by Anna Martin
And there you had it, Joe thought, leaning back in his chair. Pineapple fucking Joe’s. Destroying local restaurants and classy dining since 2014. And I’ve been hanging out too much with Remy. His restaurants had never been the kind of place he’d like to be, but he’d never been so personally offended by one of them before. He certainly was by the New Orleans location. He supposed there was no help for it, though. Not if he wanted to keep his status, and maybe even his job.
His phone buzzed, and Joe grabbed it, grateful for the distraction.
Hey. Wanna come over tonight? G has something planned.
G being Grace, Joe assumed.
Sure. What time?
* * *
sevenish? Andre has the rest of dinner covered for me. It’s a slow night.
Joe smiled. He wanted to ask Remy to come to him instead, but Grace was warming up to him, and somehow that felt important. So he figured he’d put on something decent and make a showing.
Seven is good. See you later.
* * *
Joe arrived at the Babineaux house a little early. He’d left the apartment with plenty of time to walk over instead of taking a cab. Remy kept insisting the days were getting cooler, though Joe couldn’t exactly say he noticed all that much. It was a tiny bit less humid since they’d reached late September, but that was about all he could say. He’d dressed in khakis, instead of the cargo shorts that had become his go-to outfit, and a nicer designer T-shirt. It wasn’t one of his work shirts. Those all seemed too stiff and formal for the occasion, plus he didn’t want to wear one. He liked it when Remy ran his hands all over his chest and said how soft his T-shirts were. He liked it when Remy pulled them off too. Button-ups were a pain.
Joe found a note pinned to the front door. He was warmly amused by what seemed to be some sort of elaborate teenage setup. Grace was adorable when she wasn’t busy glaring at him.
Come around back. There’s no one in the house to let you through. The side gate is open.
He tore it down and carefully folded the scrap of paper, before tucking it into his back pocket for safekeeping. Even from the front of the house, Joe could hear music softly playing; it wasn’t anything he immediately recognized, but he liked the folksy, bluesy tone.
“Remy?” Joe called as he pushed through the iron gate at the side of the house. He stopped just inside the garden and felt his jaw drop.
Someone had decked the entire place out in what looked like thousands of tiny glittering lights. Paper lanterns hung from the trees, and tall citrus candles burned around the perimeter to keep the bugs away. Tiny tea lights flickered in Mason jars that had been set around the patio.
“Hey,” Remy said softly.
Joe turned sharply, then smiled. “Hey.”
He wasn’t thinking, not at all, when he crossed the patio and let his hands settle on Remy’s waist, then leaned in to brush their lips together. Remy cupped the back of his head in one strong hand and let the kiss flow between them. Their kiss was right, so right, and Joe felt something unnerving settle in his stomach.
“Uh, I think you should know my sister is probably watching us right now,” Remy said softly, his forehead pressed against Joe’s.
“Oops.”
Joe pulled back and looked over to the kitchen. He didn’t see Grace, just a flash of something as someone disappeared around the corner.
“Did she do all of this?”
“It was her idea, yeah. She managed to get the whole family out for the night too. Not that they needed much convincing. My grandmother is out with her ladies club, my parents are at a movie, and Andre is working.”
“And Grace?”
“Grace is being picked up at seven to spend the night at her girlfriend’s house… even though I’m supposed to think they’re just friends. She wanted to see you first, I think.”
“Her… girlfriend? Spend the night?”
Remy laughed softly as he took a tiny step back. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” he said.
“She cooked?” Joe asked, amazed.
“She helped,” Remy corrected with a grin. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some blackened chicken with rice and Louisiana slaw. But Grace is going to be a fantastic chef someday soon. She already has plans to apply to culinary school after she graduates. I’ve been working with her a lot on my days off. I’m really proud of her. Come. Sit down.”
“Nothing fancy,” Joe echoed. “Nothing fancy. It would take me a week to make something like that.”
In response Remy shamelessly groped his ass.
They went into the kitchen, where Remy had already opened a bottle of red wine. Joe took over the task of pouring them both a glass while Remy dished up the very fancy-looking food.
Suddenly Joe laughed.
“What?” Remy asked, turning around.
“Nothing,” Joe said, trying, and failing, to hide his smile behind his glass of wine. “Great minds think alike, apparently.”
Remy looked down, then at Joe, then grinned.
He’d dressed for the evening in a light knit, navy-blue shirt and khakis. He was barefoot, as Joe had noticed he chose to be around the house, and his hair was pulled back into a familiar knot at the back of his head. So they hadn’t dressed similarly on purpose, but it was cute nonetheless. Remy leaned in, and Joe happily kissed him. Remy's mouth tasted like wine.
“Come on,” Remy murmured.
The table in the patio had been covered with a pristine white tablecloth. An empty jar stuffed with flowers that Joe recognized from the garden sat in the middle, with a place setting on either side.
“So, what is all of this?” Joe said, sitting down opposite Remy and setting the other glass of wine in front of him.
