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“It’s just down here,” Nicole said. She bent for his bag, but to my utter shock, Duncan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I got it,” he said.
Nicole beamed at him and patted his cheek. “See if you can keep up,” she said, striding toward the hall to our right.
Carrying his bag, he followed her. Hefollowedher?
Seconds later, he reappeared and strode past me toward what I suspected to be the kitchen beyond the bearing wall.
Okay, then. Duncan has household staff. Not only did he carry his bag and allow her to tell him where his room was—rather than the other way around—from the laughter he exchanged with whoever was in the kitchen, theylikedworking for him.
That wasn’t all; the strain that typically rode on his shoulders and tightened his expression was gone. His smile even reached his eyes.
So weird.
Another woman’s voice drifted toward me, soft but still discernible.
“Where’s this girl you were bringing? Or were you just pulling my leg?”
“She’s here,” he muttered. “Rosabel is picking out a room.”
Okay, who was this? Another staff member he was evidently all buddy-buddy with?
He’d told them about me? I supposed he would have had to if they were going to prep the house for us before we got here, but still. That felt…I wasn’t sure what.
He’dtalkedabout me. To his staff. Not in a rumor-y kind of way, but in a considerate,let’s make her feel comfortablekind of way.
I felt like a fish out of water. I was supposed to just wander around this fancy house and pick my own space? Like this was completely normal? I’d never been in anything this large or beautiful, not even when we’d gone to visit my grandparents in Martha’s Vineyard.
More muttering followed, and then a woman appeared from around the bearing wall. She was younger than Nicole but still older than I was. In her forties, I’d guess. She wore an apron around her stout waist and reached for the suitcase in my hand.
“I’ll get that for you if you’d like,” she said.
“Oh, I’m good, thanks,” I said, tightening my fist around the handle.
Smiling, she wiped her hands on her apron before smoothing it back down again.
“I’m Pat,” she said. “Resident chef. You just let me know what you’re in the mood for while you’re living here, and I’ll whip it up.”
“That’s—thanks,” I said.
With another little bob, she inclined her head and made her way back to the kitchen once more. I couldn’t see Duncan, but I pictured him peeking around the corner to watch our whole interaction. Was that something he would do?
I was completely thrown. I didn’t know what to make of this.
It’d been so long since anyone had cooked for me. Mom had been the last person to offer anything like that. Usually, I was the one cooking for others.
Dad, mostly.
Before any other unsuspecting and overly helpful staff members popped out at me, I lugged my suitcase toward the stairs. If Duncan’s room was down here, I’d take one on a different level.
Just because he was friendly with his staff didn’t mean I could let my guard down around him. I wanted my own space.
My feet sank onto soft carpet that didn’t quite reach each stair’s edges. I stroked the smooth banister, enjoying the bird’s eye view of the living room. Everything in here was honed. Neutral paint on the walls, gray carpet, quality furniture and tasteful floral arrangements.
It made me wonder if these details were the things Nicole had mentioned that she had taken care of.
The space up here was just as extravagant as anything I’d seen below. I peered through two bedrooms, an elegant bathroom between them. There was an office with a desk, shelves, and a comfortable roller chair, and everything was staged so perfectly I couldn’t believe no one lived here on a regular basis.
