Sweetheart Reunion (3 page)

“Is that all you want out of life? To be ‘just content’?”

She wanted to shout to him, no, she wanted more. She wanted him to tell her he
had
changed…she wanted to forgive him for his youthful indiscretions. But Alma had been through so much pain, she was almost afraid to look for love and a family. What if she found someone—other than the man staring at her now—and then she got sick like Mama had? Would that person stand by her through such a sickness? Or worse, what if she gave in to Julien’s flirtations and fell for him all over again, only to get her heart broken one more time or to only get sick the way her mama had gotten sick? She couldn’t put carefree, laid-back Julien through that. She didn’t want to put any man through that.

“You have that look,
chère,
” he whispered against her hair.

“What look is that?”

“That faraway look. It breaks my heart.”

Did everyone around here know her so well?

“I’ll be fine, Julien. It’s just, spring always makes me think of Mama. She loved her garden, loved spring on the bayou. It’s hard sometimes.”

He looked out over the water, his gaze following two fussy wood ducks. “My daddy’s birthday is next month.”

Alma’s heart broke open a little bit. “Oh, that’s right. He always loved this time of year. He used to tease that we only had the seafood festival to celebrate his birthday.” She touched a hand to Julien’s arm. “I miss him, too.”

Julien shrugged, as if shaking off the pain. “
Oui,
we all do. But I want to see you laugh again, so let’s talk about something else.”

She got up, pulling away. “I need to get back.”

“But we were just getting started.”

Alma looked at her watch. “Your five minutes are up.” She turned to head back up the path, this new intimacy startling her and leaving her unsettled. “But I do appreciate the little break.”

Julien got up to follow her. “What if I want more than five minutes?”

Shocked, she stopped. “Since when?”

He put his hands on her arms. “Since I’m getting older and wiser and you’re getting prettier and smarter.” He turned serious then. “I can’t seem to settle down, Alma. And I’m thinking it’s your fault.”

“My fault? You’re crazy.”

“No, just a man with a purpose. I’m thinking you’ve spoiled me for other women.”

Her pulse jumped like a fish coming out of the water, just a flash. “Then you need to rethink that.”

Alma pivoted and started walking. She heard him running to catch up with her. What had come over him?

His words echoed up to her. “You like bothering me, don’t you? I mean, you like making me suffer.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said over her shoulder. “And I don’t have time to make anyone suffer.”

Except herself.

“You are a bother, though. You won’t go away. Always in my head, always the smell of flowers and the image of those pretty eyes of yours.”

There went her pulse, her heart, again. “I don’t want to be there—inside your head. Let me out.”

He tugged her back just as they reached the back porch of the café. “I can’t shake you.”

“So what are you going to do about it, Julien?”

He didn’t speak. But he did something, all right.

He leaned down and kissed her smack on the lips. A long, measured, meandering kiss that bubbled and churned with as many undercurrents as that big bayou. His kiss was certainly as dangerous as those ancient waters.

She pulled away long enough to whisper a plea. “Stop it, Julien.”

But he didn’t stop, even when the few customers and workers on the big porch started whistling and clapping.

Chapter Three

“H
ow did you hear that?”

Alma glared at her cell phone then put it back to her ear.

Her sister Brenna laughed, the sound tinkling like chimes through the phone line. “Are you kidding? I still have friends in Fleur, you know. Friends with cell phones and social networks. They keep me informed. I even have a picture. Hold on.”

Alma groaned then glanced out the window of the cottage where she lived behind the restaurant. Less than two hours since Julien had pulled that stunt and already it had gone viral.

Her sister’s silky voice returned. “Okay. I sent you a copy. Look.”

“I don’t have time—” But she looked anyway. “Oh, wow.”

“Oh, wow is right,” Brenna said, giggling again. “That would look good on a romance novel cover.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, I only have one idea,” Brenna said with a sigh. “We need a wedding in Fleur. And you and Julien have been dancing around this thing since high school. Actually, since kindergarten.”

“We’re not dancing around,” Alma retorted. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends? Sister, that shot shows you and Julien LeBlanc are so much more than friends.”

“Delete it,” Alma said. “That’s what I’m going to do right now.”

“No, you won’t,” Brenna said. “You’ll print it out and put it in that scrapbook you’ve been working on for years.”

“And how do you know about my scrapbook?”

“I have ways.”

“You are so sneaky. No wonder you’re good at your job.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Alma said. “Just that your imagination makes you suspect things and I guess that is a bit creative when you’re dealing with art. You can spot a fake.”

“Exactly,” Brenna said. “Julien tries to be a fake, pretending to be a bad boy and all that, but he’s still in love with you. That’s why he pretends to leave a trail of broken hearts behind him. But he’s the one with the broken heart. And now I have the picture to prove it. You know what they say about a picture?”

