Книга - Sweetheart Reunion

Sweetheart Reunion
Lenora Worth


LOOK WHO’S IN TOWN!The last person Alma Blanchard expects to waltz into her bayou café is Julien LeBlanc. If seeing him again weren’t painful enough, her handsome ex-beau announces that he aims to settle down with her. The boy she broke up with in high school was not the settling down type!As his courting continues, though, Julien softens her heart with his devotion and faith. But how can she ever forgive him, and put aside her fear that he’ll break her heart again? Alma has always believed a happily ever after just wasn’t meant for her. What will it take for Julien to prove her wrong?







Look who’s in town!

The last person Alma Blanchard expects to waltz into her bayou café is Julien LeBlanc. If seeing him again weren’t painful enough, her handsome ex-beau announces that he aims to settle down with her. The boy she broke up with in high school was not the settling-down type! As his courting continues, though, Julien softens her heart with his devotion and faith. But how can she ever forgive him and put aside her fear that he’ll break her heart again? Alma has always believed a happily-ever-after just wasn’t meant for her. What will it take for Julien to prove her wrong?


“What do you think you’re doing, Julien?”

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

“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 whisper. “I’m wooing. I want to make you mine.”


Sweetheart Reunion

Lenora Worth







Therefore with joy shall ye

draw water out of the wells of salvation.

—Isaiah 12:3


Contents

Chapter One (#ua9c71aff-757d-566d-8533-223f7b3319ab)

Chapter Two (#ud42d4ed6-d9eb-52b0-bd71-25add5fcd549)

Chapter Three (#u58663b2a-449b-559a-849e-76007cf6da5a)

Chapter Four (#u38f54772-83b8-5ef8-b065-26044f7cbdfc)

Chapter Five (#ud1b4adb9-66d6-55c9-98f3-ed1303711354)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions For Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Another day, another dollar.

Alma Blanchard stood inside the empty Fleur Bakery and Café, watching the first rays of sunrise crest with all the magnificence of a giant golden shield over the still, lush Louisiana bayou. The scent of fresh-baked bread and crisp bacon filled the air and the long kitchen at the back of the café sizzled and fizzed with morning activity.

She put down her coffee, brushed strands of long dark hair away from her face and steeled herself for the busy morning rush. The old clapboard restaurant echoed with the tap of her sneakers on the aged cypress floors. She’d just turned the key inside the big industrial lock when a face, silhouetted against the slanted rays of the dawn sun, appeared on the other side of the glass paneled doors.

A face she’d just as soon not see so early in the morning.

Julien LeBlanc.

He grinned at her, flashing dimples and dark onyx eyes that always reminded her of a bayou night. Pushing a calloused, tanned hand through his thick dark bangs, he said, “C’mon, chère, open up. I’m needing some of that good coffee, for sure.”

Alma willed her heart to slow down, wondering why after ten years Julien still had this kind of effect on her. It wasn’t as if she still cared about him. Any feelings she’d had for Julien were long dead. But still…memories of high school and Julien hit her with the same intensity he used to tap against the door.

“You’re killing me, Alma,” he called, his nose pressed to the glass panes. “Please, pretty please.”

“Hold on,” she called out, twisting the big lock, her hands suddenly clammy, her joyfulness vanished as she stood back to let him in. Grabbing her coffee as a shield, she said, “I’m not awake yet.”

Julien muscled his way inside the second the big oak door gave way, the scent of spicy soap and early morning fresh air surrounding him. He stood, hands on his hips, his impish gaze sliding over her like warm, glistening water. Tilting his head low so he could lock his gaze on her, he said, “You look awake to me, darlin’. And as pretty as those morning glories blooming out on the front porch.”

Then he took her coffee cup from her and drank deeply. “Ahh, you make the best coffee in south Louisiana.”

“Stop it with the charm,” Alma said, her tone turned sassy even while her stomach turned sour. They did this, played out this flirting dance, each time they were around each other. She both enjoyed and dreaded it. But it was their shield against the truth. “Just get in here and let me get to work. What do you want, Julien? Besides coffee, that is.”

