by Anna Martin
Well, that came out of nowhere. “Yeah?”
Grace nodded. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s, like, he can’t stop looking. I know when people are into each other, and Joe’s totally into you.”
Remy ruffled her hair. “I’m kinda into him too.”
“So it’s not just the ‘seduce him and make him forget about the restaurant’ act anymore?”
“Nah. It’s more real than that. It always was, to tell you the truth.”
“I know.” Grace smiled. “I might only be a kid, but I know my big brother.”
“And he hasn’t talked about buying Lumiere in days,” Remy added. Which was a plus. “I’ve showed him some other places. I think he’s been looking into them.”
“So maybe you’re a better seductress than I thought you would be.”
“Seductress?” Remy snorted. “I’m not sure if that’s the word you were going for.”
Grace stood and did a little pirouette before giving him a huge smirk. “I think it sounds about right.”
The next time Joe went to Sunday dinner felt altogether different than the first. He wasn’t overwhelmed anymore by the noise and the boisterous togetherness of the Babineaux clan. Instead he felt it drawing him in, like a hug almost.
Sophie greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on his shoulder, Grace smiled instead of being surly, Tom shook his hand, and the whole time Remy kept a hand light on his lower back. Just a touch, just a reassurance that yes, he was there, and yes, everything was fine. They sat down as soon as Joe and Remy got there. The table was filled with a huge number of dishes, as it had been before: fish and pasta, breads, salads, and desserts. He had no idea how they managed to put away all that food every week and still look as gorgeous as they did. Joe himself had been firmly allergic to all forms of carbs since he hit thirty. The closer he got to forty, the more allergic he became.
But it didn’t seem to matter in the Babineaux house. Garlic bread was passed around the table, salmon ravioli made its way onto his plate along with steamed shrimp and garlic butter green beans. He ate and talked and laughed with the rest of them. It was almost like watching someone else’s life. It didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced before. Joe was used to chic dinners at LA’s most upscale restaurants. Sushi at Nobu surround by celebs, lunch at Craig’s where the paparazzi waited for glimpses of stars. He dined in four-star restaurants when he was out romancing potential sellers, and took them to the hottest nightspots. All the best, all the time.
None of it felt even close to sitting around a cramped table in a bright yellow room with an entire family talking around him.
Remy reached over and curled a hand around Joe’s thigh and smiled at him as if he knew exactly what Joe was thinking. Joe put his hand on top of Remy’s and laced their fingers together. Maybe he did.
Then Joe thought of the papers he was about to sign with Tom in the morning and how Remy still didn’t know. And every nice, warm feeling he had went to hell.
Chapter Ten
Tom sat in the visitor’s chair in Joe’s apartment, the one Remy had sat in so many times. Tom had to know that, Joe thought, though neither of them mentioned it.
For the past hour Joe, Tom, and Sal had been going through the terms of the contract, reading the fine details word for word: when the Babineaux family would need to vacate the premises and the responsibility for Pineapple Joe’s to find suitable alternative accommodation for Magnolia and Stella. Finally they got to the end of far too many pages, and everyone agreed and signed it. He felt a little better with the concrete provision in there for Magnolia and Stella. Back when it first started, he couldn’t have imagined being so concerned about their fate, but at least he’d done something about it. Joe kept telling himself that. It helped. Mostly.
“Okay,” Joe said, leaning back and rubbing his hands over his face. “If you’re happy with all of this, I’ll get it e-mailed over to our legal department, who will draw up the final sale documents and send them back to me for you to sign off on.”
Tom nodded. “That’s fine. How long will it take?”
“A day or two. Things generally move fairly quickly at this point.”
“Joe….”
Joe shook his head. “Please don’t. I’ll talk to him tonight. Explain everything.”
“No… no. I’m his father, Joe. We’re close. Our family needs to do this together. I’ll tell him over the weekend at dinner.”
