“No, it’s not like that. Can I get back to you?” With that, we finally made it to the back door.

“Sure.” He gave me a nod and didn’t stay long after that—I hoped I hadn’t scared him off.

Mia greeted me with, “Gee, you guys were gone for an hour,” apparently forgetting her earlier theatrics with Ashland. Of course, I couldn’t wait to show her the pictures. Her eyes lit up. “Ooh…that is so cool. Okay, I’m wearing jeans tomorrow, and you have to promise to take me out there. You know what, let me do some checking. I bet we can find out who’s buried there.”

I rubbed the sweat off my forehead with a paper towel. “What do you think about the little crosses? Children? Pets?”

“Probably children, but we may never know without digging them up. Hey, before I forget, don’t make plans for tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you later.” Mia pressed her red lips into a smug smile.

I chuckled. “Oh, Lord, I’m worried about what that could mean. Sure that sounds great.” I was happy to think we could get our friendship back on track.

By the end of the workday, we had assigned furniture to three of the rooms downstairs, deciding that the Augusta Evans book collection would be perfect for the ladies’ parlor. The men’s parlor would house rare pipes and a small collection of pistols from before the Civil War. The future Seven Sisters Museum was beginning to take shape. It was a good feeling to see that, to be a part of the restoration. The following week, I would be meeting with someone from Mobile’s African-American Museum. Ashland had made it clear that he wanted this important facet of antebellum life highlighted. We would have access to some photographs and artifacts, which I planned to distribute throughout the house and the other buildings that were to be reconstructed here.

* * *

Just a few hours later, Mia and I were walking down nearby Dauphin Street. Flickering gas lamps welcomed us into a candlelit restaurant called Bevere’s. I loved everything about it, especially the high ceilings and proper linens. After some back-and-forth on what to order, I had to ask, “Mia, what happened today?”

She looked up from her shrimp cocktail. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what happened with Ashland. The whole ‘You’re the boss’ thing. He doesn’t seem like your type at all.”

Her face was blank, and she said in a low voice, “He’s Ashland Stuart. He’s everyone’s type. He’s also the handsomest guy I’ve met in a very long time. Not to mention he’s uber-rich. And what does that mean? ‘He’s not my type.’ In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a type.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or hurt your feelings. I was just wondering.”

She popped a shrimp in her mouth and chewed. “No worries, doll. I gave it a try, and it didn’t work out. No biggie. Hurry up and eat, though. We have to be at our destination by 8 p.m. I know it’s a Thursday night, and I promise not to keep you out too long.”