Sweetheart Reunion (6 page)

But no one actually ever
slept
at Skeeter’s house. They partied all night instead.

“You’ll sleep better in your own bed,” Julien said, opening the truck’s squeaky door to shove his brother inside.

“Does Mama have any of those good dumplings left?” Pierre asked, his head drooping.

“I’m sure she saved you a whole bowlful. But you might not want to eat too much right now.”

“Hungry.”

Of course Pierre was hungry. He was always hungry. Julien had to wonder if his brother needed more than just food and drink to sustain him. He also wondered if he needed such sustenance himself.

Maybe they were both hungry for something they couldn’t see or touch.

And maybe that was the main reason Julien had decided to change his own wayward ways, right along with his brother’s.

Chapter Six

R
amon Blanchard hobbled into the Fleur Café, his soft smile belying the determined look Alma saw in his dark-brown eyes. Her father had always reminded her of a gentle giant. His brawny arms were muscular and work-worn, his craggy face as rich and mapped as the muddy sand bars lining the swamp, his laugh lines crinkled and gouged like a river bluff. His whole countenance was edged with sorrow and his shaggy gray beard curled like Spanish moss around his ample chin, adding to the mystic qualities she so loved.

She’d rather jump into an alligator pond than hurt her dear sweet daddy.

“Daddy’s already heard about the kiss,” she said in a tight-lipped whisper to Winnie, her hand still on the scrambled eggs and pancakes she needed to take out to a hungry customer.

“Surprised it took him this long to come in for a look-see,” Winnie replied, turning to go back into the kitchen. “He didn’t say anything to you at the festival committee meeting?”

Alma shook her head. “No, and no one dared mention it, either.”

No one wanted to be around to witness the wrath of Ramon Blanchard. Her father had always been loving but strict, fair but foreboding, but everyone knew he was a sweetheart of a man underneath that gray beard and those frightening, storm-tossed eyes.

All the same, Alma braced herself for a good reaming. No matter that all three of his daughters were grown up and self-sufficient. He still saw them as his
bébés
.

Her daddy spotted her, waited for her to serve her customer, then straddled a stool at the counter and grunted for some coffee.

“Heavy with cream,” he said, his voice booming just enough to make the glassware rattle. “And bring me a mess of beignets, too.”

Daddy always ordered a mess of beignets and all the workers knew he liked his dark coffee laced with heavy cream. How the man still walked around was beyond Alma. But she’d given up on fussing at him about eating healthily. It only made things worse between them. Let him have his sweets and his coffee.

The young rookie waitress named Mollie seemed to be the only one oblivious to the undercurrents rushing through the café like flood waters. She brought the coffee and cream and then whirled to take the plate of plump, hot, square-shaped beignets, making sure Mr. Blanchard had extra powdered sugar and a slab of butter to enjoy with his breakfast.

“Anything else, Mr. Blanchard?”

Ramon took a long swig of coffee then cleared his throat. “Yep. You can tell my middle daughter Alma Marie Blanchard to come on out here and say good morning to her papa.”

“Of course,” Mollie replied with a hesitant smile, her brown hair falling around her face. “She was just right here.”

Alma walked out of the kitchen toward her father, feeling like she was walking a plank, the whole restaurant full of people following her every step with squinted brows and lips moving as if in silent prayer.

Deciding to just get it over and done with, Alma put a little bounce in her step. “Hello, Daddy. I was wondering if you were gonna stop by this week.”

“I reckon so,” Ramon said between bites of golden-fried dough. “I just bet dat you were.” He chewed and stewed a couple of seconds. “How ya been, Daughter Number Two?”

She knew she was in trouble since he’d numbered her. They each got a number when he wasn’t happy. “Uh…”

“You gonna stand dere squeakin’ like a little bird or you gonna talk to your papa?” His Cajun accent was pronounced, another sure sign that he was agitated. But a tightly held grin tried to break through.

Alma almost laughed. Seeing the twinkle in her daddy’s big brown eyes gave her such a measure of relief, she had to lean against the counter for support. “I’m fine, Papa. How ’bout you?”