He gave her a look that told her exactly what he wanted. The resigned longing in his eyes reminded her of sweet poetry whispered by the light of a crescent moon. Then the look was gone. “Me, I’m starving. Eggs over hard, bacon, grits and biscuits. Double on all.”

“How do you stay in shape?” Alma asked, turning to hurry behind the safety of the long wooden counter.

And why did she ask such stupid questions? The man worked day and night out on his boat, didn’t he? And when he wasn’t out in the Gulf waters trolling for shrimp or in the bayous working his traps, he was busy building boats. Beautiful one-of-a kind boats. A hard worker, her Julien. No, not her Julien, no matter how hard he tried to flirt with her. No matter the memories of distant times lodged in her brain like a log jam.

He’d never be hers again.

And she’d best remember that.

Besides, she didn’t have time to dwell on the past and Julien LeBlanc. Time to open the café to all the other regular customers and the early-bird tourists.

Alma put his order through then disappeared into the kitchen, a fresh new cup of dark roast coffee steaming in her hand, while she looked out the big kitchen window in the back of the café and watched a tall white egret spread its wings and lift gracefully out over the dark water. The egret settled like a ballerina near a stand of bald cypress trees covered with Spanish moss then strolled through the shallows, dipping its long beak as it searched for breakfast.

Alma sighed, took a sip of the strong brew and wondered why she felt so out of sorts this morning. Such a beautiful, peaceful beginning to her day. Such a joyful morning. She should have reveled in God’s handiwork. All around her, the early crew chatted and fussed, working to get the day started, some singing, some whining. But right here, right now, with the spring day beginning in all its glory and the promise of unexpected gifts in the air, Alma felt alone. Thinking about Julien and what they’d once had didn’t help. So she said a little prayer that she would be at peace in God’s world.

Just for a minute, Lord.

Mama would have loved this morning, Alma thought, memories of her mother Lila moving with the same grace as the elegant egret. Maybe that was why Alma was so off-kilter. She missed her mother each and every day, but nothing could be done for that. Mama had been dead for almost eight years now. And Alma was still in the same spot, always staring out into the world and wondering if there was something more out there for her.

But Alma had promised her mother she’d keep the café going, so she had bread to bake and meals to cook and supervise. The shrimpers and fishermen and tourists would want a good breakfast this fine spring morning.

And so would Julien.

She grabbed his order and took it out to him. “Here you go. Eat it while it’s hot.”

“Sit with me a spell,” he said, his dark eyes lifting up to her face, his hand touching her arm with a lightness that didn’t match the expression on his face.

“You know I have to work.” Trying to hide her surprise, she motioned to two regulars sitting nearby. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not the only customer here.”

“You work too hard.”

“It takes one to know one.” She hurried away, her heart beating right along with her sneakers as they hit the old wooden floor. Why did it have to hurt this way each time she was around him?

“Order up,” she called, her back to the man who’d broken her heart so long ago. She intended to keep doing what she’d done for the past ten years. She’d be civil to Julien because, in spite of their breakup long ago, they were still friends and besides, he was a loyal customer. A very loyal customer. Nothing new there. Nothing new in her life, either.

Except today he’d touched her and asked her to sit with him. Today, Julien seemed different, more intense, more aware.

That left Alma rattled and disoriented.

Don’t give in to that, she told herself. He’s just being charming Julien.

But she could feel his dark eyes burning through her with the same glaring warmth and intensity as that orb of sunshine lifting out over the cypress trees.

* * *

Why did this woman still get to him so much?

Julien swigged his coffee and stabbed at another piece of crisp, crunchy bacon, nodding his head as he pretended to listen to one of his friend Tebow’s outrageous tales. He could recite most of Tebow’s nonsense chapter and verse. Right now, he’d rather watch Alma at work.

He loved watching Alma, and that was a fact.

