Noc saw Franka’s hand land on his chest and he lifted his eyes to her, still grinning.
Her shoulders fell in relief.
“Hawthorne,” Dax bit out. “You there?”
“Yes, I’m here and she got home okay, pissed as hell we tried to set her up but okay. Went ’round and talked to her this morning. She’s not been in a place for a while to take a shot at certain things but I pointed out she’s gotta find that place. In other words, we’d like to know if you’d come to dinner tomorrow, my place, Frannie, me and Circe. Six.”
“Text me your address, I’ll be there.”
Noc nearly burst out laughing.
His efforts at not doing that made his next words sound choked.
“Will do.”
Frannie pressed in at his chest and gave him wide what-the-hell-is-going-on eyes.
He rounded her with an arm.
“Tomorrow,” Dax grunted.
“Yeah, man. See you then,” Noc replied.
Dax hung up.
Noc dropped his phone from his ear and started chuckling.
“What?” Franka asked.
“He’s coming to dinner.”
She lifted her other hand to his chest and pressed both in, beaming and declaring, “By the gods, this pleases me.”
Noc was pleased too but he was more pleased seeing how much she was.
She remained pleased for about two seconds before she got down to business.
“No Fleuridian wine tomorrow, Noc,” she bossed. “I don’t want her thinking of home. Not the good of Fleuridian wine and definitely not the bad she was treated to there. I want her head firmly in this world.”
“Aye, aye captain,” he said on a grin.
Her eyes narrowed again.
“This is no jest. We have to plan this carefully. He’s taken with her but we’re her people. He mustn’t think less of her because he thinks less of us. To that end, what are you making for dinner?”
“I thought—” he started.
“Fillet steak en croute with pâté and sautéed mushrooms,” she demanded.
Noc beat back his chuckles.
“Babe, I’m not making beef Wellington.”
“That’s what that’s called here?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah, and it’s tricky and a pain in the ass. I’ll make steak, though, and fire up the grill.”
“That’s acceptable,” she agreed. “We’ll serve it with patates royales.”
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s potatoes, and I would say cream, salt, pepper, other things. They’re mashed to creamy goodness then piped into fluffy parcels and baked—”
“Frannie, I’m not pipin’ shit into fluffy anything and not just because I have no clue how to pipe.”
“They’re delicious and elegant,” she returned impatiently.
It was time to nip this in the bud.
“Right, gorgeous. You got a choice of loaded baked or mashed or we can go out tomorrow and buy a deep fat fryer so I can fry some frozen French fries. I’ll grill some asparagus. And this is New Orleans, there’s gonna be about seven thousand places we can go to find really fuckin’ good desserts and even better rolls. That’ll be our mission for the rest of the day. If you want, you can buy a couple four hundred dollar bottles of wine and a kickass whisky, which, my guess, is this dude’s thing. And that’s what we’re doing without me having to pipe anything or wrestle with pastry dough. You with me?”
She wasn’t with him and she shared that by declaring, “My ideas for the menu are far more impressive.”
“And if you want, instead we can spend the day finding a chef who’ll haul his ass to my house to make them since I’m not doin’ any of that.”
She glared at him.
He fought the need to kiss her.
He won the fight but did it wrapping both arms around her, pulling her closer and dipping his face to hers.
“He’s into her, babe. He’s not gonna even taste anything we put in front of him. We could serve him a box of cardboard painted like a beef Wellington and he would probably eat it. He has no clue the forces that are drawing him to Circe. He’s also a man who doesn’t care. His gut says go for it, he’s going for it. He’ll handle this. He’ll do all the work. We’re just gonna be there so she’s in a safe place in her head to let him.”
She looked appeased and acted it, snuggling closer.
“And she was good with you earlier? She seemed bolstered?” she asked.
“Told you that, baby. She’s a little freaked but she’s powering through it.”
Frannie started fiddling with the collar of his shirt, her eyes dropping to her fingers to watch.
“Also told you she feels bad about what she said to you,” he reminded her.
She lifted her eyes but kept her fingers at his shirt. “She shouldn’t.”
“I know you think that but that’s who she is.” He bent his head closer to her. “Before we go to the market, you wanna call her? Check in?”
Her eyes lit with a cautious light.
“Do you think she’d welcome that?”
He nodded.
“Then it would please me to do this before we go to the market.”
He gave her a squeeze. “You got her number in your phone, babe.”
She gave a short nod that time, rolled up on her toes and touched her mouth to his before she pulled away.
She went to her purse sitting on his island, its location meaning she was all the way on the other side of it before she spoke again.