Sweetheart Reunion (4 page)

He got a frown from Frances and a smile from Julien.

Reverend Guidry offered Julien a seat.

Right by Alma.

“C’mon in and sit down,” he said to Julien, obviously oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “New members are always needed.”

“Thank you, Reverend,” Julien said, winking over at Alma. He dropped like a catfish right into his chair. “Hello, Alma.”

“Hi,” she said, her voice just below a squeak. Then she shot him a look that could fry fish. Especially catfish.

Julien just kept on smiling. “Now, don’t let me interrupt. Alma can bring me up-to-date later.”

The way he said that made Alma want to spit nails, even while his smooth voice poured over her like warm butter. But her papa’s frowning face made her sit up and look stern. So she went over her notes to hide her mortification.

Frances finally closed her mouth and started talking again. “Well, uh, where were we? Oh, yes. Cotton candy. Who’s in charge of cotton candy?”

Julien leaned close to Alma. “You are as sweet as cotton candy.”

“Shh,” she said in a hiss of breath.

“Would you like to be in charge, Julien?” Frances asked, clearly upset that he was making mischief while she had the floor. “We need someone to organize cotton candy, popcorn and funnel cakes.”

Julien gave Alma another breathtaking smile. “I’d be glad to handle that, Miss Frances. What do I need to do?”

Reverend Guidry raised a hand. “We have all the equipment at the church. Just line up your volunteers and we can order the needed supplies. All the proceeds from those endeavors go back to the church for the youth fund.”

Alma finally found her voice. “You can get some of the youth to help you with manning the booths. But remind them the festival starts early and lasts until well into the night. They can’t leave their booths during their assigned times to work.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Julien said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Youths to work. Long hours. Order supplies. Got it.”

“You might want to take notes,” Frances suggested.

Papa frowned. “Are you sure you can handle this, Julien? You know how young people can be so wishy-washy.”

“Got it,” Julien replied, holding a finger to his temple, his confidence overwhelming in the face of Ramon Blanchard’s scorn and doubt. “I have a very good memory.” He gave Alma a long, appraising glance when he said that.

Alma heard her papa’s huff of disgust then endured another warm blush. She was going to strangle Julien LeBlanc. She didn’t know why he’d suddenly decided to become her shadow. But she did know she needed to stop him right now.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, Frances called the meeting adjourned. Alma got up and grabbed her papers and her purse to make a beeline for the door.

“Hey, wait up,” Julien called, catching up with her, his hand on the door so she could pass. Or not pass.

“I have to get back to the café,” she said, not daring to stop and let him have it right here with such a captivated audience hanging on their every word.

“I’ll walk you, then.”

“I know the way.”

“Of course you know the way. But I’d still like to escort you, as a courtesy.”

Alma waited until they’d made it past the church parking lot, then she stopped and turned to him. “What do you think you’re doing, Julien?”

He looked around then pointed a finger to his chest. “Me? I’m walking you to work. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I was, before the sun came up. I stopped in to have a late breakfast and you…were missing.”

“So you tracked me down and embarrassed me yet again?”

She started up, trotting off at a fast pace, but felt his hand warm on her arm. “I don’t want to embarrass you,
catin.
”

“Then what do you call this?”

Julien leaned close, his dark eyes holding hers. “I call this making up for lost time. I’m yours, Alma. And I believe it’s time we both get used to that idea.”

Alma’s shock caused her to gasp. “Mine? You were never mine. And I’ll never be yours. You might have considered that before you decided to launch an attack on me.”

“I’m not attacking, darlin’,” he said on a sultry whisper. “I’m wooing. Yes, that’s what I’m doing. I want to make you mine.”

“Well, good luck with that.” She pulled away and started toward the café, her heartbeat pounding right along with her espadrilles.

She refused to even hope that Julien LeBlanc might actually be serious. How many times had she seen him sweet-talking other women? Too many to count. She might have fallen for that ploy in high school, but she was a grown woman now.