Her long curly hair was piled up high on her head, except for a few rebellious chocolate-colored strands that danced around her face and eyes. Today, she wore faded jeans and an old T-shirt underneath a worn white apron that proclaimed in big, bold, red print “Fleur Bakery and Café. So good make you want to slap your mama.” The sturdy walking shoes on her feet were white and blue with tiny rhinestones winking across the vamps each time she sashayed by. And each time she did sashay by, Julien caught the scent of a garden, exotic and floral.

Nice. But Julien could still see her back in high school at their senior prom, all dressed up in light-blue silk, looking like a princess who’d gotten lost in the swamp. She’d been his back then and he’d loved her with all the angst and need of an eighteen-year-old teenager.

He was no longer eighteen but he still had that angst. He tried to hide it with flirtations and jokes, but it was like those bayou waters out there, still and calm on the surface but churning with a thousand undercurrents deep in the dark murky places.

Idiot flirt that he was, he’d messed things up by getting into a fight with Alma at the prom and then getting caught later that night with one of her best friends. Too much spiked punch and too many raging hormones had done him in. That and the fear of loving her too much—and losing her to that big-time life away from Fleur she wanted so badly. But his fears had cost him, thanks to his own fatal need to sabotage any chance of happiness. He’d lost the love of his life on the night he’d planned to ask her to marry him.

She’d never forgiven him.

And she never would.

Didn’t matter much, since he could never forgive himself either. Didn’t matter much that he’d stopped drinking for good last year, but he was too ashamed to tell her that and beg her to take him back. His Alma hadn’t gone off to find fame and fortune in some big, lonely city. She’d stayed here to help her family. But she still managed to mostly ignore him. While he came in here every day and smiled at her and tried to forget what they’d once had. Maybe that was his penance.

For that reason, Julien had to pretend he didn’t care. Had to pretend he was so over Alma Blanchard. These past few months had been hard on his family. He was tired of pretending. But a man could hope, oui? A man could learn from his mistakes and try to piece his life back together, one day at a time. Only now, his little brother seemed to be heading down that same slippery slope. The very thing that had brought Julien’s drinking to a skidding halt has caused his brother to take it up right where Julien left off. Their papa had died. Were the LeBlanc men cursed to be self-destructive? Maybe that was why Julien had needed to see Alma’s face this morning. He needed a bit of hope.

“Did you hear me?”

Julien glanced over at Tebow. His friend had that look on his face again. That smug look that told Julien he couldn’t fool a man who’d known him since they’d both been in diapers.

“Your heart is showing, mon ami,” Tebow said on a low breath. “’Cause you’re wearing it on your sleeve again.”

“Shut up,” Julien growled, his appetite sated. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Testy this morning,” Tebow said before lopping his worn LSU baseball cap back onto his head. “What, she put you in your place again?”

Julien ignored his friend’s ribbing, choosing instead to focus on paying his check. And leaving a big tip. Alma worked hard, cooked the best food in the world and tried to hold her family together. He knew what she’d sacrificed to stay here in Fleur, knew all about her dreams to go to cooking school and become a chef in New Orleans. Or maybe Atlanta. Or had it been New York? Didn’t matter now.

He knew what she’d given up all those years ago when, right after he’d broken her heart, her mama had come down with breast cancer and fought it for two years. But she’d never recovered. Healed, but not in this life.

He knew.

And he ached for Alma each and every day. Which was why he always started his day right here in the café.

Just to be near her.

He knew. But if he didn’t do something and do it soon, she’d never know that he still loved her.

* * *

“I’m starving.”

Alma laughed at her older sister Callie’s antics, shaking her head as Callie fell across the counter. “Okay, I can take a hint. Let me grab us a couple of sandwiches. You want chicken salad or marinated shrimp?”

“Chicken salad,” Callie replied, waving her hands in the air. “And some of those good sweet potato fries. Wanna eat out on the back deck?”

Alma glanced outside. The lunch crowd had died down and the place was quiet, the dark paneled walls and cool hardwood giving it a coziness that made her want to take a long nap. But she didn’t have time to nap during the day. And she rarely slept at night.

