Sweetheart Reunion (14 page)

She smiled then and Julien leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s so nice, being with you, seeing you relaxed and happy.”

“It is nice,” she said, lifting her head to stare up at him. “And I’m starving. So let’s go eat.”

He grinned at that. His Alma did love good food.

When they got to the nondescript entryway that consisted of two shuttered windows and an old brown door, people were already waiting to get in. “It’s not very big,” he explained. “Do you mind a wait?”

“No. It’s a nice night.”

After Julien put their name on the waiting list, they found a quiet spot near a crape myrtle tree. Julien leaned against the slender tree, causing tiny pink blossoms to rain down on them.

He smiled as Alma tried to get them out of her hair. “Leave them. They look pretty with your dress.”

She stopped fidgeting and smiled over at him. “Is this as weird to you as it feels for me?”

He nodded. “Last time we were on a date—”

“You left with another girl.”

He hit a hand to his head. “Yep. Stupid me.”

She quit smiling. “I want to understand you, Julien. I want us to be friends again. But before we can take things any further, I need you to explain to me why you left me standing in the middle of the dance floor at the prom and why I finally found you drunk and in the arms of another woman.”

“Like I said,” he began, swallowing the lump of discouragement in his throat, “stupid me.”

“I’ll go with the stupid part, but I still need the real reason you did that,” she said on a sweet smile.

In spite of the pleasant temperature outside and the pleasant temperament of the night, Julien started sweating.

Chapter Fourteen

T
hey were called to their table before Julien had to answer. After they were seated at a bistro table by the window, complete with white tablecloth and one red rose in a bud vase, Julien waited until the frazzled waiter left with their drink orders before sitting back to stare over at Alma.

“Don’t let the name of this place fool you. It’s casual but the food is serious. Real serious. The best lasagna ever. Even better than my mama’s.”

“Hmm.”

She had her nose buried in the menu. He could barely see her eyes over the rim of the tall menu book.

“See anything you like?”

She kept staring at the menu. “Not yet.”

“We can go somewhere else.”

She peered over the menu at him, looking like a kitten peeking through a window. “I haven’t read the entrées yet.”

“So you’re just staring at words?”

“Yep. And waiting.”

He cleared his throat. “Waiting for me to answer your question?”

“Yes. Since I’ve been waiting close to ten years, I guess I can wait a few more minutes.”

“You’re not making this easy, you know?”

“Oh, yes. I know. But it wasn’t easy to see you self-destructing on prom night either.”

“I thought we were going to keep things light. You said you didn’t want to talk about anything heavy. Didn’t we kind of go over this stuff at your place the other night anyway?”

“I know I said keep it light and yes, we skimmed the surface the other night. But we’re here, away from everything and everybody. And I really just need to know before I can move forward. I mean, really, really know and understand. You can take your time and we can keep it light and easy. No conflict, no judgment. Just two people having a conversation about the past. And maybe, the future.”

She finished her speech then hid behind the menu again.

He grabbed the heavy food chart and slapped it on the table. “Look at me now, Alma.”

She shifted on her chair and picked up the menu again, but she did glance his way. “I’m very aware of you, Julien.”

“And what do you see?”

She studied him a tad too long for his comfort. “I see an older version of the boy I saw that night. You’ve definitely matured physically.”

“So I just look older, but not much wiser?”

“No, not older. Better. More settled and mature.” Her expression softened. “But I see grief in your eyes. I see it when you don’t think I’m looking. I see worry—about your mama and your brother. I do see you, Julien. And I believe you’ve changed.”

“I have changed.”

The waiter came back with their iced mint tea.

Julien touched a finger to the cold glass. “I have changed,” he repeated on a low voice. “I think it started the day my daddy died. It took a while. I went on regular binges after he died, trying to get even with the world and God. I was so angry. I wanted my daddy back.”

“So you acted out with women and parties and embarrassing your poor mother. But haven’t you been doing that since high school?”

Sweat chilled his backbone. “Yes, I did and I have. I’m not proud of it.”

“Why did you stop?”

