Upstairs Downstairs Baby. Cat Schield

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СКАЧАТЬ headed next door to slip into the dress she had laid out. It was a simple short-sleeved dress, the color of wisteria. She fit her feet into a pair of beige sandals and snagged a white sweater out of her closet in case she needed it.

      In less than five minutes, she returned to her daughter’s room to collect Honey, and the two of them headed downstairs.

      Linc awaited them in the kitchen. He wore khaki pants and a navy cotton sweater over a white button-down shirt. The look was perfect for the casual seafood restaurant near Wappoo Creek.

      “Oh, good,” he said, “you both have sweaters. I reserved a table outside. I thought you might enjoy the view.”

      “That sounds wonderful.”

      Linc escorted them out to his car. Earlier he’d borrowed her keys so he could transfer Honey’s car seat from Claire’s Saab into the back of his white BMW X6. As she slid into the passenger seat, Claire couldn’t help but savor the thrill of being enfolded in the soft camel leather. The Saab was in good shape, but it couldn’t compare to this sort of luxury.

      “All set?” Linc asked, glancing at Claire.

      She nodded. As they made their way west on Broad Street, her anxiety began to fade. She and Linc had dined together several times in the year she’d been working for him. Granted, all those times had been impromptu meals in the kitchen or out by the pool, but it wasn’t like this was some momentous occasion. It was a work dinner.

      “I’ve been thinking about the party my mom wants to have,” he began, breaking the silence as they crossed the Ashley River. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to do it.”

      “Of course not.” While Linc was gone for the summer, Claire didn’t have a lot to do and she had assisted Dolly with three of Bettina’s dinner parties. “I’m always happy to help her out.”

      “It’s extra work and, of course, you’ll be compensated.”

      While she understood what he was getting at and appreciated his attempt to be fair, the conversation did serve to drive home that she worked for him. Maybe this was exactly what she needed to hear. A reminder of their relative positions. He was the boss. She, the employee. It cut the jubilant buzz about their evening nearly in half, so that by the time they reached the restaurant, she’d successfully tamed her wayward pulse.

      Linc took charge of getting Honey out of her car seat and carrying her into the restaurant. Although the two-year-old was perfectly capable of walking, Linc always seemed to be in a hurry to get places and her short stubby legs were no match for his long ones.

      The hostess led them to a table that overlooked the water. Although called a creek, the average width of the Wappoo was ninety feet. It connected the intracoastal waterways around Charleston. Beyond the weathered wooden railing extended a dock, where several small boats were tied.

      Linc settled into his chair, looking completely at home in the casual atmosphere. “I didn’t realize they had a dock,” he said. “Next time we should come by boat.” He noticed her looking at him and cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

      “You look like you fit right in.”

      “Why shouldn’t I?”

      “This place is a little more casual than what I imagine you’re used to.”

      “You forget I didn’t always have money. In fact, I waited tables at a place very much like this the summer before my senior year of high school.”

      “I have a hard time picturing you waiting tables.”

      “Why?”

      She was used to thinking about him as someone she took care of. It was hard to imagine him taking orders and schlepping food.

      “You don’t really seem the sort.”

      “The money was good.” He paused and regarded her with a slight frown. “I know what it’s like to struggle and worry about taking care of my family.”

      “I know.” But she couldn’t picture him as desperate or poor.

      “I didn’t go to private school. My mom worked hard to take care of Sawyer and me. When I got old enough to pitch in and help, I did.” As he spoke, his gaze grew more piercing. “So you see, we’re not so different. If I hadn’t been good enough to make it in the majors, our paths might’ve crossed in a restaurant instead.” He frowned thoughtfully.

      While she wondered what had prompted his change in mood, a waiter approached to take their drink order. When she ordered a lemonade, Linc shook his head.

      “What about a glass of wine?” he prompted. “We’re celebrating, remember?”

      She wasn’t sure alcohol was a good idea but didn’t want to disappoint him. “What are you having?”

      “I’m going to have a beer.”

      “Make it two.” She turned her attention to the menu. “This all looks delicious.”

      “Is there anything in particular you had in mind?”

      “They’re known for their steampots,” she pointed out, noting there were six to choose from.

      “Let’s get the Battery Street Bucket.”

      Naturally, he’d pick the most expensive dish on the menu. Her mouth watered as she scanned what all was included. In addition to shrimp and sausage, the pot contained both Alaskan snow and king crab as well as lobster. It was something she’d never have been able to afford, but since Linc insisted they were celebrating, Claire nodded.

      “And how about a dozen raw oysters to start?” he prompted.

      “Why not.”

      When the waiter returned with their drinks, Linc placed their order and Claire selected macaroni and cheese for Honey. Linc insisted they needed a side of hush puppies as well. She laughed as she contemplated how they were going to get through so much food.

      “You must be hungry.”

      “I worked up an appetite at the batting cages with Knox this afternoon.” Linc took a long pull from his beer and set the bottle down. “He seems to think that I need the practice because of my end-of-season slump.”

      “He should be nicer to you. Doesn’t he realize you were under a lot of pressure this year because of what was going on in your personal life?”

      Linc snorted. “No one cares.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      “They’re not paying me all those millions so I can let a failed romance distract me,” he pointed out.

      “I suppose not.” She pushed her glass around the weathered table. “But you didn’t have a failed romance,” she countered, unsure where the compulsion to stick up for him was coming from. “You decided things weren’t working. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Sometimes love dies.”

      His gaze sharpened. “Are you speaking from experience?”

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