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before, and it was strange and worrying for him.
         The next day, Emmaline and Peter strolled down Decatur Street; her hand tucked into his arm, and him with his hand over hers. She had been quiet since her mention of her grandfather and Peter had been mulling the situation over in his mind. His first order of business was to make her smile.
         “I think we ought to start this thing off properly, New Orleans style,” he said, looking at her with a sidelong glance and a smirk.
         She raised one eyebrow at him and asked, “Really? And how are we going to do that?”
         He grinned at her, “Well, with beignets and coffee, of course.” He walked her into Café du Monde and they sat at a little table right in the middle of the restaurant. Their beignets were delivered hot to their table a few minutes later, covered in thick mounds of white powdered sugar.
         Peter picked up the little dish of pastries and took a deep breath, the blasted it out across the plate, blowing a thick white cloud of powdered sugar all over Emmaline. Then he set the plate down on the table and looked at her and laughed richly. She blinked at him and wiped the powder from her face, glaring at him.
         “Hey, now, don’t be mad. That’s a New Orleans tradition, my dear. Also, I owed you for the water you threw on me. We’re even now.” He held his hands up to her in defense, still laughing at her, and then he pulled some of the napkins from the dispenser and handed them to her. “Here you go, see if you can wipe that up a bit. Be glad you didn’t wear black today.” She began to laugh at him and they finally settled down into their beignets and coffee, and the people around them who were locals stared in shock.
         When they had finished at du Monde, Peter walked with her past Jackson Square and said in a quiet voice, “I thought we could go meet your grandfather, if you don’t mind. No matter if you tell him the truth or if he thinks we are going to get married for real, he will probably want to know who you are hanging around with.”
         She felt a tear come to her eye and she wiped it away quickly, “That’s really thoughtful of you, Peter. You don’t have to do that for me, but I appreciate it.”
         “I know,” he said lightly. “But all the same, it’s the right thing to do, and that is what I’m working hard on now, doing the right thing.”
         Emmaline smiled at him and she turned them to walk down Royal. “I’m telling him the truth. I never lie to my grandparents,” she said quietly. “I just hope he isn’t disappointed in me.”
         Peter patted her hand and said seriously, “Emma, I don’t think anyone could ever be disappointed in you. Not if they really know you.”
         She glanced at him when he spoke her name in such a familiar way, and she didn’t say anything. She decided that she liked the way it sounded. They walked a long way and just as he was about to mention that he could have the car pick them up, Emmaline turned down a few more streets and then they were standing in front of a little old house with a deep front porch. On the porch, rocking back and forth in his chair like he had all the time in the world, was Emmaline’s grandfather.
         She walked up the steps and hugged him tight and kissed his cheek. “Hello Papa, how are you today?”
         He smiled at her like the sun had just come out and warmed him from the cold night. “There’s my girl! I’m good now that you’re here. How’s my little one?” His eyes crinkled as he looked at her.
         “I’m good, Papa. There’s someone here I want you to meet. This is my friend, Peter. Peter, this is my grandfather, Henri.”
         Peter stepped up, pulled his cap off of his head, and waited while her grandfather pushed himself up out of the rocking chair and stood up as tall as he could. The old man looked Peter in the eyes and then reached for his