He nods and looks out the window, watching the plantation houses go by, along with tall trees and swamp land.
Finally, we turn a corner, and Inn Boudreaux comes into view, flanked by ancient oak trees and green grass.
“There she is,” I say quietly and slow the car so he can take it in. The house is white, with tall columns and a red front door. The wrap-around porch is deep, perfect for sitting in the evening and watching lightning bugs.
“Wow,” Simon says with wide eyes. “These trees are magnificent.”
“They’re ancient,” I reply, looking at the familiar landscape. “Probably around six hundred years old.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about trees,” I reply with a straight face, then bust up laughing. “We don’t really know how old they are because they’ve been here much longer than this land was inhabited, but they’re perfect because they create a wind-tunnel of sorts to the house. It’s the first air conditioning system. When the house was built two hundred years ago, there was no air conditioning. The trees keep the house cool.”
“You’re intelligent,” he says out of the blue and drags a finger down my arm. “It’s fucking sexy.”
“Don’t start,” I reply and pull into the driveway. “We’re about to pick up my eleven year old nephew to take him to see the gators. No getting me all hot and bothered.”
“My apologies.” His smile is wide and smug, and I know that he’s not sorry at all.
And really, neither am I.
“Come on, let’s see if Sam is ready.”
I lead Simon up the steps of the front porch and inside without knocking.
“Gabby?”
“In the kitchen,” she calls out.
“So, Gabby runs the inn, as you know,” I say and point out the different rooms as we walk to the back of the house. “She makes breakfast for the guests every day.”
“Does she do this all by herself?”
“No, she has housekeepers who come in daily, and she hired someone to cover her days off after Rhys badgered her into it. Before that, yes, she did.”
“So you’re a family of workaholics,” Simon says.
“I suppose we are.”
“Hey, sugar,” Gabby says, her hands buried elbow-deep in a bowl of bread dough. “I’d hug you but I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay. Is Sam ready to go?”
“Almost,” she says and blows a strand of hair out of her face. “He’s helping the housekeeper clean the last couple of rooms.”
“Is he working off that window he broke?” I ask with a grin.
“He is,” she confirms and rolls her eyes. “Before I know it, I’ll have Sarah here from social services telling me I’m violating child labor laws.”
“He broke the window,” I reply and open the fridge, scan the contents, then snoop in a cupboard, hoping there are some pastries left over from this morning. “He should have to earn the money to replace it.”
“Agreed,” Simon says with a kind smile. God, he’s so damn nice.
Well, most of the time. In bed, I’ve learned he’s bossy and aggressive. He’s just what I need in that area.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Sam asks as he bounds into the kitchen.
“I’m not smiling,” I reply and tug him against me for a hug as I take a bite out of a croissant. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because we get to go see gators!”
“Are you done with Miss Rosie?” Gabby asks.
“Almost. Just one room left. Do we have time, Aunt Charly?”
I check my phone, my mouth full of the delicious pastry. “Yep. Lots of time.”
“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air and runs back out of the kitchen and clomps up the stairs.
“You’re so classy, Char,” Gabby says. “You’ll teach Sam bad manners.”
“Nah,” I reply and grin. “You’ve taught him well.”
“I think you’re rather adorable,” Simon says and kisses me on the nose.
“See?” I smile at Gabby. “I’m adorable.”
“Why don’t you take your adorable self outside and show Simon around? Sam will be done when you get back.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No, I’m trying to save my pastries from you,” she says with a grin.
“I’d love to see more,” Simon replies and takes my hand. “Take me on a tour.”
“Yes, sir.” I lead him out back and we set off down a paved path between more massive oak trees. I take a deep breath and sigh happily. “I love the way it smells out here.”
“The fresh air is nice.”
“So, these small buildings out here were once slave quarters,” I begin and point to the simple wood buildings not far down the path. “Gabby had them moved from out in the fields and renovated so guests could see them. We used to play in them as kids.”
“Are these lists of slaves who lived here?” Simon asks, pointing to a placard in front of the quarters.
“They are. These journals were found in the attic when Gabby dug in to renovate for the inn. My great-great-great grandfather was good at keeping records. These have their name, age, who he bought them from, and for how much.”
“Incredible,” Simon murmurs, reading the pages. “I’m assuming these are copies.”
“Yes. The originals are in a safety deposit box.”