Which gives me time to pack my bags. “Okay. That’s fine.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. Truly. I know how much Remy loves that damn restaurant, but if it weren’t you, there would be some other developer knocking at our door. If not now, then in a few months’ time we’d be in this position all over again, with a new company, a different broker. I’m sorry it’s you because I like you, Joe. Genuinely.”
Tom looked tired, lines drawn into his handsome face by years of hard physical work. Lumiere had deepened those lines, threaded the gray through his dark hair. He deserved a happy retirement, not one where he was constantly stressed about his sons and their business. Another item on Joe’s list of excuses. He wished any of them would dissolve the pit that grew by the hour in his belly.
Joe leaned over the table and shook Tom’s hand, knowing the significance of this act and what it represented. The chances of him being able to stay in New Orleans with Remy after the deal was signed and sealed were slim to none. More like none to none. For the past couple of months, the deal on Lumiere had become a crossroads. He’d been standing there for weeks, hesitating, knowing that one road led to Remy, the other to his career.
It was pretty clear which road he’d chosen. He’d have to pay the price.
“I’ll be in touch,” Joe said and showed Tom out of the apartment.
For the next few hours he worked solidly, writing up his copious notes to send over to the legal team. Then he went through all of the builder’s quotes and blueprints again, preparing to make selections and put those wheels in motion as soon as possible.
Then he called Howard.
“This better be good news, Fitz,” Howard said as he answered. His tone was jovial teasing, but Joe knew the man was serious.
“It is,” Joe said. “I just met with Babineaux senior and hashed out the contract. I’m sending it over to legal now for them to draw up the final sale papers, then it’s a go.”
“Good job, Fitz, good job!” Howard crowed. “I knew you could do it. When are they out?”
“I’m looking to open Pineapple Joe’s New Orleans in time for Mardi Gras.”
It had to happen. It would take months for the building to be torn to the ground on the inside, while preserving its historic value on the outside, of course. They’d be out on their asses if they missed the Mardi Gras traffic. It would happen even if Joe had to come back and pull every contractor’s teeth out one at a time.
“That’ll work,” Howard said. Joe could hear him moving around and guessed he was at home rather than at the office. He chanced a look at the clock on the wall and was shocked that it was nearly 10:00 p.m.
“I’ll let you know when the papers are signed and on their way back to LA.”
“Are you coming home? I want to throw you a dinner party. I’m not going to lie, Fitz, there were moments when I thought you weren’t going to close this one. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”
“There are a few things I need to tie up here,” Joe said. “It might be a few days.”
“Well, don’t be a stranger. There are people here who miss you, Fitz. We want you to come home.”
“Thanks, Howard,” Joe said and ended the call. He wondered, for the first time, whether this was some kind of emotional blackmail. Howard knew full well that Joe didn’t exactly have a wide and loving family. There wasn’t a team of people he could fall back on if things went wrong. He had Howard and his wife, and a herd of shallow friends who surrounded him in LA.
He didn’t have anything like the Babineaux family, thou
gh. They were so easy in each other’s company, so warm and inviting to him even though he was a stranger and even though he was trying to take something from them. If he stayed, if he stayed with Remy, Joe knew that Sophie would be a mom to him, that Estelle would be a grandmother. He knew he’d become “Uncle Joe” to Stella, and maybe a confidant to Grace the way Remy was. Or at least he would have. Too late for fantasies.
There was nothing like that for him in LA. Nothing at all. But it was still all he'd have.
Joe shut down his computer, threw himself into bed, and forced himself to go to sleep.
* * *
At some point the next morning Remy sent him a text message, then another, then his phone started to buzz with a call. Joe considered ignoring it, then it stopped ringing, and he didn’t have to make the decision anymore.
A few minutes later, Joe heard a persistent knocking at his apartment door.
“Come on, Fitzgerald, I know you’re in there,” Remy called, laughter in his voice.
Joe dragged himself out of bed and across the empty apartment.
