In the beach house for their first breakfast view of the Pacific Ocean since their Christmas trip to Canada, Griff looked across the table at Caydance. He was remembering the first time he had seen the Music Box Book of Hours, not the music box, but the manuscript itself, which somehow in the throes of his first year as a head coach, he had never asked to see.

In the Lodge La Belle Montagne, after a productive conversation about selecting grass seed for stadiums, Tyrone had mentioned the paintings of native grasses and plants in the Book of Hours -- how beautiful those paintings were -- and Griff had told Tyrone that he had never seen the manuscript itself.

Now thinking of the subsequent time he spent that afternoon with Sido and Caydance turning the pages, he remembered the brilliant colors, the intricate brush work, the way that gold illuminated each page. Certain images came to mind: the turreted castle that appeared high above the Loire River; in a clear blue sky, the majestic eagle that flew over a sea-surrounded island. And, looking again across the table at Caydance, the lovely woman emerging from her bath.

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The Music Box Book of Hours was now safely in the custody of a museum in Nova Scotia. After breakfast -- before they walked on the beach -- would, he thought, be a good time to suggest to Caydance that they take a shower together.