“I think outside. Tea or coffee?” she called to her golden-haired sister.

“Hmm. Spiced tea. It’s getting to be that time of year, you know.”

“Spiced tea it is,” Alma called over her shoulder. “Go find a table in the shade. I’ll bring it out.”

Callie spun on the old black vinyl stool then stood to stretch, her worn cotton button-up shirt as deep blue as her expressive eyes. She looked so much like their mother—all gold and sunshine and fiery—but delicate. Callie had survived her own breast cancer scare only to lose her husband. The man couldn’t deal with the sickness, so he’d left. Yeah, Callie survived all right, with a broken heart.

Alma didn’t intend to ever let that happen to her. Better to focus on work and family, especially on their daddy, Ramon. He’d taken Mama’s death hard. They all had. But Ramon Blanchard was never the same after Lila passed away. Alma and Callie kept tabs on him, and their other sister, Brenna, away in Baton Rouge, called him just about every day.

Bringing a tray full of food with her, Alma hit her hip against the old screen door to the covered back porch of the café. The porch, decorated with old car tags and folksy plaques with Cajun sayings and normally full of customers, was mostly quiet during the afternoon hours. Only a few people were left eating a late lunch, then things would start all over again with the second shift and the supper crowd.

“Busy day?” Alma asked after she placed their food on the table and sat down on one of the old high-backed wooden chairs.

Callie nodded, chewing the sandwich Alma had made with fresh sourdough bread. “With this weather, everyone is ready to get back to gardening. Seems to be picking up.”

“That’s good. It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

Alma glanced over next door to where her sister spent most of her time. Callie’s Corner Nursery did a big business year-round. When she wasn’t busy helping customers plant their gardens or redo their landscaping for spring and summer, Callie turned to fall plants and pumpkins, then selling Christmas trees and designing beautiful natural door wreaths during the winter. Her sister worked as hard as Alma did, but they had different talents and passions. Callie was good with her hands and growing things, while Alma loved to cook and bake. Brenna was the civilized, artistic sister. And the one who’d managed to move away.

“Talk to Papa today?” Callie asked between nibbles of sweet potato fries.

“Early this morning, just briefly,” Alma responded. “He sounded okay. Had a group of lawyers from up in Shreveport down for some deep sea fishing. Should be back by now, though.” She glanced at her watch, wondering if Papa would come by for supper tonight.

Callie tapped a finger on the wooden table. “He’ll be okay. He always enjoys taking the boat out.”

“I worry about him,” Alma said. “I know you do, too.”

Callie nabbed another fry. “Yes, but what can we do? Nothing will mend his broken heart.”

“No, nothing.”

Alma looked out at the bank that fell away from the steps leading down to the bayou. Large live oaks dripping with gray moss shaded the tin-roofed porch. A mockingbird chirped and fussed in one of the live oak’s branches. Out near the shallows, palmetto palms and rhododendrons languished on the black, decay-filled earth. Somewhere off in the bushes, a frog croaked a repetitive song. An old log jutting out into the water held two turtles that seemed to be enjoying the warm, filtered sun dappling the dark water.

“What are you thinking?” Callie asked, her blue eyes as deep as the gulf waters just a few miles away.

Alma pushed back in her chair. “Why do you always ask me that?”

“Maybe because you’re always thinking.”

“I have a brain, therefore I think.”

Callie dropped the last of her sandwich then wiped her hands on her napkin. “You get like Papa, all dark and sad, when you look out over that water. Especially after Julien’s been around.”

“It’s not Julien.” Alma denied the pain in her heart. “I miss Mama, of course. I guess I sit here and think about what might have been.”

Callie glanced at the water then back at Alma. “We all think about that from time to time.”

“Do you miss being married?” Alma asked, her pain now for her sister.

Callie shrugged, but her expression hardened against her high cheekbones, causing her face to blush pale. She nodded, dark golden curls shimmying around her face. “I miss what I thought marriage was supposed to be. I wanted what Papa and Mama had. I thought I’d found that with Roy, but I was wrong. If I ever decide to get married again, I want someone with sticking power—the kind that lasts through thick and thin, through sickness and health.”

