the kitchen so it didn’t overwhelm Avery. He was finished just in time to sprint to the front door when the bell rang.
Avery stood on the other side, nervous and smiling.
“Hey. Wow. You weren’t kidding, were you?” Avery said, looking in awe at the cavernous front hall.
Tyson’s front hall was a lot like the rest of the house—cream- colored woodwork, inlaid floors, intricate rugs, and walls covered in luxurious fabrics, art, and delicate botanical murals.
“Remember, no judgment.”
“I’m not. Just... Jesus. Most of my house could fit in this one room.”
All of it probably, but Tyson wasn’t going to add that.
“Come into the kitchen. I usually eat in there.”
He led Avery into the warmth of his favorite room in the house. Tyson was aware of the irony. He spent a lot of time in the kitchen for how little he actually cooked. It just made him happy.
The kitchen was vaguely dated by then, too much ’90s white cabinetry, pale birch floors, and granite. Tyson figured it was fine, though, especially at the way Avery was staring in awe. He still made a mental note to remind Mrs. Peggs that they were going to look into contractors. Tyson gestured at the table where dinner was covered, with steam escaping out of the seams.
Calm down....
He was doing that thing he did, apparently, when he got too excited about Avery’s presence. He’d like to say it was a habit of his, but he had no idea. Nobody had affected him like Avery before. All of this was very new. Including the rush of nerves currently making his mind race a mile a minute.
“So, macaroni and cheese, salad, and a fruit tart with vanilla ice cream. And wine. You like Beaujolais, right?”
“Y-yeah. That would be great. This all looks amazing.” Avery looked around. “Where’s your housekeeper?”
Tyson laughed. “Oh, she’s up in her suite, watching TV. She has her own living room upstairs so she doesn’t have to stay down here. You might see her, though. She’s very curious about you.”
“Feels a little like meeting the parents.”
“It’s exactly like that. She’s basically my mom. Or has been for a really long time.”
Tyson didn’t have any memories of his real mother other than vague flashes from long ago.
“No pressure,” Avery said sarcastically.
Tyson just laughed. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
He sat Avery down and dished them both out salad and pasta, and then poured wine. It didn’t take them more than a few bites to start talking, just like they always did.
“You’re going to have to show me the rest of this place,” Avery said. “It’s incredible. Seems to go back forever.”
Tyson didn’t go in half the rooms of his house. It was meant for a large family and all their staff and was far too much for him and Mrs. Peggs. He wouldn’t have been able to bear parting with it, though.
“I’ll show you around after we eat. This house has so much history.”
“Creepy history?” Avery asked. He did that adorable forehead wrinkle thing that Tyson loved.
“This is New Orleans. It has to be a little creepy, don’t you think? Other than that, we wouldn’t fit in.”
Avery giggled a little at that. “Just as long as it’s not, like, ghost tour material. I don’t want to be scared here at night.” Avery seemed to realize what he’d just insinuated and clapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean—”
“Hey. It’s fine.” Tyson leaned across the kitchen table and kissed Avery. “I wouldn’t want you to be scared here at night either.”
Avery blushed hard and shoved a gigantic bite of salad into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and tried to look anywhere but at Tyson’s eyes.
“So, um, we’re meeting Macy and Donovan after this, right?”
Avery already knew exactly where they were going after dinner. Tyson thought it was sweet how flustered he’d gotten from just one innuendo, a pretty damn mild one at that. But it also felt coupley somehow, reminding each other what the plans were later that night. It felt good. Kind of like a precursor to packing each other lunches and trading kisses before work. And if that wasn’t the weirdest thought Tyson had ever had, he didn’t know what was.
“We are meeting them, but we don’t have to be there for an hour or two. There’s plenty of time for dinner and a tour. Don’t worry.”
“This is amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this? Don’t tell me you have a certificate from culinary school too.”
He did. But he kept that to himself. There