He took a sip of tea and accepted the third-degree questioning. “That was gradual, too. I got tired of waking up with a hangover and no memory of who I’d talked to the night before.” He looked down at the table. “And I heard
Maman
crying late one night. That nearly broke my heart.” He didn’t tell Alma about finding the picture of him with his papa and Pierre or his mama’s great need to see her grandchildren before she left this earth. That would be implying a lot more than Alma was ready to hear right now.

Alma put down the menu and leaned forward. “I’ve never seen my daddy cry, except at my mama’s funeral. But I’m pretty sure he does cry, though, a lot. He seems to want to be alone more now than he wants to be with people.”

Julien cupped his hands together. “I can understand that feeling.”

She took a sip of the rich, caramel-colored tea. “So you’ve changed. I can agree to that. But that still doesn’t answer the original question.”

How could he tell her? “I panicked that night. We were dancing and talking about the future. And all I had on my mind was asking you to…to marry me.”

Her intake of breath caused a few people nearby to glance around. “You were going to propose?”

“Maybe not that night, but soon after,” he admitted. “It’s all I could think about. I’d saved money—”

She held a hand to her mouth. “And all I could think about or talk about was leaving Fleur, getting away from the smell of fish and the summer heat and the café. I went on and on about my future.
My future.
Not ours.”

He felt a great rush of relief moving throughout his system. “I was terrified—if I asked you to marry me, you’d feel obligated and you might stay. But would you be happy? If I let you go, would you resent me and hate me forever? Or worse, forget me and never come back.”

He looked across the table and watched her eyes grow misty. “I didn’t know what to do,
chère.
Honestly.”

“So you got drunk and did the stupid thing?”

“Yes. I guess I gave up. Just gave up, because I didn’t think I was worth you having to choose. I didn’t want you to have to choose. What if you chose me and I fell short or disappointed you or couldn’t provide for you? I didn’t have a future beyond high school, Alma. No college, no choices.” He waved a hand in the air. “All I’ve ever known is the Gulf and those swamps and bayous out there. That’s all I had to offer and we both know that’s a hard life. Especially these days. So I gave up. I thought you deserved better.” And truth be told, even now he thought she deserved better. But he wanted to be worthy of her. So here he sat, sweating and wishing.

“You didn’t trust me enough to let me make that decision?” she asked, back to her interrogation tone.

“I didn’t want you to have to make that decision.”

She stared out the window, watching as people strolled by. “Did you care about that other girl?”

“What other girl? I don’t even remember her name. I was disrespectful to both of you that night.”

She sat back, her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Julien. I never dreamed… I never considered that my actions could cause such consequences. I could have pushed the issue and made you tell me the truth, but I guess I just gave up, too.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It was me. I didn’t trust you or myself. I wanted something that I was afraid I shouldn’t have. I still feel that way, but I have changed, Alma. I have. I’m willing to fight for you this time.”

* * *

Alma thought about their conversation through the antipasto and the chicken lasagna. The food was wonderful, but her heart felt heavy and scarred. Knowing how much she must have hurt Julien only added to how much she cared about him now. She’d always understood that the fundamental difference between them had been her need to see the world and his need to keep his world intact.

But she’d never realized until now that she’d hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. Alma had placed all the blame on Julien because he’d acted so out of character that night. Or maybe his true character had come into play that night. In spite of his bravado and swagger, Julien had a vulnerable spot in his heart.

She’d been warned from grammar school that the LeBlanc boys were bad news. Bayou trash, one friend used to say. Too dangerous and impulsive, another prim friend warned. Her sisters had pointed out all the bad things she needed to know about Julien, but they’d also seen the good in him and in the end, her family had grudgingly accepted him.

But no matter that—Julien had been too irresistible, too much of a temptation and a challenge, to ignore. And yet Julien had always been a gentleman with her. He’d always respected her and treated her like a princess. Maybe he should have been more honest with her. Maybe he shouldn’t have put such high hopes on her. Did he think she was flawless? Without sin? Too perfect for the likes of him? That was pure silly. And misguided.

And maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt and honest with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have set myself up as high and mighty and determined to leave him. That was just a dream, anyway.