Ramon leaned close, his girth keeping him from making much progress. “Me, I’m fine. Just fine. My phone’s tired, though. ’Cause it’s been ringing like a Christmas bell for de last few days. Wanna know why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I think you know,” Ramon said, wiping his plump fingers on a paper napkin. “In fact, I’m pretty sure de whole town knows why my phone keeps jingling.”

“Well, out with it, then,” Alma retorted, but it was with a sweet tone so as not to offend.

He waved a hand toward the back door. “Did you kiss Julien LeBlanc dere on the back steps?”

“Yes, sir,” Alma said, holding up her finger. “You already know about the kiss, but it’s more like
he
kissed me. Caught me off guard.”

“
He
kissed
you?
” Ramon took another bite of beignet.

“Yes, sir.” She lowered her head, hoping her humility would appease her daddy. That had always worked in high school.

“Well, then if he was the one doing the kissing, I reckon I’d better be having this conversation with him instead of you—since you seem to be so innocent and all.”

Alma ignored the whisper of snickers filling the nearby vicinity. Let them all laugh. She was a grown woman.

“I’m a grown woman,” she repeated out loud to her daddy. “I could have stopped him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She finally looked up at her daddy. His eyes held a warm regard, a kindness tempered with steel. “I don’t know. I guess it just surprised me. I mean, Julien and I have managed to remain civil all these years and I’m so used to him teasing me and bothering me, I just never expected the man to grab me up like that and plant one on me. I honestly was too shocked to react.”

“Except to kiss him right back, from what I hear,” Ramon said, his tone simmering down to below boiling now.

“Yes, I guess I did. And I guess Callie showed you that picture someone snapped and sent out to all the world.”

“I don’t need to see a picture to tell what’s right in front of my eyes. You better be careful with dat one, Alma Marie. Those LeBlanc boys mean trouble. You know that. I didn’t like it when you two dated all through school and, even though you are now fully grown and old enough to make your own choices, I still have to worry. That’s my job.”

“No need to worry about me, Papa,” she said, trying to put the image of Julien standing in her yard last night out of her mind. “I can handle Julien LeBlanc.”

“Really now? So no need for your tired old papa to give you a lecture on broken hearts and lost promises?”

“No lecture needed here,” Alma replied, willing that to be the case. “I’ve changed since high school. Julien can’t ever hurt me again.”

It didn’t help that the person in question just happened to walk in the door at that very moment.

* * *

Julien stopped and glanced around, his brother Pierre slamming into his back. Both brothers glanced at each other and then around the busy café.

Pierre caught the vibe, too. “Did somebody die?”

“Why does everybody always ask me that?” Julien got over his shock and found an empty booth then tugged his hungover brother into one side while he slid into the other. Aware that people were staring at him then looking toward the counter, Julien saw the reason.

Mr. Blanchard. In the flesh. They had never actually gotten along very well. And things hadn’t improved after Julien had pulled that stunt at the prom.

People held grudges around here. Especially Blanchard-type people. If the old man had gotten wind that Julien was trying to get back into Alma’s good graces, he would be as mad as a gator with a hook caught in its snout. Maybe more so.

“I’m hungry,” Pierre said, holding his head in his hands. “Only that bacon smell is making me feel kind of green.”

“What you drank last night is the reason you feel so green,” Julien pointed out. He could only deal with one crisis at a time and since his brother was right in front of him, he’d just have to put Alma and her papa out of his mind for now.

The new girl came waltzing up to the table. “Morning.”

Pierre must have caught a whiff of her perfume. He looked up and broke out into a grin, green and all.
“Bonjour, belle.”
Then he looked at her name tag. “Mollie. Pretty Mollie.”

Mollie smiled over at Pierre. First. Even before she smiled at Julien. This was interesting. He should be insulted since his baby brother looked like death warmed over with his dark curls all askew and his onyx eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Why hadn’t Mollie noticed Julien’s combed hair and clean T-shirt? What did that matter? Julien looked around for another pretty woman.

