She expected him to be leaning up against a wall while he waited, but instead he stood perfectly straight outside her door. He held his hands behind her back and pulled them out to hand her a beautiful bouquet of red roses. “For an incredible woman,” he said.
A smile washed across her face, and a warm tingle went through her body as their hands touched. Then she faux frowned. “So you stopped guarding my door to get me flowers?” she asked, giving him a quick kiss.
Laurent grinned. “I planned it with one of the bellhops while you checked for messages at the front desk. He brought them up while I patiently waited for my angel.”
Sara felt herself light up even more, the heat of his touch shooting straight down between her legs. “We’d better get started on that tour before I pull you into my room,” she said.
He reached over and tried taking her in his arms for another kiss, but she jumped back toward the elevator. Her finger waved. “My romantic day,” she said, and he took her hand as they headed downstairs.
The New Orleans Angels Bike Shop wasn’t the start she expected to her romantic tour, but Laurent beamed so brightly that she didn’t resist when he took her inside.
“You’re sure I’m going to like this?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said and waked her over to a bike sized for her. “We’ll be renting two for the day.” A few minutes later, deposits made, they headed out onto the street.
“You know I haven’t ridden a bike in years,” she said. “Except in the gym.”
“There’s no better way to experience a culinary tour of the city,” he said stopping next to her.
Sara’s eyes went wide. “We’re going to eat the whole day?” she asked.
“Not full meals, but I know all the best places in every part of the city. I’ll show you all the sights and we’ll get something from to eat each of them and have it as a picnic in the French Quarter at the end.”
She motioned for him to go. “Lead the way,” she said.
Chapter 20
Three hours later they pedaled into Jackson Square. The paths circling the statue of General Andrew Jackson bustled with people wandering around the park and viewing the work of the street artists. A few people sat for portraits, while their children ran and played.
Sara stopped next to him and got off her bike. “Do we finally get to eat?” she asked.
“I’m starved,” said Laurent, then he pointed to a shady spot under a tree near the edge of the park, but still in view of the square.
He gave a furtive glance at Sara as they walked to their chosen picnic spot. She smiled most of the tour. He’d taken her through Tremé, Faubourg Marigny, Mid-City, and ended in the French Quarter. He knew the best bike routes through the city well, and the path he took her was only six or seven miles. Without stopping most cyclists could ride the path in forty minutes.
But they had stopped. Frequently. He had pre-planned the first stop with the owner, who had a picnic blanket and basket, with the first sampling of food, ready for him. They visited the restaurants and street stalls he frequented regularly. He might be completion for many of them, but he appreciated quality food regardless who cooked it, and he wanted Sara to get a sampling from around New Orleans. She carried the picnic basket in her bike basket. The smells wafted up, making her frequently lick her lips, and sniff the delicious aromas under her nose. He couldn’t help himself for sneaking in frequent kisses when they stopped at a new location.
But mostly they rode. He mixed in-between restaurant stops with slow riding down historic neighborhoods and landmarks. Sara had stayed close next to him the entire time, soaking up his narrative, while he took in her beauty as she rode alongside him.
The tree wasn’t very tall, but its spread out branches created a wide circle of shade to lay their blanket under. He unfolded the blanket and helped her carry the food as they set everything out together. A still-cool bottle of local wine that he picked up at the last restaurant, Pontchartrain Vineyards, rounded out the meal.
Sara sat on her knees near him. Goosebumps covered her arms as he poured a glass for her. He wanted to offer a toast to her, but he knew it would only make her uncomfortable. “To a beautiful day together,” he said, clinking glasses together.
Sara looked over the many dishes. “What should we try first?” she asked.
“Dessert,” he said, without missing a beat. “Let’s eat the meal backwards to the appetizer. That way we have room for the best part.”
Sara laughed and his insides heated up watching her as she held her hand to her chest. She’d gotten so deep under his skin he couldn’t imagine himself without her waking up next to him every day.
He took out the gelato and some chocolate truffle cake and split them into two. Between the lip smacking and moans of culinary pleasure they both experienced, they ate their way, dish after dish, closer to the appetizer before giving up.
She refused the fried plantains. “I can’t eat another bit,” she said.
“They’re delicious,” he said.
“I’m stuffed. If I eat one more thing my stomach will explode.”
He rolled on the blanket onto his back and Sara immediately moved next to him and into his arms. “People don’t eat like that every day, do they?” she asked, looking up at the clouds.