“Just as the vow you spoke promised,” Alma said, wishing she hadn’t asked the question. “Just like Papa and Mama.”

Callie lowered her head. “Yes, just like that.” Then she looked up at Alma. “Is that what you were thinking about, really? Marriage and a family?”

“Not for me,” Alma retorted, gathering their empty plates, the image of Julien smiling at her playing through her mind. “Do you want pie?”

Her sister gave her a resigned look. “What kind?”

“Today I have coconut and key lime.”

“Can we split a piece of key lime?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Alma took their dishes in and smiled when Winnie, one of her long-time waitresses, handed her two tiny slivers of key lime pie.

“I heard you ask,” Winnie explained. “The door is open after all.”

“Is that all you heard?”

Winnie bobbed her head, her brown bob flowing around her face. “Yes, ma fille, that’s all I heard. I didn’t have to hear the rest. I saw that tale told on your faces.”

Curious, Alma turned at the screen door, holding the pie plates one in each hand. “And what tale was that?”

“Two sisters, remembering and regretting. That’s all.”

Winnie turned and went back to her afternoon chores.

Alma turned and went back to her sister.

Winnie was right. Two sisters remembering and regretting, nothing more.

Except the knowing that they might not ever have the kind of marriage their parents had. Callie had learned that the day her husband walked out. Brenna refused to even discuss such nonsense.

Alma had learned the same at a very early age. She’d learned it the night she’d found Julien LeBlanc in the arms of another girl.


Chapter Two

Julien unloaded his catch of the day at the back of the Fleur Bakery, his eyes ever wary but hopeful for the sight of Alma. Wary because he knew she didn’t like having him around. Hopeful because he liked seeing her around.

Couldn’t be helped, either way, since they did business together. He occasionally provided fresh seafood to her restaurant and she cooked it up into some of the best around. And tonight, he had a few hundred pounds of fresh crawfish from the small farm he worked during the season. It looked to be a good year, even after all the heartache of storms and oil spills.

Julien loved springtime the best. It was a time of renewal and hope, a time when he remembered being young and carefree and in love. Fish jumping, fresh vegetables and fruit growing, swimming holes open and flowing, and long ago, Alma in his arms dancing at the annual spring festival. Lately, however, he didn’t seem to enjoy dancing the way he had when he was young and carefree. Nothing was the same without Alma, anyway.

Why had he waited so long to see that, to admit that?

The poet in him wanted to be young and carefree again, wanted that innocence of a first kiss, that newborn hope of a first dance.

He wanted what he’d had with Alma. That realization had hit him like a gale force wind the day they’d buried his daddy last fall. But it had taken him all winter to figure it all out.

The pragmatic side in him knew to quit dreaming and get on with the here and now. His late father’s birthday was coming up in a few days. That reminder made Julien less carefree and more somber. That and the fact that his baby brother, Pierre, twenty-one and on a path of self-destruction, needed Julien to be a better role model. No revelation there.

But Julien had managed a few epiphanies lately. He believed in signs, little hints from the Almighty. He didn’t have to be hit on the head to get it through his noggin that something in his life needed to change.

Alma walked out the back door, and both of those conflicting sides of him merged into a hopeful regret. Or maybe a regretful hope. Technically, they’d broken up in high school but Julien had never let go. Besides, they couldn’t avoid each other in such a small town. So they’d learned to be polite to each other, and over the years that politeness had aged into a patina of respect and appreciation, along with a rub of regret. He’d always been conflicted around Alma. Now he wanted to start over, all new and improved, and he wanted to win her back.

He smiled up at her now, determined not to show that conflict. Alma could sense turmoil the way an old-timer could predict a storm coming in off the gulf. She had that ability.

“Look, Alma. Got you some big, juicy bugs here.” He watched as his grumpy younger brother finished carrying the heavy bags full of still live crawfish into the storage area. Shooting Pierre a hard glance, Julien added, “Gonna be a good night on the bayou.”

