“I brought someone I’d like you to meet because I think you’re going to be seeing quite a lot of him going forward.”
I dragged my eyes away from the footie socks to look at her companion for the first time. He was young—just a little older than Nola—and very tall, at least six foot three, with blond hair that was probably light brown when not in the sun, and café au lait–colored eyes. His suntanned face and hands told me that he spent a lot of time outside.
“Beau, this is my friend Melanie Trenholm I’ve been telling you about.”
“Beau Ryan,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”
If I couldn’t tell from his accent that he was Southern, the “ma’am” would have been a dead giveaway. He had a nice, firm grasp, which I appreciated, but the “ma’am” thing needed to be dropped immediately or I’d feel the need to learn how to knit.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Beau. But please, call me Melanie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a bright smile, showing even white teeth.
I squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary before stepping back. “And this is my stepdaughter, Nola.”
Nola stayed where she was, regarding the newcomer with narrowed eyes that made her look even more like Jack. Crossing her arms to make it clear she wasn’t going to be shaking any hands, she said, “We’ve met. He’s the new guy working at Trenholm Antiques.”
I mouthed the words “Lord Voldemort,” then looked back at Beau. From Nola’s descriptions of the new hire, I’d pictured a balding, paunchy, and middle-aged imbecile who couldn’t tell the difference between Chippendale and IKEA.
“Beau is in his second year at the American College of the Building Arts pursuing a bachelor of applied science in blacksmithing,” Sophie explained. “I think he’s perfect for replacing the missing sections of your iron fence, so I wanted him to meet you and your dad.”
Sophie had already given me a guesstimate of the cost to replace the broken fencing and gate that encircled our property, and my only response had been maniacal laughter that I hoped had conveyed the word “no.” As in I didn’t care if the fence was broken or missing or had disappeared completely. I had one child going to college and another two who hadn’t even started preschool yet. I wasn’t about to spend their education money or inheritance on an iron fence. I’d even started going online to search for alternative fencing options that resembled iron but at a price that didn’t make me feel faint, none of which I was fairly certain would pass Sophie’s approval. Not that it was needed since she wasn’t the one paying the bills.
“Beau’s already started drawing up plans. Hopefully he will be able to make it one of his school projects to replace the missing parts or, if necessary, replace the entire thing.”
I opened my mouth to say something but could only wobble my chin. I was busy doing the mental calculations of how many houses I’d need to sell so that we could still put food on the table without selling a single ruby. “Well, then, I guess I’d better get back to work. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Beau. I’ll be sure to have a chat with my father. I don’t think the work is going to be as extensive as you might think. . . .”
“Oh, trust me, ma’am. I’ve gone over every inch of the entire fence and there’s a lot of damage. I’m thinking it would be best to replace the whole thing.”
Nola slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I hope he knows more about iron fencing than he knows about antiques.” She said this almost under her breath and directed at me, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Beau gave her a patient smile. “Actually, my family has owned an antiques store on Royal Street in New Orleans for almost a century—it’s pretty famous in the antiques world. We have a fully restored 1910 Muller carousel horse in the window, the last one of its kind in existence, and people come from all over just to see it. I took my first steps by pulling up on a Georgian breakfront full of Sèvres porcelain and toddling over to a hand-carved Victorian birdcage without breaking anything.”
“How cute,” Nola said, her tone saying otherwise. “I’ve never been to New Orleans, so I wouldn’t know.”
He frowned. “Funny—because people refer to New Orleans as ‘NOLA.’ I thought maybe you had a connection.”
“Oh, I do,” she said, a slow grin spreading on her face.
I gave her a look that told her she should stop there, but she pretended not to notice.
“My real name is Emmaline Amelia, but my mom called me Nola because that’s where I was conceived, in a cheap hotel room in the French Quarter.” She turned to Sophie. “By the way, I found something in my room yesterday. We think maybe Meghan Black found it in the cistern, but I haven’t seen her, so I’m just guessing. Do you have a minute to take a look?”
“Sure—would love to,” Sophie said, lowering eyebrows that had risen to meet her hairline as Nola spoke.
Nola dropped her backpack and rushed from the room as I called after her, “Hurry! I’m sure Mrs. Ravenel will be here soon.
“I love her like a daughter, but I’m her stepmother,” I said to Beau, hoping to clarify that I hadn’t conceived anyone in a cheap hotel room in New Orleans.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
I gritted my teeth at the “ma’am” thing, but I let it pass. There was something endearing and sincere about his smile, and I wondered if Nola had noticed that, too.
I heard the hall chest drawer slam shut, and a moment later, Nola hurried back into the kitchen, clutching the small iron coffin. She placed it on the kitchen table in front of Sophie.
“It’s a Frozen Charlotte,” Beau said immediately, looking over Sophie’s shoulder. “What does it say on the top?”
“?‘Listen to your mother,’?” Nola said. “Obviously designed by a mother.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’ve heard of Frozen Charlottes,” Sophie said. “But I’ve never seen one in person.”
Beau reached down and picked it up. “Does it open?”