“They’ll have good meals, but they probably don’t have as much variety as we did for our lunch,” he said.
“Variety? We had a little of everything. I’m surprised you had so many good things to say about your competition. Most people try to downplay the opposition. You don’t.”
Laurent stroked her hand, and lay still on his back. “We’re not really competition,” he said.
“Because you’re a judge on a TV show and they aren’t?” she asked.
“Being on TV is an incredible opportunity, but it’s different than that. Everyone who cooks great food has to love food. It can’t be anything else, and when I meet someone who loves food as much as I do, I appreciate the care that went into making it,” he said. “Did that make any sense?”
“Yes,” she said, and he pulled her closer into his chest.
A ball flew over their heads onto the grass in front of them. A young boy ran up, kicked the ball, and then ran off after it again. A few seconds later, his father dashed into view chasing after him. Sara sat up and laughed at the sight. “Families certainly have a lot of fun here,” she said.
Laurent pushed himself up. “Every day,” he said, and then he reached over to take Sara’s hand. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
He tried speaking a few times only to stop before the first words left his mouth. National TV interviews were a breeze compared to what he knew he needed to say. He opened a bottle of water and took a drink. Sara waited for him and he noticed a tremble in her arms.
He pulled his thoughts together. “Stay in New Orleans,” he said. “I love you, and don’t want to be apart. For now, I have to stay here for my restaurant, but your firm has offices in the city and in Houston. Please think about it.”
Sara’s face dropped and she sputtered. “Stay with you. Move to New Orleans. You love me.” She pulled away, stood up and headed for her bike. Laurent moved faster and intercepted her before she could jump onto the seat.
“You think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’ve never been surer about anything with a woman before in my life.”
Sara’s entire body shook. Laurent could see doubt, and hope, swirling in her eyes as she tried to form her own thoughts. He took her hands again. “I only want you to think about it,” he said. “You don’t have to answer now.”
She calmed at his words and under his touch.
“I’m supposed to help judge a Gumbo cook-off at a charity event this afternoon. It won’t take long and I’d love it if you came,” he said.
She put the kickstand back down, went to the picnic blanket, and started packing things away. “We’d better return the bikes,” she said, and Laurent sent up a quick prayer of thanks that
he hadn’t scared her off entirely.
Chapter 21
Sara screamed. Then she grabbed the nearest unopened bottle of water she could find. She gulped the entire 16oz container down in seconds. Her throat cooling off from the gumbo that she’d sampled.
“It’s not a five-alarm gumbo because of its mild taste,” said Laurent, handing her another bottle.
Sara shot him a hard stare, but took the bottle and drank it. She couldn’t be angry with him. While others had laughed at her naivety in gumbo tasting, Laurent displayed only concern, and he quickly silenced everyone around. She wiped some sweat from her face. “Next time I’ll check the heat level,” she said.
Laurent ran his hand down her back. She took another sip of water to try and cool the additional heat she felt. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Sara smiled. At Jackson Square, when he professed his love for her, she had nearly panicked and fled back to the hotel. If words of affection were all he said, she would have simply acknowledged it, and dismissed it for what it was: meaningless words that he wanted a lover to hear. But he hadn’t stopped there. Instead he had asked her to move to New Orleans.
Alarm bells had gone off instantly and she wanted to leave him, never to look back. But then he caught her, and her fear faded. It felt so natural to be around him, and he always looked out for her. Every contestant they met, Laurent introduced her, like he did on the street the day before. Except for today, he frequently had his arm around her waist, which left no question as to their having a relationship. He wasn’t like any of her other boyfriends. They’d all claimed her as their girl and become jealous if she spoke with other men. But they also put her down, and criticized her more relentlessly than anyone too.
Laurent didn’t. After making his introductions, Laurent would talk with the people around the contestants table, frequently sign his autograph, and left her to enjoy conversing with whomever she pleased. All the hyper possessive attitude the other men in her life had were absent from Laurent, and he never once called her anything except beautiful.
As a consultant, she presented herself as a logical, rational, and objective analyst of a company’s problems. Clients expected her to provide the most sensible and realistic solutions to the questions they posed. Laurent was her personal question that she needed to figure out. She would never stay in a physically abusive relationship, but she did stay with men who didn’t really support her emotionally or intellectually. Had she become so accustomed to picking the wrong man, that when the right man came along, she automatically assumed he was just pretending in order to bag her in bed? Laurent didn’t have any of the red flags that the other men in her life showed.
