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“There’s nothing untoward happening, ma’am. I assure you,” I said, careful not to admit to anything unprofessional, but still not denying any relationship with Frances.
“Good. Then let’s start with my knife collection,” said Morgan. “I got a beauty the other day that would skin a fish in ten seconds flat.”
“Great,” I deadpanned.
Morgan laughed and put his arm around my shoulder. If I wasn’t imagining Frances with another man upstairs, I might have enjoyed the camaraderie with him.
17
Frances
The carpeted staircase led to a narrow hallway upstairs. Family pictures lined the wood-paneled walls. A photo of a little boy chasing an older girl in the backyard caught my attention, reminding me of myself and Marco.
“That’s my sister, Natalie,” said Paul, standing behind me.
“The age gap looks similar to that of me and my brother. We’re eight years apart.” I walked to the next photo, this one of Mr. Morgan carrying Paul on his shoulders.
“We’re seven years apart, but she acts like it’s seventeen,” said Paul in a dry voice.
I chuckled. “Yes, well, we older sisters are a lot more mature, so it might as well be seventeen.”
“Is that right?” he asked. While I couldn’t see his face, I could hear the grin in his voice as he stepped in closer behind me. I wasn’t sure if the woodsy scent was his cologne or him, but it smelled nice. Pointing to the room next to me, I cleared my throat and asked, “Is this one mine?”
“Yes.” He stepped into the room and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Will it work for you?”
A queen-size bed with a cream-colored comforter sat in the middle of the room. Two nightstands flanked the bed with a trunk at its foot and a dresser in front.
I snorted softly. “Yup. This will work.” It was larger than my parents’s bedroom at home.
Paul opened the lid to the trunk and pulled out a wool blanket. “In case you get cold, here’s an extra one.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” I said.
He smiled, then looked down at my clothes. “Do you need a few minutes to change, or are you comfortable in jeans?”
“Change for what?”
He grinned as though he was about to share a childhood secret. “Morgan family tradition.”
When I raised my eyebrows in anticipation, he added, “Family football.”
“Oh cool,” I said, not really excited about watching football. “Who’s playing?”
“You are.”
“I am?” I blurted out, horrified.
If possible, his boyish grin grew wider and he chuckled at my response. “We always kick off the weekend with a friendly football game. Losers make the winners breakfast the next morning.”
“I don’t know the first thing about football,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s okay.” He crossed his arms over his tight-fitting blue sweater. “I’ll teach you.”
My first instinct was to say ‘no’. I would find some excuse and watch the game from the porch. But I made a deal to help Colton, and bowing out of Morgan’s first request would not be a good start. So, I pushed my anxious thoughts from my mind and raised my chin. “Looking forward to it.”
Paul playfully punched me on the shoulder before jogging out of the room. Rubbing the spot, I groaned. This should be interesting.
***
