Devil's Food at Dusk

by Anna Martin

  I can’t believe I’m walk-of-shaming home. He did feel a little ashamed. Not because he’d had sex—a night with a gorgeous man wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Just that it was Joe. There were hundreds of men in the French Quarter every damn night. Why couldn’t Remy stay away from the one who was the most off limits out of all of them? The answer was he could. Starting immediately.

  It was early as he walked home, but not so early that people weren’t waking up. Remy cringed. There was probably someone already up in his own house. If he was lucky, whoever was awake was still in the shower. If not—he’d better think fast.

  Not lucky.

  Andre was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

  “Morning, bro.” He looked tired. Maybe a little hungover. The bright yellows and whites of the Babineaux kitchen only served to make him look more washed out by contrast.

  “Late night?” Remy asked. He figured if he got Andre talking about himself, he might not think about the fact that Remy was wearing the same thing he’d been wearing the night before.

  “Yeah, I was pissed about the whole Pineapple Joe’s thing, and Bryce took me out for a few. You obviously had a late night too. What were you up to?” Andre gave him a sly smile. Remy hadn’t ever had a very good poker face. Everything he was thinking had to be right on display. Andre’s sly smile went pretty quickly. “The fuck, bro. You can’t be serious. You were with that asshole?”

  “It’s complicated,” Remy said. He raked a hand through his hair. How else was he supposed to explain that he just kind of lost it when he was around Joe, both angerwise and, well, everything else? That he could both hate the guy and want to rip his clothes off at the same time. Andre had been in love with the same girl for more than three years. He knew sweet, and he knew pining. He didn’t know “I hate you fuck me now.” Remy didn’t exactly want to say that out loud.

  “Fuck complicated,” Andre growled softly. “That guy’s an asshole, and he’s after our entire life. You don’t give him any ammunition that he can use against us.”

  “So my ass is ammunition?” Remy was tired, a little pissy, and obviously not watching what came out of his mouth.

  “Fuck, Rem. I did not need to hear that at six in the morning.” Andre made gagging noises into his coffee.

  “Sorry, man. It just happened, okay? I got mad, he got mad, we have a history, short as it may be. Things… progressed.” They’d progressed from heated sex in Remy’s kitchen to even more heated sex in Joe’s bed. One more final quickie in the pale dawn.

  “I’ll say.” Andre scowled. “Can’t you… progress with someone who’s not trying to suck us dry?”

  Remy thought for a moment. “You know what, though? I think this is a good thing.”

  “How is this a good thing?” Andre looked stunned. Remy didn’t blame him. To anyone, what he was doing would look like the opposite of a good idea. Remy had to explain what had just dawned on him.

  He sat slowly on one of the rickety kitchen stools that had been around far longer than he had. Remy thought for a few moments before speaking. It was always better to do things that way rather than get Andre all fired up over nothing. “I think, no, I know, if he likes us—if he likes me—then it’s going to be harder for him to screw us over.”

  “Obviously.” Andre rolled his eyes. “That’s always true. If someone has a heart and they’re not an evil corporate succubus.” He leveled Remy with a long stare.

  “I think there’s more to Joe than that,” Remy said. He was banking on it. If Joe was a pretty face and a nice dick and not much more, they were screwed.

  “I think you like what’s in his pants,” Andre muttered.

  “No. Really. We can turn him.” The more Remy thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Get Joe all buttered up, make him fall in love with the city and the family and Remy, and then he’d never want to take everything that was theirs.

  “You honestly think you’re capable of that? The only thing I’ve ever seen you romance is a bowl of shrimp étouffée.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” Remy said with a snort. He had to be capable of it. It was literally their only hope.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Remy fanned himself like a proper Southern belle. “Oh, Magnolia, I love you so much, but I refuse to even look at you when you’re in the kitchen because my delicate—”

  Andre punched Remy in the arm. Hard. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Ow, dickhead. That hurt. And to think I was going to let you go to the fish market today.”

  “You’re too tired from being up all night with the enemy to pick out decent product, anyway,” Andre retorted. “I’m going. Tomorrow too. I want to do a Thursday.”

  Remy was tired, too tired to argue even. “Fine. Go. Don’t spend too much on halibut.”

  “Fish snob,” Andre said. “Everyone loves my halibut.”

  “Are we really going to get into it again? Really?”

  “You’re the one who always starts that argument, not me.” Andre made a face and shoved at Remy, more gently than the last time. “Go to bed. I’ll see you at the restaurant later.”

  “Not too much halibut!”

  Remy crawled up to the third floor, too tired to care much about anything but his cushy bed and a few more hours of sleep before it was time to start a long day. Andre knew what to do at the fish market, He could probably run all of Lumiere just as well as Remy after they’d worked together so long. Remy had to learn how to let go.

  He couldn’t fall asleep, thinking about the night before, about Andre doing his job, about how everything he tried to keep so tied up and tightly wound was unraveling right in his hands, and even if he told his brother he had a plan, it still felt like there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about everything that was happening to them. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  * * *

  “Hey, there.” Remy tried to sound soft, contrite, anything but nervous or like he was running some sort of con. He supposed in a way he was, trying to con Joe into falling in love with Lumiere and everyone involved in it.

