Page 4 of Saddles & Suits

“Of course you are,” I manage. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s nice to meet you.” Didn’t I say that already? Oh hell. Can this possibly get worse?

Wait….

“Have you met Sarah?” Did she know? Is that why she insisted I come down this weekend—because she knows Sebastian isn’t a fussy old man and wants me to make an idiot of myself?

Although to be fair to Sarah, she couldn’t be sure I’d be an idiot. I did that all by myself.

“Yes,” Sebastian—Seb—says. “When I stopped by the office to get a copy of your apartment key. I think you were in Indonesia.”

“Yes. Right. The tsunami.” I sound like I can’t string words into a sentence. Christ, what’s he going to think? He looks faintly concerned. Maybe he’s wondering if he works for a lunatic.

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Seb informs me. “Come inside and we’ll get you settled.” He picks up my bag and is walking back up the steps toward the house before I can get my wits together enough to protest. Instead, I follow. I’m tired and hungry, and maybe a shower and dinner will kick my brain into gear.

I’m definitely going to have words with Sarah, though. She could have warned me.

The grand foyer of the house brings memories flooding in. It hasn’t really changed—the paint’s a slightly different color, and the rug under the big round table is new, but there’s the banister Mal and I slid down whenever we could get away with it, and behind that wall hanging is the paneling with generations’ worth of notches showing Tarrant children’s height. I take a deep breath. There’s a deep feeling of home here, yet at the same time, my grief is overwhelming. Uncle Warwick isn’t here and won’t ever be again.

Almost unconsciously, I turn toward the hallway that leads back to the kitchen and Uncle Warwick’s office—and catch sight of Seb. He’s watching me, and the look on his face now is one of sympathy and understanding.

“I miss him too,” he says quietly. When did I get to be that easy to read?

“He’s so easy to miss,” I reply, then make myself smile. “You worked for him for six years, yeah?”

“Yeah, this time.” Seb turns toward the staircase. “I should have thought of this before, but I’ve prepped the master suite for you. If you want, I can get one of the other rooms ready instead. It’ll take maybe an hour, though, because they’re all closed up.”

The thought of sleeping in Uncle Warwick’s room sends a pang of anxiety through me as I follow Seb upstairs, but it seems silly to make Seb open one of the other bedrooms for two nights when there’s a perfectly good room ready.

“Uh… Is it…”

“It’s not the same bed,” Seb says, glancing over his shoulder as he once again seemingly reads my mind. “He hadn’t changed his mattress in about twenty years and refused to, no matter how much I begged him. Then after he… after, I didn’t want to get rid of it. He would have laughed so hard about that. But in the end, it would have been stupid to keep it, so…” He shrugs. “It’s been painted, the rugs changed, the curtains cleaned. New bed. The other furniture is still the same, though.”

I can probably handle that, but I’ll wait to decide until I’ve seen the room. Seb probably already thinks I have a screw loose. No need to add to the impression.

ChapterFour

Seb

I go backto the kitchen with my head spinning. What the hell was that all about?

Dave looks up from the stove. “All good?”

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly, opening the fridge door and staring at the contents for a moment before I close it.

“What do you mean?”

“He…” I lean against the fridge. “I don’t know. He seemed a bit disoriented. I introduced myself, and then he asked me if Sebastian was inside. He’s probably just had a long week.”

Dave shrugs. “Maybe. And according to the radio, traffic is murder on the Monash. See how he is after dinner. Food will fix it.”

I snort. “You think food fixes everything.”

“And am I wrong? Now either make yourself useful and finish setting the table or get out of my way.”

Rolling my eyes, I grab the cutlery and wineglasses and head for the door to the dining room… then stop. “Shit.”

“What?” Dave sounds impatient, and I glare at him.

“We’ve just assumed I’m eating with him. What if he prefers I don’t?”

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