And she had two very good reasons to keep her distance from Julien. One, he’d broken her heart. And two, she carried a high risk of getting a disease that could kill her the way it had killed her mother and destroyed her sister’s life. Breast cancer wasn’t pretty. The odds didn’t look good. And the odds of Julien being able to deal with breast cancer didn’t look good either.

“Stop this nonsense,” she said, even while, in her battered heart, hope bloomed as brightly as Callie’s flowers.

“I’m just getting started, Alma,” Julien called after her.

“I mean it.”

Alma kept on walking. But her heart shouted loud and clear in its bumpy little chamber. And its plea echoed inside her head until she’d made it into the café and shut the door.

Prove it, Julien. Please prove it.

Chapter Four

H
e set out to prove himself to Alma.

He began with flowers, straight from her sister’s sweet nursery. The Blanchard girls loved flowers.

“What do you suggest?” Julien asked Callie two days later, after he’d tried talking to Alma.

Too busy to talk, that one.

But not too busy to stop and smell the roses.

“For Alma?” Callie shot him a level look, as if she might be comparing him to a bug on a leaf. “Why? Did somebody die? Or did you make her mad again?”

“She’s always mad and no, nobody died. I just want to send her some flowers is all.”

Callie smiled, but her sparkling eyes held a hint of doubt. “Hmm. She’ll be even madder now—mostly with me if I sell you an arrangement.”

“Do you want my business or not?” Julien asked, figuring like everyone around here, Callie couldn’t afford to turn him away.

“I do need business. It’s a slow morning.” She shook her head when he touched a finger to some fat red roses. “You don’t want to send her those. Too predictable for my sister.”

Frustration singed through him. “Then what do I need to send?”

“She has a thing for Louisiana irises. Alma likes things that just kind of spring up.” The look Callie gave him indicated he might be the exception to that.

“Then irises it is,” Julien replied, thinking, in spite of Callie’s questioning look, that he could spring up right along with the plants.

“I have a pretty one just about to bud in a nice pot,” Callie said. “She can put it on the front porch for now and then plant it later, maybe in Grand-mère’s backyard.”

“Why does she live in that old cottage anyway?” Julien asked, wondering why Alma didn’t live with their father in the big house on the edge of town where she’d grown up. The tiny little house tipped toward the bayou was quaint and pretty but a bit run-down and old.

Callie gave him another scrutinizing look then shrugged. “It’s near the restaurant and it keeps her close to our grandmother. Alma and Grand-mère were close. We are all close.”

She went to the rear of the big open floral shop and brought back a brightly painted pot holding one fat bulb with rich green shoots poking out of the moist, dark dirt. “Besides, why do you care all of a sudden?”

The Blanchard sisters were direct and they stuck together like a flock of geese. Could get just as mad as a fighting goose, too. He’d need to remember that.

“I don’t know,” he said, opting for honesty. Because even though his heart was tugging toward Alma and all that entailed, he wasn’t so sure of himself regarding how to go about achieving that particular goal. This turnaround was recent and still a bit shaky. He was still adrift but trying to find his way. “I guess…I just think it’s time.”

“Well, amen to that,” Callie said, giving him a card to go with the iris. “Do you want to write something? And are you going to deliver this, or should I?”

“I want you to deliver it,” he said, squinting while he tried to recall a verse. “I want her to be surprised. I’ll check in with her later.”

“This might get interesting,” Callie said. Then she leaned across the counter. “Just don’t hurt her, Julien. That wouldn’t be good.”

She gave him a lift of her arched brows to back up that statement.

“I don’t plan on hurting her. Not anymore.”

He paid Callie and stood there, staring at the little square of creamy paper, while Callie waited on another customer.

Then he grinned and wrote what he wanted to say. In big, bold, black letters.

* * *

“Je voudrais sortir avec toi.”

The card read “I would like to go out with you.”