“Well, this one isn’t speaking a thousand words,” Alma replied. “More like, this picture is purely, truly fake.” She swallowed, then closed her eyes to the memory of Julien’s kiss. It had not felt as if he were faking at all. No, that kiss had been all too real. “He only did that to embarrass me and get me all riled up.”

“Okay, keep telling yourself that,” Brenna said. “I think you are riled up, but in a good way.”

“And what about you?” Alma asked, anxious to get off the subject of that kiss and the way it had made her feel. “When are you going to have that big Baton Rouge wedding you keep dreaming about?”

Her sister went silent. And that wasn’t like Brenna.

“Bree?”

“Not a good subject right now.” Alma heard a sigh. “Keep the picture, Alma. You’ll regret it if you delete it. I gotta go. Hope to see you in a few weeks.”

The connection ended and Alma was left standing there, staring at a picture of Julien LeBlanc kissing her.

“I should delete it,” she said, mumbling and muttering as she went around locking doors and preparing to go to bed.

But she didn’t.

She got in her grandmother’s old brass bed laced with mosquito netting and stared at the picture for a long time.

Then she turned out the lights and tried to go to sleep.

But the face of a dark-haired charmer kept popping into her mind. And the memory of that kiss kept her tossing and turning well into the wee hours.

Why did Julien want to be back in her life?

* * *

Julien wasn’t the first one in the door at the Fleur Bakery and Café the next morning. He waited until almost lunchtime, not wanting to appear anxious.

Except that he couldn’t wait to see Alma again. She’d kissed him back last night, and for the first time in a long time he had real hope in his heart. Since the night she’d walked out of his life, Julien had longed for a way to win Alma back. But pride and her aloof nature had held him back.

Then Sunday after church, he’d watched his
maman
with his cousin’s new baby. Watched and seen the tears forming in his sweet mother’s eyes. She missed her husband. Julien’s daddy had died from a heart attack just last fall. They all missed him. When his mother Virginia had glanced up and caught him staring at her and the child, she’d said something that had stayed with Julien.

“Don’t squander time with your pride, Julien. You don’t have to look so sad. You could have a baby yourself if you stop being so mule-headed. Alma would make a good mother.”

His mama sure had a way with words. But her pointed suggestion had stayed with Julien and then he’d spotted Alma the very next day there in her café, with that early morning sweetness all around her. He’d seen the same sadness he felt there in her pretty eyes. She’d looked as if she wanted something more. Something she couldn’t quite find.

That’s how he felt now.

He wanted her to smile again. Preferably, at him. And the fact that she’d kissed him back rather than slapping him flat gave him enough hope to hang on like a bass on a nylon string.

Time to let her reel him in.

Enough with the revelations and the signs. He planned to ask Alma out on a real date. If he could get up the courage. Maybe a poem. He’d quote her some pretty lines then ask her to go to up to New Orleans for a nice evening. Alma deserved a nice evening, didn’t she?

After a few of his fishing buddies converged on the restaurant, Julien made his way to his favorite table then searched for Alma. Where was she?

Another waitress came and took his order, her own soft smile full of interest. Mollie, her name tag stated. But instead of flirting in his usual way, Julien only had an interest in the chief cook and bottle washer around here. Alma. It wasn’t like her to take time away from the café.

Maybe she was hiding out. He’d thought about not showing up today himself. She had not been happy with him after that kiss.

He grinned, remembering how she’d turned and pranced back into the restaurant, all fire and glory, while everyone who’d witnessed the event had clapped and whooped.

Alma wasn’t into clapping and whooping.

Julien had walked home, whistling a happy tune.

Until reality set in and he realized he’d kissed Alma in public. And while she’d acted like she liked it, she’d also acted like she just maybe might kill him. Later. She probably thought he’d done it on purpose, just to show her. On purpose, to send her a message that Julien LeBlanc still had it.

Whatever “it” was. Lately, it hadn’t been working for him. So he’d reached out to the one woman who could always make him smile even when his heart carried a big frown. So he’d kissed that woman in a moment of pure, spontaneous need.

What if she poisoned his food?

“You look like a nutria caught in a trap,” Tebow said as he slid into the booth across from Julien. “What’s on your mind, bro?”

The cute waitress dropped Julien’s plate of eggs and grits in front of him then took Tebow’s order. “Bon appetit,” she said, winking at Julien.

Julien glanced over at his friend. “Here, take a bite of these eggs.”

Tebow shrugged and dug right in. “They’re good.”

Julien watched his friend for any sign of distress then pulled his plate back.

“Hey!”

“Get your own,” he told Tebow, still looking around for Alma.

When the girl named Mollie returned to give Julien a refill on his coffee, he asked her, “Where’s Alma today?”

Looking surprised, the waitress held the glass coffeepot close. “She had a meeting about the festival. She’ll be in later.”

