Finding Focus (5 page)

When we get to the house, we walk through the large French doors leading into the dining room.

“Deacon!” Annie calls from the kitchen. “Please tell me you have that pretty girl with you.”

I smile and shake my head.

“See? What’d I tell ya?” Deacon snickers from my side.

Following Annie’s voice, we walk into the kitchen. She’s facing away from us, her shoulder length hair now twisted up in a bun and she isn’t wearing the flowy casual clothes from earlier. She has on an understated black dress with capped sleeves. The thin black line down the back of her stockings adds a touch of sexiness, and from the manly hands on her backside, I’m obviously not the only one who thinks so.

“Maw! Dad! Shit,” Deacon groans, covering his eyes.

“Oh, seriously, Deacon Samuel, there was only one immaculate conception, and I hate to burst your bubble, but it wasn’t you.” Annie shakes her head as she rights herself, turning around to face us. “Dani, I’m relieved to see you’re alive and well.” She gives me a look I assume she reserves for when her children are out of line, and I actually shrink a little. I’m not used to checking in with anyone. If I were out on a job in any other location, I’d be completely on my own. No one would care if I ate lunch or checked in, but it occurs to me Annie considers anyone in or around her home her responsibility.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I’m Sam Landry, and you must be Sheridan Reed,” the very handsome, distinguished man standing behind Annie says, cutting me off. He steps around her and offers his hand.

“Dani,” I tell him, shaking his hand, only to be practically swooned right out of my shoes as he winks at me before kissing the back of my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Landry,” I say, managing to gather my wits and speak coherently, avoiding embarrassment.

“The pleasure is mine, Dani. It’s so good to have you here, doing an article on our little piece of happiness.”

“Don’t let him charm you, Dani,” Annie interrupts. “Remember what I told you about this one?” she asks, pointing at Deacon. “Well, he learned from the best.”

Deacon and Sam both laugh, and something about them seems familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Sam, we need to go or we’re going to be late.” Annie grabs her clutch off the island and Sam begins leading her out of the kitchen. “Deacon, be on your best behavior.”

“Maw, I’m a grown-ass man. I think I can handle taking Ms. Dani here to dinner without getting into any trouble.”

“Uh huh. Heard that before.” She gives him a look, but quickly changes her gaze to me. “I’m going to apologize in advance for anything he says or does tonight that is out of line.” She blows kisses our direction.

We all laugh as we make our way out of the house, saying our goodbyes.

Deacon stops in the large attached garage, pointing to a jeep. “You wanna leave your car and ride with me, or follow? We’re gonna go to Pockets. It’s a few miles up the road.”

“Uh, I guess I’ll just follow you since it’s getting late. I probably won’t work anymore today.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

I continue to walk around to the front where I parked my car and get in. A minute or so later, Deacon pulls around in a Jeep that has tires bigger than me. It fits him. He revs the engine and rolls his window down to talk to me, so I do the same.

“You wanna race?”

“Drive it like you stole it,” I tell him.

He throws his head back laughing and peels out in front of me.

Following him back to the main road, Deacon takes a right—the opposite direction of the motel—and drives about half a mile before pulling into a roadside restaurant. From the looks of the cars in the gravel parking lot, the place seems to be hopping. As the music playing inside filters into the night air, I glance up to see a flickering marquee sign that says “Pockets”.

“So, what is this place?” I ask as Deacon steps out of his Jeep.

“You like things that come in pockets?” he asks.

“Um, I guess?”

Deacon must sense my confusion because he continues. “You know, pieces of bread folded together to make a ‘pocket’?” He does little air quotes.

“Oh, you mean like pita bread?”

“What the hell’s a pita bread?”

Using his line from three seconds ago, I say, “Little pieces of bread folded together to make a ‘pocket’,” mimicking his air quotes.

Deacon lets out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, but these pockets are
deep fried
. . . and you can have anything you want in ‘em. Gumbo, red beans and rice, ham and cheese, barbeque, shrimp étouffée, boudin—you name it! There’s even a make your own.” He waggles his eyebrows and laughs. “I think you’re really gonna like ‘em,” he says, opening the door for me.

When we walk inside, a girl with curly brown hair bounces in front of us. “Hey, Deke.” She smiles, trying to gain his attention, but he quickly dismisses her. “Hey.”

“Welcome to Pockets,” she says, smiling at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She pauses for a minute, looking me up and down. She’s probably wondering who I am, if I’m with him, and most importantly, where I’m from. It’s what I would be wondering if I were in her shoes. “Who’s she?” she asks, pointing at me, but looking at Deacon.

Well, isn’t she the bold one.

“
She
is Dani, and we’re going to sit in that booth over there. Can you send someone over to take our order?” He speaks to her slowly, as if she’s a three-year-old, forcing me to cough into my elbow to hide my laugh. Politely, I smile and offer a small wave as we make our way to the booth. I don’t want her spitting in my drink.

When we pass a couple servers, I notice the back of their shirts:
Is that a gator in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
I smile to myself, shaking my head. I’ve always been a sucker for a clever shirt.

I love this place already.

Deacon grabs the menus on the table and hands me one. “Order anything you want. It’s on the house.”

“Are you showing off, trying to impress me, Deacon Landry?” I playfully accuse him.

