“Are we paying by check?” Inez asked, glancing curiously around the quiet street and wondering if one of the other townhouses on the street held Marguerite Argeneau.
“No. Bastien wired the money into the owner’s account this morning.”
“Oh.” Inez smiled faintly as she watched Thomas knock again, wanting to brush aside the bit of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead, but not comfortable enough to do so.
She supposed that was ridiculous after the night they’d spent together. They hadn’t gone to sleep until dawn, but had spent the night starting their meal, interrupting it to make love because Thomas insisted on eating portions of his off of her, and then making love again and so on. This had been interspersed with quiet moments of conversation, and Inez had learned that while Thomas had a light and carefree outer shell, there was a very serious and deep thinker under it all.
Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a door opening and Inez glanced to the entrance of the adjoining townhouse as it opened and a gentleman leaned out to peer at them. He was old with grizzled hair sticking out from his head, gray stubble shadowing his wrinkled face, and half his white shirt untucked from dark trousers. He also clutched a steaming teacup in one hand.
“Tom?” the man asked, eyes slightly narrowed.
“Thomas Argeneau, yes,” Thomas said, turning now to peer at the man as well.
Nodding the fellow turned back into the townhouse and slammed the door.
When Thomas turned surprised eyes her way, Inez shrugged and murmured, “Northerners.”
“Oh,” he said blankly and she chuckled softly.
“Southerners say that whenever someone from the north does something inconceivable or odd,” she explained with a grin. “I haven’t figured out what it’s supposed to mean yet, but give me another eight years here and I’m sure I will.”
Thomas smiled faintly and then glanced to the adjoining townhouse again as they heard the door open once more. Both of them watched as the man hurried out, rushing from the step in his stocking feet, clutching a piece of paper in his hand…and a key, Inez saw, as the man opened his hand to offer both to Thomas.
“There’s the key, son. My number’s on the paper if you need aught. Show yourselves in and enjoy. I’m missing my Baywatch.” On that note, he whirled away and rushed back inside his townhouse, slamming the door closed again. This time the sound of a lock clicking into place followed.
Thomas turned disbelieving eyes to her. “Baywatch?”
“We get reruns of all your best shows,” she said dryly.
Thomas shook his head as he turned to unlock the door. “I am Canadian. We’re not responsible for Baywatch. You can not blame that on us.”
“Just the Pamela Anderson part,” Inez suggested with amusement.
“Only partially, I’m sure her implants are American,” Thomas assured her as he opened the door and stepped back for her to enter.
Inez grinned and shook her head as she passed into the townhouse, flipping the switch to turn the lights on as she went. “I suppose we shouldn’t make fun. Baywatch is probably the only excitement the old guy gets on a night.”
“Old?” Thomas echoed with a wry laugh as he set her suitcase inside the door and followed her in. “He’s a baby compared to me.”
She must have had a stunned expression on her face because he frowned. “You knew that Inez. I told you I was born in 1794.”
“Yes,” she breathed and nodded her head. “I guess I just—It’s so easy to forget. You don’t seem old.”
“Because I don’t look old,” Thomas said with a shrug and moved forward to rub his hands up and down her arms. “Are you all right? You aren’t regretting—?”
“No,” Inez interrupted quickly and gave her head a shake, not even really sure herself why the realization that he was older than the man next door had startled her so. She supposed 1794 had just been a number to her until now. Forcing herself to relax, she managed a stiff smile and teased, “I’m sure I’ll adjust to dating an old fart.”
“Oh!” Thomas groaned and clutched his chest. “That one went straight to the heart. You’re a cruel woman, Inez Urso.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said, her smile becoming more natural.
“I won’t,” he assured her.
“And I have a temper too,” Inez announced, turning away to peer into the living room beside them. It was a very neutral room; carpeted and painted in beige, the furniture all gray, and not a lick of decoration in it unless you counted a television as a work of art.