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“Yes? Can I help you?” asked a short, blonde woman with bright blue eyes. From here, the succulent scent of creamy, buttered sauce called to me.
"Is Tucker," I glanced at my phone to make sure I had it right, "Waylon Maxwell the fourth here?"
He'd typed the bloody thing out in his text to me, I may as well use it.
Smile frozen in place, she blinked at me. "And you are?"
I stared at her for a brief moment.
I actually recognized her. She’d been at the Magnolia that day.
"I'm the charity case,” I deadpanned, my own smile frozen on my face.
Hers faltered and she stepped back, revealing a large apartment. "Summer? Duvall, right?"
I nodded. "That's right."
“Did Tucker invite you here?" Heels clacking against the hardwood floor, she led the way, and I took in a deep breath as I shut the door behind me.
"He said to meet him at seven." I was talking to her back. She had a shoulder-length bobbed haircut, and was wearing a black, form-fitting dress that came to mid-thigh.
"Sounds about?—“
"Summer!" A deep voice interrupted her as we entered a large and bright kitchen. A man I recognized from the Magnolia was standing in the middle of it. He was wearing a pressed, white, button-up shirt, sleeves rolled upward to reveal sexy, strong arms, and a pale blue apron that matched the tie tucked inside it.
"Just in time! Here," he thrust a wooden spoon at me, "try it."
I closed my lips around it and spices burst on my tongue. "Mmm, that's good."
His smile was genuine. "You like it?"
I nodded. "It's delicious."
"Crawfish etouffee. It's my grandmother's recipe.” He nodded towards what looked like a well-used recipe book. Countertops held chopped vegetables, garlic, spices, and an open laptop. Blue gas flickered under chrome simmering pots. "She published several of them."
"It smells great." I suddenly felt awkward; both of them were staring at me. "Thank you for inviting me."
"You're welcome. Of course,” he waved a hand. “I have to invite the newest member of the Magnolia.”
Tugging on Hello Kitty oven mitts, he pulled out two sizzling casseroles from the oven, tossing them on the counter. “Portobello mushrooms stuffed with artichoke and spinach,” he pointed to one, then the next, “sweet potato and gouda gratin. Sorry. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I just made a little bit of everything.”
“Wow. Thank you.”
"Would you like me to set the table?" Grace shut the laptop crisply.
"It's okay, Grace. You can go." He stirred a pot.
I looked up just in time to see the flash of anger in her eyes before she turned away, placing the computer in her leather Gucci bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
"Yes, of course," he waved a hand at her, his attention on the stove.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" I asked her. I didn’t want to interfere with whatever they had going on.
Grace’s hand on her bag stilled but Tucker didn't look up from the stove. "Of course not, we'll finish tomorrow." His voice was sharp.
She gave me a tight smile before slinging her bag over her shoulder. "It was nice to meet you officially, Summer."
She didn't wait for me to answer her before she turned her back to me, her petite, athletic frame and pert butt swaying as she strode from the kitchen.
