“The Blue Moon runs a close second to this,” Loretta insisted. “And Marjo’s coffee is good, I’ll admit that. But…”

“But you have to wait until someone dies to get a taste of it.” Marjo owned the local funeral home.

Zara apparently thought Luc’s observation was hilarious, because she burst into a fit of giggles until orange juice came out her nose.

“Wow, something must have tickled your funny bone,” Loretta said as she wiped Zara’s face with a napkin.

“I like Luc. He’s funny.”

“He is funny,” Loretta agreed. “But his name is Mr. Carter. You know the rules.”

“Sorry,” Zara said, unrepentant.

“Can she call me Luc if I give her permission?” Luc asked Loretta.

“It’s not really proper.”

Luc, who’d been raised in Las Vegas, would never get used to the old-world manners of the South. “How about Mr. Luc?”

Loretta frowned.

“Sir Luc?”

The frown wavered.

“Lord Luc? Saint Luc?”

Finally she laughed. “Somehow I doubt ‘Saint Luc’ is appropriate. All right, fine, she can call you Luc.” She looked at Zara. “But not in front of anyone else.”

Luc took the frittata out of the oven, then checked his watch. Hell.

“I have to set the table.”

“Can I help?” Zara asked. “I know where the silverware goes…Luc.” As she hopped off her chair, she flashed her mother a smart-aleck smile. Loretta narrowed her eyes slightly, silently warning Zara to behave, then followed them into the dining room. Figuring she wanted to be put to work, he handed Loretta a stack of plates.

“Six settings.” He got out napkins, bowls, water and juice glasses. Zara followed her mother around the table, precisely placing the heavy silver flatware beside each plate.

“These dishes are beautiful,” Loretta said. “Did they come with the house?”

“Unfortunately, no. A few things were stored in the attic, but most everything of value was moved out when my grandmother’s family closed down the house. Grand-mère provided a few family heirlooms for authenticity-like the chandelier in the parlor-but I had to start new.”