Sweetheart Reunion. Lenora Worth
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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.