Alma said it out loud again in French, the words playing a pretty tune off her tongue.

She stared at the single iris, knowing it would bloom a beautiful violet-blue one day.

Winnie came to stand beside her and both women stared at the blue and green-colored pot sitting on the counter.

Winnie read the card. “He wants to take you out on a date.”

“I get that,” Alma said, shaking her head. “What are we, fifteen again?”

“Maybe he wants things to be the way they were when you were fifteen.”

“Things can never be that way again,” Alma said, her eyes still on the bulb. The tender shoots of green were piercing the earth, breaking through to grow and form a beautiful flower.

One of her favorites. Maybe because she’d had to do the same, pierce through and grow up. Too quickly. Maybe she was just a late bloomer in the love department.

Or maybe she was too afraid to let go and go out on a real date with Julien. If she did that, she’d be crossing a line they’d long ago drawn in the sand. She’d always been caught between her feelings for Julien and her need to spread her wings and fly out of the nest. Her
former
feelings for Julien, she thought, correcting herself. And, maybe, her former need to fly away. Her life had become so routine, Alma wasn’t sure she could change it now.

But flowers. And not just any flowers. A bulb that, once planted, would take root and spread across her garden to bloom for years to come. Was Julien sending her a message?

She had a sick feeling that her sister had betrayed her by working with the enemy. But was Julien her enemy? Or was he trying to make amends after all this time. But why now?

“Are you gonna plant it?” Winnie asked, her smile as knowing as a cat’s. “Or let it die a slow death in that pot?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Alma took the iris and set it away from the cash register. She’d display it for all to see and then she’d decide what to do about the flower. And about Julien’s request.

* * *

He was waiting for her after work.

“Hello.”

Alma looked down at him, taking in the way he hovered there on the bottom step. “How long have you been out here?”

“Not long. Just got here. And right on time.”

Not used to having him around so much, Alma glanced behind her to make sure everyone had left. Then she turned and hurried down the steps. “It’s late, Julien. Go home and get some rest.”

He gave her a look similar to the one he’d had right before he’d kissed her. “I’m not tired.”

“Well, I am.”

He fell in beside her as she walked the short distance to the little white cottage sitting like a dollhouse underneath an ancient cypress tree. The house was precariously close to the dark waters of the bayou. Alma often spotted alligators and snakes in the water just a few feet from her back dock. But tonight she feared the most dangerous predator was walking on two feet beside her.

“I’ll make you a nice cup of herbal tea,” he said, not skipping a beat. “And my mama made tea cakes this afternoon.” He pulled a bag around. “Fresh outta the oven.”

Alma loved Mrs. LeBlanc’s tea cakes.

“We used to eat those after school,” she said before she could catch herself.

“
Oui,
that we did. It’ll be like old times.”

His triumphant tone nettled at her like a thorny bush. Grabbing the bag, she turned at the door. “But we’ve both changed since then, haven’t we? I have to go.”

“Alma?”

“Thank you, Julien. For the iris and for the tea cakes. I can make my own tea. Good night.”

Alma closed the door and bolted it both against her racing heart and Julien’s crestfallen expression.

* * *

That had not gone the way he’d planned.

Julien stood there, his hands on his hips, the scent of her soap-clean lotion still swirling around his nose.

The iris should have done it. The tea cakes should have sealed the deal. She was obviously playing hard to get. He’d just have to keep trying.

He was about to call it a night when he heard the cottage door opening back up. Alma poked her head out. “I just have one question,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Why are you doing this now? Why now after all these years?”

He didn’t dare make a move toward her. Putting his hands in the pocket of his old cargo pants, he stared up at her and said, “I don’t know. Except lately, I’ve felt this tugging in my heart and when I saw you standing all alone in the café the other morning, something changed inside me. You looked so alone, so sad.”