  He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder while he opened the second window in his bedroom, wanting to get a little more cross-breeze coming through.

  “Hi.” Joe sounded wary himself. Remy supposed it was natural, since things had been tense at the restaurant and unresolved after… at least in conversation. Physically, they’d worked everything out. More than once.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run out on you so fast this morning, but—” Remy didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “I guess I was just feeling a little awkward.”

  “A little?” Joe coughed.

  “Okay, maybe a lot. What we did….”

  “Probably wasn’t the most responsible thing, since we’re in a business deal together.”

  Over my dead body. “Yes, business deal. I was wondering if it might help your process to come see my side of Lumiere. See how we work in the kitchen. I know you didn’t exactly experience my best side yesterday.”

  He cringed at the thought of his swearing and illegal, and dangerous, air-conditioning repair. Not to mention the sex. He had to make a better impression. At least Joe’s impression of him couldn’t get much worse.

  Remy highly doubted Joe spent hours in the kitchen of any of the restaurants he came into and picked apart like carrion. But the more time he spent at Lumiere with Remy’s family, with real people who actually cared about what happened to the place, the more likely Remy and Andre would get to keep their jobs and Magnolia and Stella their home. They had to be different. The exception.

  “I can do that,” Joe said. Never mind that was probably what he’d been trying to do the day before. “When were you thinking?”

  “Are you doing anything today?” Remy asked. Might as well rip off the proverbial bandage. He told himself the call had nothing to do with wanting to see Joe again, nothing to do with how every time he stopped concentrati
ng on anything else, the first thing he felt, saw, tasted was the memory of Joe’s kiss.

  “I’m not. Is today okay for you?”

  “Sure. I should be there by about ten if you want to come hang out in the kitchen again.”

  Come hang out. Because clearly we’re thirteen again. Maybe I can do your homework and we can giggle over Leonardo DiCaprio pictures. Remy wanted to stab himself repeatedly with a blunt object. Right in the thigh oughta be nice.

  Joe chuckled. “I can… hang out.”

  “Shut up.” Remy’s cheeks were getting hotter by the second. Sometimes he hated his life.

  Joe laughed again. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  * * *

  Remy was nervous by the time Joe got to Lumiere—actually full-on nervous. He hadn’t thought his plan through that morning when he’d called Joe. He hadn’t thought a lot of things through lately. Remy wondered if Andre was right, if he was making the biggest mistake he’d ever made. But he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. What was done, was done.

  He was in the middle of pacing—okay, hiding—in the storage room when he heard a knock on the kitchen door. Joe. It was showtime, whether he liked it or not. He grabbed a tub of butter and walked out to the kitchen, trying to look laid-back. He doubted that he managed to.

  “Um, hi. This is a good time, right?” Joe asked. He looked just as weirded out by the whole thing as Remy felt.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Good. Um.” Say something. Be charming. Fuck. Charm wasn’t as easy to come by as Remy thought it would be. Joe kind of intimidated him. Which pissed Remy off, to tell the truth. “I was just about to make our signature cake. Do you want to help?” he asked. Yes. Cook with the guy. Chocolate. Alcohol. That will work. There wasn’t anyone on the planet who couldn’t be seduced by chocolate and alcohol. If they couldn’t be, Remy seriously doubted that they were even human. Aliens. Logical explanation.

  “I can try. You know I’ve never been very good with, like, kitchen stuff.” From high-powered corporate type to “like, kitchen stuff.” Remy had to hide a grin. How the mighty fell. “I know you’re laughing at me. You try running a board meeting, and then we’ll talk.”

  Remy groaned. “No thank you. If I wanted that I would’ve gone to business school and done… whatever it is Sal’s always doing. Boring shit if you ask me.” He’d gotten his dad’s artistic gene. Well, his mom’s too. Remy honestly had no idea where practical, numbers-oriented Sal came from. Probably some changeling who was left at their gate. It would explain so much.

  “Here,” he said, “this part is easy. Why don’t you unwrap these blocks of chocolate. Here’s a knife. Can you cut that into chunks for me?”

  Joe shrugged. “I can try.”

  “Good. Put this on.” He tossed Joe an apron and forced himself not to watch him tie it. Remy fired up the ovens, always pleasant on an already hot day, and got to work sifting the dry ingredients. He put on the kitchen stereo, one he never had on during business hours but loved to play when he was in the kitchen alone. He had in a quiet guitar mix already, mostly bossa nova, which always managed to chill him out even when he was wound tight. “And try to chop quickly. I froze the chocolate, but it’ll melt pretty fast.”

  “Brazilian music? Really?” Joe asked. He looked as though he was about to start laughing.

  “It relaxes me, okay?” Remy said. “I swear this isn’t some, like, seduction scene.”

  “I think that ship has sailed,” Joe muttered with a snort. “More than once.”

  Remy tossed a pinch of flour at him and laughed softly. That’s flirting, right? “Knock it off and chop up the damn chocolate.”

