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“I…well…I don’t…”
“Perfect. Give me ten minutes. Just sit down and chill. You look uptight already and it ain’t even nine o’clock.” He jogged down the stairs, pushed his mug of steaming coffee toward me, looked up at me with a smile that made me feel twitchy, and then hustled back into the parsonage singing a song about some young man named Tommy who had previously worked on some docks. I had no clue about the song or what had just happened. How had I lost control so quickly?
Cradling the coffee as I mulled over my lack of command, I took an absent sip of the dark liquid. Sweet with no cream. I also drank my coffee that way. That is when I had some, which was only once per day as caffeine played havoc with my already terrible sleep patterns.
I took a seat after I removed my handkerchief and dusted the dirt and pine needles off the top step. I didn’t wish to stain my tan Armani slacks. Seated on my hankie, I listened to the wind wuthering through the trees and tried to center. My morning meditation peaceful vibe had withered on the vine like black rot when it blights a domaine.
“Hey, so funny thing,” Philip’s gravelly voice jarred me from my mental wander through diseases of wine grapes. “I totally forgot that I ain’t had breakfast yet. If I don’t eat regular, I get gassy and you don’t want that this evening when we’re sitting down to eat escargot, trust me. Think we can stop at the Fill ’Er Up for a breakfast burrito before we head to your château or chalet or whatever?”
I shot to my feet as if I’d sat on a hornet. Spinning to look up at him, I was not at all surprised to see him in a yellow tank top sporting a grinning crocodile while denim cutoffs hugged his thick thighs. Oh, and ratty sandals. Thankfully, his toes were nicely tended. Nothing turned me off more than a man with untidy feet. His were quite nicely shaped, aside from one pinkie toe that looked to be somewhat crooked. Otherwise, his feet looked as appealing as the rest of him. I swallowed down a burp of coffee as I shunted that last thought all the way to Seneca Lake. Rattled at how attractive I found him despite him not having shaved, I began to blather.
“Papa called it the Gaudion Chalet, but it could have been a château as it is a single estate completely surrounded by vineyards and the house is quite stately. Although, some may say that it could be called a domaine, which is how I like to refer to it. Of course, chalet is a lovely term for it as well. I think Papa liked to use that term since the house is made of wood. He did enjoy spending time in the Alps whenever he could. That was where he met my mother.”
I forced myself to stop talking. Philip had no interest in my family history, and I had no wish to share it with anyone.
“Wow,” Philip said as he walked down the stairs with several Gladiators duffels slung over his shoulder. “That might be the most words you ever said to me, Henry.”
“Henri,” I corrected instantly. “Forgive me for blabbing.” I handed him his mug. “We will go now then. I’ll call ahead and have the maid prepare a room for you.”
“Yeah, okay,” he called to my back as I fast walked to my little red Audi as if my backside were alight. “I promise I won’t make no passes at the maid or your cook or Barney, but I cannot say they won’t fall in love with me once they meet me.”
Oh, good Lord, not only was he an annoyance, but he was conceited too.
“I’m sure the staff will control their emotions in your presence,” I replied over my shoulder, already deeply regretting letting Gabriel talk me into this. Philip was tossing my routine into disarray and we’d not left the parsonage.
“I don’t know. I got this charm,” he said as he opened the rear door of the Audi and then tossed his bags in helter-skelter. “Most people find it hard to resist. My pops was Irish.”
I tore my sight from the mess in my back seat to find Philip grinning at me across the roof of my car. Another burp rose up. I hid it behind a cough.
“Are you saying that all Irish people are charming?”
“Well, kind of,” he replied, scratching at his whiskery chin. “I talk to my relatives over there and they’re all adorable.”
“Of course they are but saying that every person born in Ireland is charming seems a bit much. I am sure that there are some that—are you not going to arrange your possessions?”
He bent down, looked in the back, and then straightened to peer at me over the roof once more.
“Nope,” he said and climbed into my car, his mouth running about the plush interior.
“Slob,” I mumbled, yanking open the rear door on my side. “If Barnaby saw this, he would be most displeased.”
“I think it’s you who’s displeased,” Philip said, turning in his seat to watch me artfully place each bag and bundle carefully onto the seat. “We’re only going to your place, Henry. They would have rode good.”
“Well,” I replied and shot him a look when one of his socks tumbled from an overstuffed grocery tote to the seat. “The proper word is well. Although I grew up in another country, my English is better than yours.”
I winced internally at how that had sounded. I knew that, at times, I could present as being a bit of an elitist despite my trying not to. Perhaps I should apologize for being a prig? I was on the cusp when a purple jockstrap tumbled from the same tote. Using two fingers, I lifted the offending garment into the air and frowned. Deeply.
“Oh, Henry, it’s just a word. The point was that them bags were only riding to your place. Oh hey, I was wondering where that jock went! It’s one of my favorites. The last guy I dated was really into seeing me wear it. Said it made my cakes—”
“Henri. My name is pronounced…” I drew in a breath and then let it out. Philip was the very picture of innocence in the passenger seat. Butter would not melt in his mouth as Madame Lorrie would say. “Never mind. Please, secure your undergarments so that my staff will not have to see them or you parading about in them.”
“Just the staff. Got it. You want to see me parading around in them, you scamp.” He gave me a wink and then started fiddling with the radio. So many replies arrived on my tongue at the same time I couldn’t choose which to say to him, so I dropped the jock and forced the image of this gruff, coarse man wearing them out of my head. “Oh hey, this is only preset to spinet shit. You mind if I change it?”
“Yes, yes, I do mind!” I closed the back door with vinegar, tore open the driver’s side, and sat down with a huff. Philip had drawn his hand back from the stereo as if an adder had slithered out of the CD player. “Please do not interfere with my musical choices.”
Chopin’s “Fantaisie-Impromptu” flowed out of the speakers. Philip made a face like he had sucked on a lemon.
“Okay, it’s your car. Just back in Flushing, we have this polite rule that the guest gets to pick the tunes. But hey, if you want to overt that rule then fine.”