He shrugged, stared off into the night, the sounds of the bayou singing all around him. Then he managed to spill his guts. “Your parents had a special kind of thing and I know you miss your mama. We all miss her. And I miss my daddy and his birthday is coming up and so I can get how you have bad days sometimes. I guess I just want to make you smile again, Alma. Really smile. The way you used to smile.”

She opened the door and came out onto the porch, but she wasn’t smiling at all. “So you think flowers and cookies will do the trick?”

He advanced a couple of inches. “I think you like flowers and cookies. Or at least you used to.”

“I used to like a lot of things.”

With that, she turned to go back inside.

“Alma, why don’t you sit here with me?”

She turned at the door, her blue eyes inky in the muted moonlight. “I’ll be all right, Julien. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same after losing my mama and watching Callie suffer. I’m afraid of what might lay ahead for me.”

He stepped up onto the porch.
“C’est pour toi que je suis.
I’m here for you, Alma. No matter what. You have to know that.”

She moved toward him and Julien’s heart leapt with joy.

Alma put a hand on his face, her touch like a warm breeze, feather-light and tingling. “I can’t be sure of that, now, can I? And that’s the problem here, now, with you deciding out of the blue you want to woo me. You’ve had a long time to reach this decision. And I’ve been waiting all that time. It won’t hurt to wait a little longer. It won’t hurt to be very sure.”

Then she pulled her hand away and went to the door.

She was gone before Julien could catch his breath. But he could still see her eyes there in the moonlight.

Her beautiful, doubting eyes.

* * *

Alma put the cookies on the counter and stared at the bag.

Her heart wanted her to open that door and let Julien in.

Her head told her to bar the door and run for cover.

It wasn’t just that he’d hurt her so badly on what should have been one of the best nights of her life. Boys kissed other girls all the time. And half the time, they didn’t mean to do it. And the other half of the time, they meant to do it but never meant to make good on it. But that night, her Julien had been so angry and so reckless when he’d stomped off the dance floor and proceeded to humiliate her. He’d drunk some spiked punch, a lot of spiked punch. Then he’d danced with other girls and he’d wound up kissing another girl. Without regard for Alma and her feelings.

That was the part that hurt the most.

But there had been more than the problem of Julien drinking too much and Alma picking a fight with him because of it. And there had been more than him turning to the first pretty girl who passed by to make a bold point with Alma. Julien had always worried that she would go away and never come back. They’d argued about
that
on their special night.

And in his worries, he’d caused that very thing to happen. But she hadn’t gone away, she’d just stepped out of his arms.

Alma had big dreams, but she’d always thought she’d have Julien to share those dreams. She believed she could go and do and come home and he’d be here, waiting. Or even better, he’d travel with her and see the world she so often talked about.

Julien wasn’t going anywhere. And therein lay the main problem still simmering between them. Julien loved Fleur, Louisiana, more than he could ever love her. And she cared about him too much to ask him to leave with her. It wouldn’t be right. He’d be miserable. And that would make her miserable, too.

So if he was waiting for her, he might have to keep waiting. Alma was just marking time until…

She stopped, stilled. Until what? Until her daddy wasn’t grieving so much? Until her sister Callie was married and happy and chasing children around the flower gardens? Until Brenna finally married her long-time boyfriend and settled into the life she loved in Baton Rouge?

Or was Alma waiting for the day when she truly knew Julien loved her enough to let her go?

Julien might pretend to be a man about town, but Alma had always suspected he hid a lot of angst underneath those killer smiles. And, she reminded herself with a spark of hope, he’d never brought another woman into the café.

Not once in all these years.

Julien should have moved on by now. Alma had suffered through watching him with other women, but she’d also rejoiced when he’d broken things off with those other women. Alma shouldn’t hold it against him if he did fall for someone else since she’d dated other people now and again. Those men didn’t make her feel the way Julien could make her feel—alive, all warm and fuzzy, full of excitement and anticipation. They didn’t have staying power. And since her mother’s sickness and death, she’d rarely had a date. Now she wasn’t so sure
she
had staying power.