  He wasn’t good at repartee, at wit and seductive mannerisms. It had never been Remy’s style. He wanted to skip all that shit and kiss Joe again, strip the apron and everything else off him—but he didn’t.

  Not yet. Slow.

  Even if the whole thing had started way too fast, at least for what Remy hoped to accomplish, he had time to take it easy. Let his laugh, his voice, the city, and his food seep into Joe’s pores until he barely smelled or tasted or felt anything else. Patience.

  Remy only wished he had a damn clue what he was doing.

  * * *

  Grace waved at him from her kitchen stool when he dragged himself in that night. It had been a long afternoon, baking and flirting as he’d never done before. He was literally exhausted. Remy didn’t know how people did it, the ones who had jobs where they had to be so nice all the time. Inviting and welcoming and all that shit. He’d stay back in his kitchen, thanks, and leave the people-charming to his host and the waitstaff.

  “Hey, Chicken.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to call me that anymore,” Grace said.

  He hadn’t done it in at least a few days. But old habits were hard to break. “You said I wasn’t going to call you that anymore. I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

  “That’s shit. I’m not in elementary school anymore.”

  “Grace Janelle Babineaux.” Remy hadn’t ever shied away from correcting his sister. In a way he felt more like a parent or an uncle to her than a brother. He’d been a teenager already when she was born.

  She rolled her eyes at him in pure Grace style. “What?”

  “Since when did you say words like that?” Remy was more shocked than actually offended. Two swearwords in just as many weeks was another in a long line of reminders that his tiny sister was growing up. It freaked him out a little.

  “Since I learned them from you and Andre. Duh.” She took a long sip of her coffee. Swearing. And drinking coffee. Remy wondered when hell had crusted over with ice.

  “Is that your Latin homework?” he asked. Time to change the subject away from the bad habits she’d gotten from him and Andre. It could be a long conversation.

  “Yeah. Useless subject.”

  “Not at all. You can use it to help you with French.”

  “I’m already really good with French. Susannah’s fluent, remember?” Of course. He did remember. Susannah had been raised by a French-speaking nanny, so she spoke it just as well as English. His own grandma was fluent as well, and their mom to a point, but dad didn’t speak it at all and Grams barely spoke more than a phrase or two sprinkled in. Usually swearwords. Remy figured she thought they didn’t understand her, although they had since they were kids.

  “Why do you look so worn out?” Grace asked. “Wasn’t today just a normal day?”

  Remy nodded. “Yeah. Mostly. But I’m….” He didn’t know how to explain seduction to his teenage sister. Or if he even wanted to. “I’m trying to help Joe get to know us, and Lumiere, so maybe he won’t be so eager to shut it down.”

  “So you’re going to seduce him. Take him to bed and make him forget he wants to buy Lumiere?”

  Remy’s first instinct was always to shelter his sister. It was obviously not necessary. “Grace. What are they teaching you in that school?”

  “Haven’t you heard about private-school girls?” She laughed and actually winked at him. He was going to start going to school with her. Immediately. “I’m kidding. But I do have Internet. And Netflix.” Something Remy thought he needed to remedy as soon as possible. “That is the plan, isn’t it? Am I wrong?”

  He shrugged. Apparently he was talking about seducing Joe with his little sister. “Pretty much. Not my strength, but I’m gonna do my best.”

  “Cook for him. Take him out dancing. Romance him… at his place. I’d avoid bringing him home to meet the family, though. We’re crazy.” Grace laughed. “Even Susannah is scared of us, and she’s known me since we were six.”

  “Is she really?”

  “Yeah. She loves you, though. Just…. Andre and dad are a little overwhelming. And Sal. And Grams.” Grace gave Remy another chuckle. “I think you should keep him far, far away from here.”

  Remy made a face. “Well, he’s met Andre already. How much worse could it get?”

  “Has he met Sal?” she asked with a wrink
led nose.

  “Point taken.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “So, other than your lame Latin homework, how’s school?”

  Grace shrugged. “You know. Same ol’, same ol’.”

  Informative. “Nothing going on at all?” She’d been odd lately. Not just plain-teenager odd, at least he didn’t think so. If Remy knew his sister, something was up. Their mother’s intuition had been right.

  “Not really. Why?” Grace’s response sounded studied, painfully nonchalant.

  “No reason.” Remy decided to give up rather than push. It was better that way. If she wanted to come to him about whatever was bothering her, she would. If not, well, he’d had his own issues when he was her age. An older brother pushing wouldn’t have helped them at all.

  * * *

  Remy decided to text Joe later that night. He figured he could easily be making a huge mistake, but the mistake was already made many times over. Might as well go whole hog.

  Hey. Farmers’ market in the morning. Want to come meet my friends? I promise no fighting this time.

  He figured if Joe could see how everyone worked together—the farmers, the chefs, the restaurant owners—then maybe he would get it. That everyone local was important, interdependent, like they were part of some tiny ecosystem. The local restaurants needed the fishermen, the farmers, and the local artisan food makers. Farmers needed people like him instead of huge chains that would ship their ingredients in from the cheapest source. And Remy sincerely believed in the whole system. Maybe he could make Joe believe too. He was a little surprised when his phone buzzed a moment later.

  How early?