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“Eh?” Malcolm said, raising an eyebrow. “Who would have guessed?”
“The lime-green and red paisley folders sealed the deal for me,” Brennan said. “And what’s this about Asher, Ellen? He may come home for Christmas?”
“He planned to come to New Orleans when I spoke to him last month, but you know my baby brother—he goes where the wind blows.”
Brennan nodded because Asher had the freedom to go where he wished thanks to a string of good investments he’d made after selling his stock in MBH. In addition, he was a silent partner in a luxury leather goods company, so had to spend little time at a desk. For so many reasons, Brennan had always admired Asher. “Perhaps the wind will blow him to us.”
“I hope so. I miss him and wish he’d move back. Maybe when Elsa retires, she’ll agree to spend at least part of the year here,” Ellen said, waving at someone across the room before returning her gaze to Brennan. “So, who will you bring?”
“No one.” Brennan hadn’t intended on escorting Creighton even before Mary Paige and her captivating girdle had tumbled into his life. Ever since her best friend in Charleston had married this past spring, Creighton had marriage on the mind. He suspected that she wouldn’t see attending a society gala together as only a friendly gesture the way he would intend it…even if he’d broken things off with her.
Of course, so far Creighton had ignored all of his let’s-be-just-friends, farewell speeches—she’d texted him three times during dinner.
“You’re still number one on the top ten most-eligible-bachelors list in theCrescent Quarterly.” Ellen passed her credit card toward her uncle, who waved it off as he always did when they dined together. Brennan had to give Ellen props for still pulling it out, not making assumptions that Malcolm would pay.
“Such quality subject matter,” he drawled, eternally perturbed his friend andCrescent’s editor Cason Scott placed him at number one each year. Cason liked to poke things with a toothpick wit.
“Cason sent the framed list again. Told me it was good for business.” His grandfather smiled, scrawling his name on the bill. “Maybe I’ll hang it in the lobby this year.”
“I’ll sue,” Brennan growled.
“For what? Displaying your eligibility?” His grandfather rose, indicating dinner was complete. “Enjoy your afternoon out of the office tomorrow, Brennan, and give Mary Paige my thanks for all she’s done.”
Brennan nodded and watched his grandfather work the room as he left, shaking hands with several remaining diners, tossing out Merry Christmases to the waitstaff, and generally playing lord of the manor.
“He still has it, you know,” Ellen said, placing her napkin on the table and pulling her purse onto her shoulder.
“But he’s not the same man. Not the man who taught me the company is above all else.”
“Nope. He’s better.”
Brennan said nothing as his cousin took her leave. Before he left, he slid a hundred-dollar bill beneath the already generous tip his grandfather had left. Their server, Ernesto, had two kids in college and had lost his home during Katrina.
It was another unstated rule in the Henry household—take care of those who take care of you.
Simple as that.
9
“INEEDMOREpeas.” The homeless man jabbed a finger toward the section of his plate where Mary Paige had placed a scoop of sweet peas. Was she supposed to give more? The woman in charge of the soup kitchen had said “one small scoop” like it was a law, but she hadn’t said if she could give an extra serving of “one small scoop.”
“I don’t think—”
“Here,” Brennan said, dishing out red beans. “Have some red beans. Balances out the peas.”
The homeless man looked like he might argue, but when he caught Brennan’s fierce look, he snapped his mouth shut and moved down the line to where Gator slung mashed potatoes.
Mary Paige smiled at the next person in line—an older woman with a dirty shawl and a sweet smile. “Here you go.”
“Thank you kindly,” the woman said before shaking her head at Brennan’s beans.
“No one likes these beans,” Brennan said, his tone fittingly grumpy.
“I don’t like beans much, either. My mom used to cook them all the time. You eat enough beans, you—”
“Get a lot of gas?” he finished.
She looked up then at him to make sure the ceiling wasn’t falling. Brennan Henry cracking fart jokes? “I guess that, too, but I was going to say you develop a bias against them.”