“Nope, that just happens naturally. If you must know, Dani Reed, I own this fine establishment.”

“You own this place?”

“Well,
we
own this place,” he says, smiling. “Me and my brother. You’ll meet him later. He’s working tonight.”

I smile and nod as I take in the place, my wheels turning. I definitely need to find the time to come and take pictures of Pockets. Since it’s owned by the family, it should be in the article.

The dark wood covering the floors and the booths immediately draws my attention. There’s a wide-open space up by a stage that appears to be set up for live music, but for now, the music is coming from an old jukebox next to the stage. Between the low lights and eclectic decor, this place is a diamond in the rough. It’s kind of a shame that it’s stuck way out here in French Settlement. A place like this would thrive in a bigger city like Baton Rouge or New Orleans.

“You know what you want to eat?” Deacon asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh, sorry. I kinda got lost checking the place out.”

“You like it?”

“I do,” I reply, nodding my head. “It’s very . . . unique.”

“That’s a good word for it.” He laughs, throwing his arm over the back of the bench. “Can I make some suggestions?” he asks, pointing to the menu.

“Sure.”

Deacon begins to excitedly tell me about the menu. His eyes light up as he goes over all of the interesting combinations in the pockets, anything from your average pepperoni pizza, to barbeque, and even gator. Like, they really have a pocket with alligator in it. I’m intrigued, but I end up going with a pulled pork pocket with fresh slaw and order one of their dessert pockets with blueberries and whipped cream.

His pale bluish-green eyes that seem so familiar and friendly, scan the room, but it’s the proud smile he wears when he sees me watching I find the most endearing. Well, that, and his over-sized dimples. He definitely gets those from his dad, and the chestnut-colored hair from his mom. It’s an identical match to Annie’s, even the natural wave is the same.

“I’m going to go to the ladies’ room and check my voicemail before our order gets here,” I tell him, looking around for a sign.

“Yeah, the bathroom is just down the hall by the bar. You can’t miss it,” he says, pointing over my shoulder.

I walk down the hall and head straight for the bathroom. When I’m finished washing my hands and patting my face with a damp paper towel, I take a look at myself in the mirror and wish I would’ve gone back to the motel to freshen up before coming out with Deacon. I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame the fly-aways. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.

Once I’m finished in the bathroom, I step out into the hall and turn the opposite way of the dining room to check my messages. I hope Graham has called to check in, but deep down, I know he hasn’t. When I see the one missed call is from an unknown number, I go to my voicemail, but there’s nothing there. Piper left a text message a couple of hours ago, but I hadn’t received it due to lack of service out at the plantation. I shoot her a quick one back, letting her know everything is going well and she should expect some shots in her inbox later tonight.

As I’m pushing send, I turn to walk back to the table and collide with a person and a large tray of food and drinks. Things splatter and spill all over the floor and I find myself lying flat on my back with something warm and gooey stuck to my forehead. When I try to sit up and assess the damage, the slight spin in my head and feeling of unsteadiness forces me back down.
Only me
. I groan, not wanting to face the mess I just made.

“I’m so sorry,” I finally tell the person I ran into from my horizontal position, peeking up to see the girl with curly brown hair staring down at me with a scowl on her face. Of course, it would be her. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to smooth things over.

“I’m fine,” she huffs. “Don’t worry about it.”

She’s definitely going to spit in my food.

I attempt to sit up again, feeling the need to help clean the mess, when a pair of strong hands come from behind and gently grip my arms, helping me stand. For a second, I think it might be Deacon coming to my rescue, but when I turn around, dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes greet me.

Micah
.

“The better question is, are
you
all right?” The sexy as silk voice from yesterday pours over me like warm honey.

Micah

“LET’S GET THIS MESS CLEANED
up.”

“Sure thang, Boss,” Jamie says, shaking her ass a little extra as she walks off. For my benefit, I’m sure. She’d be happier than a tick on a fat dog if I’d just fuck her already, but she ain’t my type. Besides, she’s an employee, and I don’t mix business with pleasure . . . or, at least, not
that
kind of pleasure.

“Sorry for your little run in with the food,” I tell the beautiful woman standing in front of me. I recognize her from the parking lot last night, and my smile turns into more of a smirk. “It looks like you’re wearin’ a bit of it. Can I get you a clean shirt?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’ll just, um, go back in the bathroom and, uh . . .” She looks down at the gumbo splattered across her chest and midsection . . . and maybe a little étouffée right by the collar. “Uh, on second thought, I’ll take that shirt,” she says.

There’s a smear of barbeque sauce on her forehead, and I have to admit, it’s pretty damn cute.

“Micah Landry,” I say, offering her my hand.

She blushes and cocks her head, giving me a funny look. “I know. I’m Dani Reed,” she replies. “I saw you last night.”

“I remember, but we didn’t exchange names.”

“No, we didn’t, but I’m in town doing an article on the Landry Plantation for
Southern Style
Magazine
.” She gives me a quirk of an eyebrow, like I should know who she is. I do vaguely remember Mama saying something about a magazine article.

“So,
you’re
the city-slicker New Yorker who came all the way down here to snap some pictures of our house?”

“Yep, city-slicker New Yorker, that’s me.” She huffs out a laugh.