Alma stood with her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a pirate queen about to make a man walk the plank. “I reckon those will do just fine. Thank you, Julien.”

“Thanks back to you and I’ll take my check now.” He handed her a receipt, grinning to stop the pain edging through his heart. “You look tired, chère. Long day?”

Alma glanced away, irritation marring her pretty face. “It’s always a long day around here.”

Julien leaned one booted foot up onto the steps. “You work too much. You need to take some time away.”

“Since when are you so worried about my work schedule?”

Since he’d had an epiphany or two. But he couldn’t explain that to Alma. She worried about his lack of faith. She’d have him by the ear and through the church doors before he could say “Praise the Lord and pass the salt.”

So he said, “Since I’ve seen you in this place mostly every day and night for as long as I can remember.”

She fussed with checking his haul. “I get days off every week.”

“Oui, and you spend them mostly right here.”

“How do you know what I do?” Alma asked, her deep-blue eyes crashing like an angry ocean.

“I see you most every day so it’s kinda hard to miss,” Julien replied, the smile gone out of his words. “I worry for you.”

“Don’t,” she said, tossing hair away from her face. “Just get your load finished so I can get back to my customers.”

Something inside of Julien snapped. He’d had a long, hard day, too, and too long of a time thinking about her. And he was proud of his catch. He wanted Alma to be proud of him. Or maybe he just needed Alma to see him, really see him, again. She thought he was heartless, without a soul. But she’d never know how he prayed in the long, silent nights of longing for things he might not ever have. He’d prayed all right. He had faith. He just wasn’t one to go shouting it to the world.

“I think you should get away from this kitchen and your customers for a while.”

“I have work to do, Julien, so stop thinking and get back to unloading.”

“All done.” He hopped over the last two steps then said something to his brother in French. Pierre rolled his eyes but nodded then went back to the truck and cranked it.

“Your brother is leaving you,” Alma pointed out, nodding toward the roaring pickup.

“I told him to go on home,” Julien said, taking her by the hand. Then he turned to the window into the kitchen. “Miss Alma is taking a little break. Winnie, you can keep everyone happy for a while, can’t you?”

Winnie grinned into the window, her brown bangs flipped over the crinkles in her eyes. “Oui! Take your time.”

Alma pulled away. “Since when do you go ordering my staff around, Julien LeBlanc?”

He grabbed her hand and held tight. “Since you look like you’re about to fall out. Since you need to rest but you won’t do it. Since…just now when I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Alma held back, glancing through the window to frown at the still grinning Winnie. “I don’t have time for your foolishness. I have people—”

“Who can cook and clean and smile at other people while you take a walk with me along the bayou. Five minutes, Alma. That’s all I ask.”

* * *

Alma stared down at his hand in hers, wondering why his big, tanned fingers seemed to fit so closely to her own work-worn hands. And wondering why she just wanted to sit down and have a nice little cry. Why did she feel as if she’d missed out on something important?

Pushing that idea aside, she tried once again to pull away. “Julien, I’m fine. I can’t go for a walk during suppertime.”

He didn’t let go. “Yes, you can. C’mon. It’s a nice evening.”

She couldn’t argue with that. A cool spring breeze played through the bald cypress trees lining the banks, the gray-beard moss swaying against the branches like old lace falling against leather. A flock of brown pelicans flew by, the symmetry of their wings lifted high up in the sky in perfect formation over the water. The sight was as natural to her way of life as breathing. Scenes such as this normally brought her a certain calm. But with Julien nearby, her heart spurted like a burned-out boat motor.

Sighing, Alma followed Julien down the steps in spite of the need for self-control shouting in her head. “Five minutes, then I have to get back. I’ve got pies to bake tonight and bread to mix for the morning rush.”

He nodded and held her hand tight to his. “I won’t take you far.”

Oh, but he would, she knew. He could, if she let him. Julien was a ladies’ man, handsome and playful and larger than life. A man who danced with the girls at the fais-do-do. A man who charmed women with just a wink and a smile. He could take her to places she’d stopped dreaming about going. He could also break her heart again.

