his whole hand in it at the back of my neck and lets it sift through his fingers, and nothing has felt so good in… a very long time.