Remy shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m pretty sure Gracie’s dating her best friend. If you can call it dating when they’ve known each other since kindergarten. I think she’s worried about telling me out loud, but I’m pretty sure she knows that I know.” Remy laughed. “That sounds seriously convoluted, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. I get it.” Joe smiled.
“Anyway, we’ll talk about it when she’s ready to talk about it. But this was kind of her way of saying thank you, I think? And maybe thank you for teaching her stuff about cooking too.”
“That…. Okay, I’m not sure if that sounds exactly like a teenage girl thing to do, or very much not like a teenage girl thing to do.”
Remy laughed. “Me either. But she insisted. She really is a good cook. I know my parents aren’t as thrilled about her going into the family trade as I am.”
“How come?”
Remy shrugged. “Not the easiest field to find a good job in, and nobody walks into owning their own restaurant like we did. Especially not in a city like this. It’s risky.”
Joe took a bite of the chicken and hummed in delight. “This is amazing.”
“It’s been off the menu at Lumiere for a while, actually,” Remy said. “Maybe it’s time to reinstate it.”
“Why?” Joe demanded, aware too late that he sounded confrontational. Over a piece of chicken.
“Because it’s a chicken dish,” Remy said, laughing. “I change those up every few months or so. The restaurant has a lot of local regulars. The last thing we want is for them to get bored and stop coming.”
“I guess,” Joe said. He took a bite of the slaw. It was better than good. This guy could really cook. “So your sister has a girlfriend? Wow.”
“Apparently so. It’s all kind of hypothetical right now until she actually says it to me. I saw them together at school and… I guess I recognized what they were to each other.”
“It’s sweet when they’re fourteen,” Joe said.
Remy shuddered. “Until you realize that they’ve been spending the night in the same room for ten of those years. I need to have a serious talk with her really soon if she’s going to keep sleeping over at Susannah’s. It’s not the same once they’re… well.”
“Just let her talk t
o you first. Not that it’s my business, but maybe that’s best.”
“Probably.”
Joe contemplated the manners his mother had taught him, then threw them out the window. He grabbed a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and used it to sweep up the last of the sticky barbecue sauce that had been served with the chicken. From Remy’s grin, Joe didn’t think he minded at all.
For a while they sat back and talked, content to let the night roll on around them. The bottle of wine slowly emptied, and Remy replaced it with another, then brought out dessert.
“Now this, Grace did make,” he said. “Six of them, actually. She took most of it over to Susannah’s to share with her family. These were the best two. Chocolate lava cake.”
“Your sister can make chocolate lava cake?”
“She’s the youngest in a very long line of chefs,” Remy said. “I would be disappointed if she couldn’t.”
Joe carefully pried the sponge dome open with his spoon, delighted when the soft, gooey core melted onto his plate.
“Holy shit, this is good,” he said around a mouthful of the dessert. “Nearly as good as your devil’s food cake.”
Remy grinned. “It’s the same base recipe, just amended.”
“Well, you guys certainly know your way around a bar of chocolate.”
Remy laughed. Joe had noticed how much he’d done so far that evening, the rich, throaty laugh that went with twinkly eyes and a soft expression. That couldn’t be faked. No matter what Remy was planning as far as romancing Joe into forgetting about Lumiere, he couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something between them. Joe was done denying it too. What was the point? They liked each other. They fit.
When Joe was done with his dessert, Remy grabbed his hand and pulled him down into the garden. Music still floated through the air, coming from the kitchen, loud enough to be heard while they stood on the dry, scratchy grass.
“Hmm.” Remy was frowning softly as he took Joe’s other hand and tugged on it until they were facing each other, then brought his hands back to cup Joe’s waist again. He wrapped his arms around Joe’s shoulders, and he stepped in close.
“What are you doing?” Joe asked, his voice softer than it needed to be.
“Dancing,” Remy said. “With you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Joe closed the last few inches between them, and Remy’s head came to rest naturally on his shoulder. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but that didn’t seem to matter. They swayed together in the late-night breeze, which was making all the lights flicker like fireflies against the velvety blue-black of the sky.
Joe realized he didn’t miss LA. Not even a little bit.
Chapter Nine
Joe was starting to feel like he was in a spy movie with all these covert meetings behind both Tom and Remy’s backs. He was at Sal’s office for once, instead of a restaurant. Joe really hadn’t wanted to go to Sal’s office unless Tom was there and clearly ready to sign. Something about the whole situation would still be weird if Tom wasn’t there. But Sal had said he was ready to sign the papers if Joe brought them.
So he had.
The agreement was standard, a fair price but not what he’d call market value for the building. The Babineaux family could get out of a sinking ship, and Pineapple Joe’s would be the proud new owner of a building that needed a ton of work. He’d even written in an unprecedented clause for Magnolia and Stella. They’d have six months in the apartment he was staying in at the price they paid the Babineaux family. Six months was enough time, right? At least that was what Joe kept telling himself. Six months was just fine. Still his gut hurt when he thought of Stella having to move if Magnolia didn’t have the cash for another place in just a few months. He tried to tell himself it couldn’t be his problem. Still felt like it was.
