French Quarter Kisses. Zuri Day
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“I thought you were sold out.”
“We are. But I’m the boss. I can make exceptions.”
“Thank you, but...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What, eating?”
“Accepting your invitation for a free meal. There may be strings attached.”
“Will you feel better paying for it? Seems rather disingenuous to write about a restaurant you’ve not even visited.”
“I thought that was settled. The article will be about you, not the food. But put that way, I guess it would be advantageous to come to your establishment and find out what all the hype is about, a visit that could lead to a follow-up story.”
“What about Wednesday evening, around nine?”
“This Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t nine o’clock rather late?”
“Yes, but the kitchen isn’t as slammed at that hour. I could put all my focus on tantalizing your taste buds.”
Pierre watched Roz nibble the side of her lip as she thought. “Okay, Wednesday at Easy Creole Cuisine.”
“Cool. See you then.”
She reached her car, opened the door and then turned around. “Oh, and Pierre?”
“Yes.”
“I won, so thanks for my parent’s reservation, as well.”
Roz’s smile was mischievous, smug even. Pierre started toward her but she slid behind the wheel, started the car and sped away. Clearly, she wanted to have the last word.
Pulling away from the curb, he played back those last few minutes. The devilish glint in Roz’s eye as she boldly proclaimed victory regarding the bet. How her brow scrunched each time she nibbled her lip. How before saying yes to his invitation she’d darted her tongue out to moisten those tempting, cushy lips. He wondered how soft they were, and how long he’d have to wait to find out. A kiss was definitely in their future. That and much more. Roz may have won the food bet but after tonight Pierre was clear about the next thing he wanted to win. Her.
There was more to Pierre’s story. Roz saw it in his eyes, could feel it in her gut. What he’d shared was interesting and would make a great piece. She had a feeling that what he didn’t say would make an even better one. Avoiding questions about his mom. Reluctance to talk about his family at all. Vague answers when asked about his early life in New Orleans... Those gorgeous green-flecked copper eyes tinged with a type of sadness that made her want to wipe it away. That fleeting look of vulnerability that, dammit, slipped past the armor around her heart and touched her soul. That made her want to tell him everything was going to turn out fine. Hadn’t that happened already?
It was as though she could still see that teenager inside him. The one uprooted by a storm, forced to navigate a new city and move in with a stranger. What had happened in his home life to cause that drastic action? Roz realized she’d ended the evening with more questions than answers. She wanted the rest of the story, had an opportunity to get it on Wednesday night. Dinner at Easy Creole Cuisine. He said there were no strings, but was there more to that, too? Another question popped up as Roz stopped for a red light. Did she want there to be?
Her phone rang. As the light turned green and she eased through the intersection, Roz tapped the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, Biff!”
“What’s happening, Biff?”
It’s what Roz and childhood pal Stefanie Powell had called each other since their preteen years, after hearing the term “BFF” in an episode of Friends
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