Czytaj książkę: «Sweetheart Reunion»

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.