Pretty excited by the fact that Zechariah had said only one word, Chéri turned expectingly to Tristan. Whatever he said, it must have been a good word, no? But the good doctor turned and suggested something else.

Chéri massaged the back of his neck and admitted “I can clean and I can serve decently, but I don’t know if I am much of an actual servant, sir. Do you think this will work for your friend?” Chéri knew he couldn’t be a valet. Occasional maid? Sure. Dock worker? Been there, done that. Valet? God help us.