But Alma had enough heartbreak already to last her a long, long time. She wouldn’t add falling for Julien LeBlanc to that list. Not a second time, anyway.

“It is a nice night,” she said, just to test her voice to see if she could speak. The sweet scent of honeysuckle tickled her nose.

“It is at that.”

He glanced over at her while they strolled along the worn dirt path beside what they called Bayou Petite. It was just a small tributary shooting out of the big open canal that ran along the main road in Fleur. Big Fleur Bayou, that one was called. The town had been built around Big Fleur.

“So you had a productive day?” she asked, simply because being silent made her think way too much about him. And wonder why today of all days, she’d let him get to her.

Maybe because, today of all days, he’d actually made the effort.

“We did. Crawfish season is wide open but prices might be steep. And this year’s spring shrimp season has to be better than last fall.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m ready. More than ready.”

Alma pushed aside a low cypress branch, the greening of the tree shining in the dusk like fireflies. “It’ll soon be time for the spring festival.”

“And the blessing of the fleets,” Julien added. “We need lots of blessings.”

Alma stopped at an old bench. “Let’s sit.”

Surprised colored his face. “You want to sit with me a spell, catin?”

“I’ve been on my feet all day.” It was the best excuse she could find. She didn’t dare tell him that even while making small talk around him, she became breathless.

He gave her a low bow and, with a flourish, wiped the wooden bench clear of fallen leaves and debris. “Your throne awaits, my queen.”

Alma laughed at his antics, her face muscles stretching wide. Maybe she should laugh more. “You’re such a clown.”

He sank down beside her then smiled over at her. “I made you laugh, so I don’t mind being called a couillon. And you have to know, when you laugh it sounds like a melody.”

“You’re also full of baloney,” she retorted, touched that he liked her laugh. She had to admit, it was good to see him laughing, too. They’d both lost a parent and while her mother had been gone for years, Julien’s father had died only a few short months ago. Had that changed Julien?

“I do put on a good show.” He went quiet and kept his eyes on her. “But then, you know that better than most.”

She couldn’t answer that. She did know it better than most. Underneath all that jovial bluster, Julien had a heart as big as the bay. He laughed a lot, talked a lot and held a lot inside.

“It’s been a while since we’ve just sat and visited,” he said, looking out at the dark water. “Life just keeps on going.”

“It does. I’m always so busy with the café.”

“You need to slow down.”

“You could take that same advice yourself.”

Julien nodded, his actions causing his wild mop of dark hair to fall around his forehead. “Can’t rest, darlin’. Too much to do. Work’s hard to come by these days.”

“You’ve always been a solid worker.”

He turned then, moving close. So close she could see the flecks of brown in his onyx eyes. “So you have noticed some of my redeeming qualities?”

“You have redeeming qualities?”

He laughed again. “Non. Not a one.”

But Alma knew that wasn’t exactly true. Julien loved living here on this bayou. Like most of the men around here, he’d learned how to fish and hunt while he was still practically in diapers. It was in his blood. And like most of the people she knew, he worked two jobs just to help his family make ends meet. He had changed a lot since high school. She’d heard through the bayou grapevine that he’d stopped drinking after his daddy died.

Alma prayed that was the truth. She prayed that Julien would settle down and find true happiness. But she didn’t dare pray that he might one day love her again.

“How’s your mama?” she asked now, always worried. The women around here didn’t take care of themselves and health care was a joke—not very affordable or available. Julien’s mother had a lot of health problems.

“She’s doing okay,” he said, the sparkle leaving his eyes. “She has her good days. Just has to watch that old ticker. Heart disease ain’t pretty.”

“Take care of her, Julien.”

He took her hand again. “I will, I promise. But what about you and your sisters?”

Alma knew what he was asking. What about the cancer? Are you all safe?

“Callie is doing great. Her last checkup was a positive one—all clear.” She thought about what Callie had been through and said a silent prayer for her sister. “And Brenna—you know her. Always going and doing. A busy career woman. But she’s good at her job and she loves working for the art gallery. She talks about planning her wedding, but I’m not sure that will ever happen.”