Despite having gone to sleep early, he’d slept terribly and felt like shit. He opened the door to Remy’s perky, grinning face and felt his stomach sink further.
“I brought breakfast,” Remy said, holding up a grocery store paper bag. He looked at Joe and frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry, yeah, come in. I didn’t sleep too well.”
Remy stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Joe’s mouth. When he tried again, aiming for lips, Joe turned his head.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he apologized. “Or even showered.”
“I don’t care,” Remy murmured. He wrapped his free hand around Joe’s bare waist and brought him in closer. “One part of you is up, at least.”
Joe laughed, embarrassed, and let Remy nip at his jaw and neck. “Please let me shower,” he begged. “I feel disgusting.”
“Okay.” Remy stepped back, reached up to cup Joe’s cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the bags under Joe’s eyes. “I’ll start breakfast.”
“What’s on the menu, chef?”
Remy grinned. “Eggs benedict. And bacon, of course. It’s not breakfast without bacon. I made the muffins already.”
“From scratch?”
“I can’t believe you asked that.” Remy held his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me.”
“I’m impressed,” Joe murmured and leaned in to press his lips to Remy’s cheek. “You probably know your way around the kitchen here better than I do, so help yourself. I won’t be long.”
He ducked into the bathroom before Remy could say anything else.
The bathroom in his apartment was nice and bright white, and the water got blisteringly hot. That was what really mattered to Joe. He opened the window to let the steam out, then turned the shower on and stripped his sweats off. Avoiding looking in the mirror, he stepped into the hot water and sighed.
This was one of those situations where no one was going to win. Joe knew that, though it didn’t stop it from hurting. If Tom didn’t sell Lumiere, then Remy was going to sink deeper and deeper into debt trying to save it. Even if Joe’s professional pride wasn’t on the line—he’d never failed to close a deal before, after all—as Remy’s… whatever he was… he would be encouraging Remy to sell the place.
Joe didn’t understand the connection Remy felt to the old building. He wasn’t a total sociopath, he could empathize with that sense of family and tradition. It wasn’t something his family hung on to, though, the memories of the past. Fitzgeralds were all about the new, the big and bright and shiny and impressive. The little restaurant with its charming ways would never appeal to anyone he knew. Not as it was.
Joe scrubbed his hair, face, and body clean with the mint shower gel he preferred, willing his erection away rather than dealing with it in the most practical way. When he was done, he shut the water off and wiped the steam from the mirror with the edge of his towel. He needed to brush his teeth. And shave.
Shaving was a task that needed his attention if he didn’t want to rip his skin to shreds—no time for daydreaming. Unlike Remy, Joe didn’t look good with stubble. It made him look haggard, like a sidewalk bum, rather than edgy.
In reality he’d found very little about the two of them that was similar. Joe was tall and weedy, a beanpole, his mother had always called him. He had never really developed any muscles worth mentioning, though his stomach was flat. He wasn’t one of those guys with plenty to grab hold of.
Light hair, pale eyes. A few freckles—those seemed to have appeared with the time he’d spent out in the sun. With Remy. Joe had always thought he was entirely nondescript. And it wasn’t as though he had a sterling personality to offset the blahness of his body. He was blah all the way through.
Remy, though…. Remy was a god—broad and sexy, dark eyes, full lips that were fantastic, both smiling and when they were pressed against his. Remy’s skin wasn’t freckly, it was warmly tanned and silky-soft. He had actual, honest-to-God biceps that Joe knew came from the physical work he did in the kitchen, rather than hours spent at the gym.
Remy was hot. He was hot in a dark, sexy kind of way.
And for a little while at least, he’d liked average Joe.
Not for much longer. Joe forced himself to concentrate on not slicing his chin open with the razor.
When he was done, Joe threw the towel over his shoulder and padded back through to the bedroom area. He appreciated the cool air on his overheated skin. He didn’t think anything of it until Remy wolf-whistled from the kitchen.