Tebow shot the waitress a big smile then aimed his baby-blue gaze at the nametag on the girl’s T-shirt. “Thank you, Pretty Mollie.”

Mollie gave him a look that told him to drop dead then whirled and headed away.

“I think you just broke her heart,” he said to Julien. “And I think she just broke my heart in return.”

“What?” Julien asked between bites. He needed to hurry.

“Never mind.” Tebow stared longingly at the food. “I’ll just sit here and watch you eat while I starve to death from lack of love and a meal.”

“Where’s the festival committee meeting?” Julien asked.

Tebow shrugged. “You’re asking me?”

“Yes, you. You mama is always on that committee.”

“And they always meet at the family center at the church,” Tebow said, giving Julien a strange look. “I’m worried about you, bro.”

Julien shoved the rest of his grits into his mouth, swallowed and then took a long swig of coffee. “I have to go.”

Slapping a ten on the table, he was up and out the door before Tebow could ask why and what for.

Julien had come to a decision after that kiss last night. He was tired of waiting around for Alma to forgive him. He’d just have to show her he could change—he had changed—instead of hoping she’d see it with her own eyes.

He was about to volunteer to serve on the Fleur Seafood Festival Committee.

He loved a good festival and he loved seafood.

And he wanted to kiss Alma again. Soon.

If he had to sit around in boring meetings to make that happen, it would be a small sacrifice.

* * *

Alma stifled a yawn and looked at her watch. She was cranky today and it didn’t help that she’d missed part of her eight hours of sleep. But the breakfast shift would be changing over to lunch and she needed to get back to the café.

Tebow’s formidable mama, Frances LaBorde, was chattering away about what they could do to bring new and exciting ideas to the annual seafood festival scheduled for next month.

“We have all the usual sponsors lined up and we’re right on schedule as far as food booths and entertainment,” Mrs. LaBorde said. “Alma, you got the seafood wagons all ready?”

Alma sat up straight and picked up her pen. “Yes, ma’am. The Fleur Bakery and Café will have booths stationed at both entries to the festival. And of course, we’ll have a booth and cooker set up right in front of the café, too. Crawfish, shrimp and oysters, fried and boiled, and just about any type of fresh fish you could ask for. Not to mention boudin, gumbo, dirty rice and red beans and rice. No one will go hungry.”

Alma’s robust daddy, Ramon, winked at her then turned to the woman who’d asked Alma the question. “Now, Frances, you know my girl’s gonna do it up right, just as she always does. Alma hires extra help for the festival.”

Frances, a plump widow who had an extreme crush on Alma’s papa, beamed a smile at Ramon. “
Oui,
our Alma always does a fine job with the food.” Then Frances gave Ramon another smile. “And I imagine you’ll have your boat ready for tours and fishing trips?”

“Same as always,” Ramon said, lifting his dark eyebrows. Ramon Blanchard’s jolly expression changed to one of insult and injury. “Do you doubt me, Frances?”

“No, never, Ramon. You’re as dependable as the tide. I know you’ll entertain the tourists with your boat tours.”

Alma had to hide her grin. Her papa looked about as aggravated as she felt. Usually, she got all excited about the seafood festival, but today…she had other things on her mind.

The door to the fellowship hall swung open and the very main thing she had on her mind walked in.

Julien LeBlanc in the flesh.

And looking too good in that flesh.

Everyone looked at Julien then at Alma.

Alma looked at Julien then looked at her daddy.

Her daddy glowered at her then glowered at Julien.

This was awkward. She thought of that kiss and felt a flush moving up her neck.

“Can we help you, Julien?” Mrs. LaBorde asked with a sweet smile plastered on her pink lips.

Julien walked up with his hands held together. “I came to help you, Miss Frances. I want to volunteer—for the committee. To help in any way I can.”

Alma slid low in her chair. Why, oh, why was he here? Julien didn’t like being stuck inside four walls. He liked being outside with the wind in his face and some sort of pole or trap in his hand. He liked the swamp, loved water more than land, trees more than paper.

And he surely didn’t like committee work.

Frances LaBorde seemed at a loss for words, a first for her.

Papa grunted and went into a long statement, all in Cajun French. Alma heard enough of it to know her daddy wasn’t pleased with Julien’s antics. He’d already read her the riot act over that public display of affection, telling her he’d had to hear it from the mailman and the preacher. News always traveled with lightning speed in Fleur.

He’d told her, “I don’t trust him, Alma. Not one little bit.”

Her papa had never trusted Julien. Maybe she should remember that.

Both the mayor and the minister chimed in on Julien’s sudden civic responsibility.

“That’s wonderful, Julien,” Mayor Daigle said, his almost bald head bobbing like a cork. “We need some fresh ideas in this discussion.”