He turned toward Alma then. “And you?”

What about her? She couldn’t tell him the secrets of her heart. “I’m okay. Tired. Missing my mama today. Wishing for things—”

“What kind of things?”

Alma swallowed back the hopes and dreams, refusing to let them float to the surface. “You know, more money to pay bills and less hours spent in that café. More time with Papa and my sisters. More… I don’t know. I’m content, Julien. Just content.”

“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

“How 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.”

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

He 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.

It hurt too much to think about what might happen down the road. It hurt too much to think about what she’d had and lost.

And tonight, it still hurt too much to let go and give in to Julien’s sudden change of heart. Because he loved his life here and she wanted a life out there. And because she might not have much time to explore the world or…love a man. Her mother had run out of time and Callie had lost her husband and now had too much time on her hands. Brenna didn’t have enough time in each day even to plan her wedding.

But what if Alma could make it work? What if Julien was the kind of man who was willing to truly love her, no matter what? He’d have to prove it to her. He’d have to make her see that he was willing to settle down and grow up and…be there.

Just be there. No matter what.

Alma wouldn’t open up her heart to that kind of commitment unless it was solid.

So she put on her pajamas and took the ancient enamel tea kettle and made herself a cup of peppermint tea. Then she opened the crumbled bag Julien had shoved at her and took out a fat, buttery, yellow tea cake. She nibbled it while she stared out into the moonlight and remembered how, long ago, Julien and she would sit and eat tea cakes, their feet dangling in the bayou water, their eyes on each other. He’d kiss her, the taste of vanilla and butter all around them. And they’d laugh and whisper and dream of the future they’d have together.

The future that had disappeared in the swirling wisps of satin and lace as Alma had turned and run away from him. Had she been running away from the constraints of a life on the bayou? Or had she believed she was running toward freedom?

No, her heart hurt too much to ever enjoy freedom. Her guilt at even wanting to break away from her hometown shadowed her like Spanish moss. Sometimes she felt trapped and sometimes she felt captivated.

“I don’t know if I can ever leave,” she said into the night. Then she stood and remembered and closed her eyes to all the wants in her life. And reminded herself of her blessings and of all the things she couldn’t have.

Never knowing that the man she was thinking about was still standing out there under the cypress tree, wondering how to win her back.


Chapter Five

Julien couldn’t look away. He couldn’t move from the spot under the big towering cypress tree. How could his life have changed so completely in the blink of an eye? Yes, it had to do with seeing Alma all sad and lonely the other day in the early morning light. It also had to do with knowing she’d suffered through such a tragedy that she could barely function. But he saw that in spite of her difficulties, she did indeed make it through her days with a sweet grace and a strong sense of faith. That didn’t make sense since he’d been hovering around during her mother’s death and her older sister’s cancer scare. He’d often asked after each of them, yet hadn’t taken things any further than comfort and platitudes with Alma during all of that. He’d been too afraid to push at her fragile, tattered emotions. And he respected her and her family way too much to make any moves during the worst of their grief.

But oh, how he’d longed to hold her in his arms and comfort her. He still wanted to do that.

Why now? Why did he have to stand here pining away for a woman who had long ago given up on him? Pining now, when all these years past he’d accepted that he’d lost her forever.

Julien thought back over the day last week when he’d had the first of his epiphanies. He’d been at his boat warehouse, working on a sweet pirogue that he hoped to finish and sell at the upcoming festival. The small city park was right across from the old warehouse. He’d heard children playing. He’d watched their laughter and their tears, watched young mothers soothing hurt feelings and opening juice containers and doling out crackers. And he’d wanted that for himself. With Alma.

He’d gone home that day with her on his mind. And that night, he’d lain in bed and said a prayer for the good Lord to offer him some sort of validation. He’d waffled back and forth for years now, playing the field while he hoped Alma would turn back to him. Was it time to try and win Alma back?





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