She’d been living in a dream that could never come true, a dream that included the whole scope of the world, but not Julien’s world. And Julien’s world should have been the one she wanted more than a life of her own, on her own.

He’d believed she wanted everything but him.

She’d believed he wanted anything but her.

And that was her fault.

Could they possibly meet somewhere in the middle?

He glanced over at her now, his tone upbeat. “Hey, want some dessert? The tiramisu is really good.”

She really wasn’t hungry but his expression held such expectation, she couldn’t deny him dessert. “Can we share? I ate too much bread and lasagna.”

“I’d be willing to share.”

Alma saw the twinkle in his dark eyes. He was willing to share—his heart, his love, his dreams. The man was still irresistible. And still dangerous. But he also had a heart as big as that Gulf he loved so much. A big, deep heart that hurt with all the woes of his family and the people he cared about. Including her.

Why hadn’t she seen this before?

She pushed aside all the revelations clouding her judgment. “All right. I’d love a cup of coffee, too.”

He placed the order then smiled over at her, his dark gaze washing her in a sweet need. “We managed to get through dinner in a passable fashion.”

“Yes. The food was very good. Nice choice.”

He pointed a finger at her. “You could show them a thing or two, though. You could always apply for a position again. Any restaurant in New Orleans would love to have you.”

Was he testing her already? “I need formal education, though. You know how chefs are at fancy restaurants. Temperamental and high strung. They expect perfection.”

“Yeah, I know a very cute one who seems to be that way at times.”

Was that how the people around her viewed her? As some sort of perfectionist who couldn’t give in to any standards but her own? “I am not. I’m very even-keeled compared to my little sister.”

He grinned. “Okay, you’ve got a point there.”

The waiter brought their dessert and they dug into the creamy ladyfingers soaked in coffee liqueur and mascarpone cheese topped with creamy whipped egg whites.

“This is good,” Alma said. She took another spoonful. “I haven’t made tiramisu in a long time. I’ll have to try it again.”

“Just keep making that dobash cake, darlin’, and you’ll be fine.”

“So you liked the cake?”

He winked at her. “You know it.”

Alma thought she didn’t know anything for sure, except that being around him again made her heart do strange little tumbling hops of joy. And trepidation.

They finished dessert and Julien paid the bill. “Want to take a stroll along the river?”

“Sure. I haven’t been here in a long time. I love the Moonwalk.”

He guided her out of the restaurant and back up Royal Street toward the main part of the Quarter. “Looks like the streets are heavy with people tonight.”

“It’s a pretty night,” Alma replied, well aware of his hand on her back. She shifted her wrap.

“Are you cold?”

“No, no.” These chills weren’t because of the mild temperature outside. More from her beating heart and the rising temperature of her attraction to him. Shivers and chills. That’s how he made her feel.

They reached the area around Jackson Square and crossed Decatur just past the Café Du Monde then headed up the steps leading to the Moonwalk and the Mississippi River. Alma breathed in the scents of beignets and coffee, the fishy smell of the river and the sweet lemony essence of magnolias. She touched her hand to a lush bougainvillea vine covered in delicate fuchsia-colored blossoms.

“Look at that moon,” Julien said, taking her hand in his as they strolled along the Moonwalk back toward Canal Street.

Alma could hear the river water lapping at the heavy wooden steps down to the Mississippi. Her heart seemed to be caught in the waves, shifting and moving inside her body in a rhythm that took her breath away.

Off behind them, the St. Louis Cathedral glowed like a beacon in the night and the sounds of music playing and people laughing echoed out over the Quarter.

Alma glanced up to the full moon, her hand secure in the warmth of his strong fingers. “Beautiful.”

At a lamp pole near some low-hanging trees, he stopped and pulled her close. “Very beautiful.”

He was looking at her and not the moon.

In another breath, he was kissing her.

Alma sighed in his arms, the night breeze teasing through her hair and flowing across her lightweight wrap. The warmth of Julien’s strong body surrounded her, making her realize how much she’d missed him over the years. But she wasn’t kissing a confused schoolboy now. She was kissing a full-grown man who knew what he wanted out of life.

Why couldn’t she be so sure?