Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Page A

coffee. “Maman,” he asked around a grape, “why here?”
    Aimee smiled reassuringly at her son and placed the plate of toast on the table. She had prepared for this moment. “Mr. Hunter is renting the room behind the store.” She quartered a slice of toast and set it in front of him. “He’s decided to stay and visit.”
    Oliver frowned, looking from his mother to Hunter and back. “Why?”
    â€œWhy?” Aimee repeated, surprised. Oliver usually accepted her word without question. “Well, he…he’s never been to Louisiana before, and he’s going to do some sightseeing. Doesn’t that sound fun?” She smiled. “Now, eat your toast.”
    Again, Oliver looked questioningly from his mother to Hunter, then frowned and dropped his gaze to his plate.
    Roubin peered over the top of his almanac; Hunter cleared his throat, and Aimee let out a frustrated breath. Off to a great start, she thought, starting on the eggs. Even her three-year-old son knew something was up.
    Hunter carried his coffee to the table, choosing the chair on Oliver’s right. He started to sit down and the boy jerked his head up. “No! Maman’s!”
    Hunter blinked in surprise, then smiled and took the other empty chair. “Sorry about that, Bud…”
    Aimee looked at Hunter. His expression was frozen with pain. Buddy. That was what he used to call Pete. She only knew because his sister had let it slip once when they had all been together. She’d been stunned to learn that Aimee hadn’t known that. When Aimee had confronted Hunter with it later, he’d been angry that his sister had brought it up.
    Her chest aching with the memory, Aimee quickly finished scrambling the eggs. “Here we go,” she said with forced brightness. She crossed to the table and spooned some eggs onto each plate. After she served Hunter, she lightly touched his shoulder. “Is that enough?”
    He met her gaze and she saw by his blank look that he was a million miles away and had no idea what she was talking about. A second later his eyes cleared, he looked down at his plate, then back up at her. “Yes,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
    He looked away, a mask of indifference slipping over his expression once more. He was shutting her out. She felt the door slam between them as keenly as if it had been a real door, solid and unbreakable.
    Hunter remained silent through the rest of the meal. He avoided her gaze and he never again looked at Oliver. Not really, anyway. As if drawn to the child, he would glance his way, then as if catching himself doing so, would quickly avert his gaze. When Oliver talked or laughed, Hunter shifted in his seat, stiffening almost imperceptibly.
    Through the meal Roubin, too, remained noticeably quiet. Aimee was uncertain whether her father was studying Hunter or judging her. Or both. She only knew that his silent perusal made her jumpy.
    Finally, when she began to clear the table, he spoke up. “What time is my appointment with that imposteur? ”
    Aimee frowned at her father. “Dr. Landry is expecting to see you at two.”
    He gestured with his big right hand. “Cancel. We have no one to watch the store.”
    Aimee wiped Oliver’s face. “Ti-tante Marie is coming. She will sit for Oliver also. She’s looking forward to it.”
    Roubin snorted with disgust. “Marie, she is so clumsy. Every time she comes, voilà! Things are broken. It is no good to have her alone in the store.”
    â€œThat’s only happened a few times, Papa.” Aimee wiped Oliver’s sticky hands. “And you know how much Oliver likes her. Everything will be fine.”
    He scowled. “What of the lures, eh? Can Marie get that mess untangled?”
    Aimee made a sound of frustration and tossed the washcloth in the sink. “The lures have waited this long to be untangled, they can wait a bit longer. This