“Hey, Fitzgerald. Nice ass.”
Joe rubbed his hand over his flushed cheeks as he turned, then struck an awkward faux sexy pose, hoping to make Remy laugh.
The deep, throaty rumble was exactly what he’d wanted.
“Nice cock too,” Remy said with a smirk.
Joe flipped him the bird and went into the bedroom to throw on a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt. This time he greeted Remy at the stove by wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist from behind and nuzzling the nape of his neck.
“You smell all minty fresh,” Remy said.
“Hah. Yeah. Not that I don’t love that you’re here… but why are you here?”
“It’s my day off, remember? I told you before.”
“Saturday? Did you?”
“Yes, babe.”
He had the vague impression that Remy had told him something about making a deal with Andre. But he didn’t remember what it was. Remy moved something on the stove, then turned in Joe’s arms to wrap his arms around Joe’s neck. Now they could kiss for real, slow and deep, tongues and teeth and lips and those little, breathy sighs that Joe though he might actually be living for.
“Can you make coffee?” Remy murmured against Joe’s lips.
“You wound me,” Joe teased. He earned himself a little bite on his bottom lip. He pulled away and grabbed the coffeepot to fill it with water. “It’ll take a couple of minutes.”
“No problem. I’m almost done here.”
Joe hopped up to sit on the counter, something he liked to do when Remy was cooking. Remy had a way about him when he was absorbed in those types of tasks. It was like a dance, one only Remy could hear the music to. His actions were measured and precise, his eyes focused, his shoulders relaxed.
A few minutes later, he slid the toasted muffins onto two plates and split them open so the steam floated up. He’d made two poached eggs for each of them and broke them on top of the muffins, so the rich yellow yolk spilled down into the muffin, poured his special recipe Hollandaise sauce on top, then decorated them with some parsley and the sides of bacon he’d substituted for the traditional ham.
“This looks amazing,” Joe said. He quickly poured two mugs of coffee and grabbed the milk out of the fridge in case Remy was in the mood for it. Joe preferred his breakfast coffee black.
“So,”
Remy said, sitting down next to Joe at the dining table and digging into his egg with enthusiasm. “What are we doing today?”
“You pick. I don’t mind,” Joe said. As long as I get to spend it with you.
* * *
Just when Joe thought he’d done everything there was to do in New Orleans, Remy managed to surprise him with something different. From garden markets to vampire tours, he’d seen more of this city than he had any other he’d worked in for RGW. Since the weather was a bit more bearable, Remy suggested they hit up Audubon Zoo. They could be outside for most of the day and there was less chance of Joe burning to a crisp or collapsing from heatstroke, since they could seek out the shade.
Since it was a weekday, and most kids were in school, the beautiful zoo was relatively quiet. A few school groups were around, mostly elementary school kids who clutched their clipboards and worksheets and practically vibrated with excitement at being at the zoo for school.
Remy held Joe’s hand the whole time, only letting go when he wanted to take a picture of something, or of the two of them together in front of the gators. The pressure was off, with no expectations for them to behave any particular way and the chance of them running into someone either of them knew was slim to none. There was no reason Joe couldn’t slip his hand under the edge of Remy’s T-shirt to stroke the bare skin of his lower back or hook his fingers into Remy’s belt loops to pull him close. They could be silly and intimate, and Joe could forget he was planning on doing something that would undoubtedly break Remy’s heart.
Joe couldn’t think too much about Remy’s heart, because he was pretty sure he’d already given his own away.
Later in the afternoon, on their way back from the zoo, Remy had Joe take a detour off to a bakery to get something for his girls—Estelle, Sophie, Magnolia, Grace, and Stella. He wanted to pick up cupcakes for an after-dinner treat.
Joe stood back as Remy picked out each one individually and had them packed in white boxes tied with pink ribbons. “You spoil them,” he murmured as they crossed the street back to the car.