And saw Alma standing in the kitchen behind the pass-through, her expression stony and steely, her eyes fixed on her daddy. Was she expecting some sort of showdown?

“What can I get for y’all?” Sweet Mollie asked, her gaze still fixed on puny Pierre.

“Your telephone number,” Pierre said through a grin.

Mollie giggled. Blushed. Smiled.

Ramon Blanchard grunted.

Alma whirled and walked away.

And Julien sat wondering what his next move might be.

He’d tried flowers. He’d tried tea cakes. Maybe it was time he tried something else. Something that would throw Alma completely off guard.

“I’ll be back,” he told his suddenly lovesick little brother. Then he looked at Mollie. “Bring him a big pot of black coffee and some dry toast. I’ll have a short stack with grits and scrambled eggs.”

Pierre’s grin almost cracked on that, but he still kept his eyes on Mollie. “Toast sounds good,” he said, his words as weak as a newborn puppy’s yelp. “I’m feeling kind of poorly this morning.”

“I’m sorry for that. I’ll be back before you can say boo,” Mollie said, her smile reassuring.

“Boo,” Pierre replied, testing that theory.

He was rewarded with another giggle.

Julien was already up.

“Where you going?” Pierre asked, panic in his voice.

“Right over there, to speak to Mr. Blanchard.”

Pierre’s eyes opened wide. “You’re crazy, bro.”

“
Oui,
I just might be at that.”

* * *

Alma wasn’t a coward. She just didn’t need the drama today. She hadn’t slept very well and this day was fast going from bad to worse. A worker had called in sick. Her daddy had come to take her to task. Her sisters—one texting and leaving phone messages and the other one waving and grinning and coming in to the café to bother her—and her co-workers were having a ball teasing her about Julien’s new interest in her. And now, Julien was—

Sitting down right beside her daddy. Shaking her daddy’s hand. Chatting with her daddy. Only, Papa was not chatting back.

“I’m so glad I had the early shift today,” Winnie said, poking Alma in the ribs. “I haven’t seen this much excitement since old man Gauthier lost his false teeth in his gumbo.”

“I’m glad you’re being entertained,” Alma retorted. “We do have people waiting, you know.”

“They ain’t going anywhere,” Winnie replied. “This is too good. Nobody wants to leave.” Then she poked Alma again. “And here comes Callie. Woo-wee, this is the best day ever.”

Alma let out a groan. “Easy for you to say.”

She moved close to the pass-through, hoping she could hear what Julien was saying to her frowning father. But the buzz of too many interested people blurred out most of Julien’s soft-spoken words.

She heard
daughter
and
sorry
and
second chance
and her heart started beating to match that buzz. Was Julien asking her father for permission to…to what? Start all over again? Date Alma? Goodness, did everyone around here think she was still in high school?

Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she hurried out to the counter. “Julien, stop it.”

Both her daddy and Julien glanced up.

“Hello,
catin,
” Julien said with a warm smile. “I was just telling your papa about the sweet bateau I’ve been making to display at the festival. Also have a nice skiff and a pirogue, if I get it finished. I wanted to get his opinion so I invited him to come to the warehouse and have a look.”

“But I—”

Was she imagining things? Had she heard wrong?

“But what?” Ramon asked, his heavy eyebrows floating together. “He asked me if I’d like to test the water.”

Okay, that could mean any number of challenges or confrontations. “How so, Papa?”

“Maybe go crawfishing or trap a gator, like the good old days. Chase a quarry,” Julien finished. “If I don’t sell the boats at the festival, that is. Thought we’d take one of them out.”

“Over at Second Chance Landing,” Ramon said, winking at her. “That’s prime gator waters there.”

Water. Quarry. Second Chance…Landing.

Alma needed to unclog her ears.

Julien’s smile was serene, his expression full of pure joy. “I haven’t talked to your daddy in a month of Sundays. I aim to make up for that.”

Ramon gave Julien a measured look. “I just might take you up on that, son. Chartering deep sea fishing tours is good and all that, but gator hunting wouldn’t be nearly as boring.”

Alma huffed a breath. “Daddy, you haven’t hunted gators in twenty years.”