“So you really think your dad’s ready to sign?” Joe asked.
Sal shrugged. “He seemed cool with it. If the numbers look good to him, be ready to have the final copies by Monday.”
Monday. Four days. That was all he had left with Remy because no matter fucking what, after those papers were signed, it was over. Remy would take Joe’s balls and shove them back up into his body. And then he’d get on a plane and never see Remy, the Babineaux family, or New Orleans ever again. Joe wished he could say he was happy about it. All he wanted to do was go back in time and request that someone else take the New Orleans job. Maybe then he wouldn’t be teetering between throwing up, getting on the next flight out, and grabbing Remy so hard that he couldn’t let go.
“Great, then. I’m going to get back to my place. I have some phone calls to make to the Mobile jobsite.”
Nothing had gone right in Mobile after he’d closed the deal. Karma or something for what he was trying to do in New Orleans. Joe hadn’t ever been one to believe in that kind of bullshit, but, well, it was starting to feel that way. Construction was a mess, permits were delayed, hiring dragged on way longer than it needed to. Everything was spiraling out of control, and while it wasn’t technically his job to deal with it, somehow it still was. Didn’t everything work that way? Joe was honestly glad for the distraction, no matter how infuriating of a distraction it was most likely going to be. He’d rather be angry at incompetent assholes than sit in the silence of his apartment and concentrate on the heavy feeling in his gut.
“No problem. I’ll give you a text when I have all of the paperwork signed if everything looks good. Have a great night.”
Joe nodded and left. He’d gone halfway across town for five minutes with Sal; Sal, who was so pleasant on the surface but still rubbed Joe all sorts of wrong ways. He needed time with Remy.
The good news was, he knew where to find him.
Joe had just walked through the door of Lumiere, his briefcase in hand, when he was almost knocked down by a whirlwind of woman and child.
“Oh my God,” Magnolia breathed. “I’m sorry.”
“Joe!” Stella cried in apparent happiness. Joe couldn’t remember a time that a child had ever been so happy to see him. It was a strange sensation. Somehow, he'd bonded with Stella, and he was just as happy to see her.
“Hey.” Joe stepped back and held his hands up in surrender, keeping his attention on the mother. On Magnolia. “Are you okay?”
She nodded rapidly, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I had a rough morning and I just… I just….” Her lower lip trembled dangerously.
“It’s fine,” Joe said quickly. “What’s wrong?”
Even though this wasn’t his place—not yet, anyway, and probably not ever—he steered her back into the restaurant and toward a booth in the corner. Magnolia seemed to do everything at once. She dropped her bag from her arm onto the table, set Stella on the bench, wiped her eye with her sleeve, and slumped into the seat next to her daughter. Poor thing looked like she was on her last leg.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled again. “I’m just having one of those days.”
“Want to spill?” he offered.
Magnolia gave him a long, even look through watery eyes. Behind the dampness was steel.
Stella was watching the two of the with far too much interest, so Magnolia busied herself with finding a soft doll from her bag and passed it to the little girl.
“One of my girls,” Magnolia said, “at my sunrise yoga class? She just found out she has the C-word.”
Joe frowned at her.
“C-A-N-C-E-R.” Magnolia spelled it out. “In her breast.”
He wasn’t sure why Stella wasn’t allowed to hear that word, but he wasn’t going to challenge it. “Okay. Is it operable? Treatable?”
“We’re not sure yet. It’s early stages, recent diagnosis. She’s having more tests next week to find out more. I was going to go over there with some flowers and maybe a fruit basket. I’m so upset about it all.” Something about her demeanor changed then. “Well of course I’m upset, I’m talking to you about it.”
Despite himself, Joe ch
uckled. That seemed to break some of the tension between them. Magnolia had to know what he represented by that point. Of course she didn’t like him.
Magnolia glanced at Stella, who seemed to be playing nicely by herself. “I’m concerned about little ears,” she said, nodding significantly at Stella.
“What do you mean?” Joe didn't know what Stella had to do with anything.
“Picking up on words and things that little ears are too young to understand.”
Ah.
“I could watch her,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure, out of the two of them, who was more surprised. "You know, if you’d like to go talk to a girlfriend. Or Andre.”
Magnolia blinked at him. “No you couldn’t.”
Joe shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Magnolia fiddled with one of the long beaded necklaces strung around her neck. “I called Estelle,” she said. “She has a lunch meeting today with some of her charity ladies. Otherwise she would have watched Stella for me.”
“And I’m guessing no one else was free either, since you were heading out the door with her.”
Magnolia gave him a withering look. Apparently when the “little ears” were around, they communicated in significant looks instead of heated words.
Joe shrugged. “Remy is probably at the market still, since it’s market day, Andre’s at home. Gerard is out the back doing prep? I was just going to sit in here and work on my proposal until Remy got back, so it’s not like I’m doing anything in particular.”