His home felt like home, and being with him made her feel like she didn’t have to hide the person she really was. Over the last few hours, she’d gradually gone from the knee-jerk reaction of dismissing the idea of moving to New Orleans, to actually thinking it might be the change she needed in her life. Except for changing offices, it wouldn’t affect her work, and could lead to a promotion to partner since the firm wanted more associates to head to southern states.
The annual trip she took with her sisters had fun at its core, but it was also a time to think through her life, and how she wanted it to proceed. Most years she had not given it much thought, and simply defaulted to the ‘everything’s great’ answer. But Laurent had given her reason to doubt how great things really were.
Instead she had realized that her life was deeply dissatisfying because of her utterly void love life. Her career had gone well, but she wanted a man to be her partner, to support her in all that she did, and to love her unconditionally. Laurent hadn’t said he would be all those things to her, but what he did say was enough that she thought that she should give him the chance. Each passing minute, her resolve that agreeing to stay with him was the right thing to do increased.
She walked over to Laurent as he shook hands goodbye with some fans that had come up to him. A small group of gawkers pooled nearby taking photos of him with their phones.
“How many more contestants?” she asked him.
He flipped through some pages on his clipboard. “Three,” he said, taking a drink to wash his palette for another round of sampling. “But I’m only one of three judges. I don’t know what order the other judges went around to the booths.”
Sara put her arm through his and walked to the next table. A camp stove, with a large pot of gumbo stewing, rested on the table. Unlike the other contestants, this man stood behind the table and eyed Laurent without a hint of friendliness that everyone else had shown. He had the beginnings of a beer gut and Sara guessed that he was in his early thirty’s. Considering that Laurent was a judge, his distinctly cool attitude was a mystery to her, but she ignored it, and let Laurent get on with his judging.
“I’m one of the judges today, and I’ll be sampling your gumbo,” said Laurent, extending his hand in greeting.
The man ignored him, took out two bowls, and ladled a small sample of gumbo into each. When he finished, he placed the bowls on the table and pushed them forward. “I’m assuming your girl will want to try some too,” he said. The he added. “You weren’t supposed to be judging today.”
Laurent picked up the bowl, clearly confused. “Another judge dropped out last-minute and I agreed to take her place,” he said before trying the dish. Laurent licked his lips and put the bowl down. “This is really good. Is the recipe your own?” he asked.
The man crossed his arms. “Yes,” he said.
Sara edged closer to Laurent and marveled at his calm in the face of the man’s unyielding rudeness. She waited for a smart retort, but it never came.
Laurent put down the bowl and regarded the man. “Have I done something to offend you?” asked Laurent.
The man’s lips pressed together. “I’m sure a celebrity like you wouldn’t think so,” he said.
Laurent smiled, and then grabbed his clipboard from the table. “Thanks for the food. I’ll be getting together with the other judges and comparing scores later,” he said, and then turned to walk to the next contestant.
The man snorted behind Laurent’s back. “Just like a big-shot TV star,” he said, his voice carrying over the nearby crowd. “You think you can do anything because you’re a star. No guts at all. You go and fuck my wife a couple months ago and now can’t even face me like a man. So who’s your girlfriend married to?”
Sara’s stomach twisted as she processed the man’s words. What a fool she was for thinking Laurent was different. She took a step away from Laurent, hurt tearing through her.
Laurent whipped his head, from Sara to the man and back again, before he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Don’t you?” said the man. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure so many ladies bounce on your bed that it’s probably hard to keep track of them. But I’ll remind you. Janet. Short, blond hair. She went to your restaurant to have you sign your cookbook two months ago.”
Sara listened to the man’s words, but her eyes never left Laurent’s face. Laurent’s face dropped as the man described his wife, and Sara knew it was true.
A small crowd of onlookers watched uncomfortably. Sara felt their stares. She wanted to run and hide. The man kept ranting. “She said she told you that she was married, but that you didn’t care. You offered to give her a private tour of the kitchen, before taking her back home. What kind of man are you?”
Sara had heard enough, and Laurent’s face told her everything she needed to know. She turned to walk away. A taxi could take her back to the hotel.
Laurent caught up to her before she’d gone ten paces. “Wait! It’s not what you think,” he said, stepping in front of her.
She felt tears welling insider her, waiting to burst, and she tried to walk around him.
Laurent wouldn’t budge. “Yes, I remember the woman. And I did sleep with her, but I had no idea that she was married. She came to
the restaurant one night for an autograph and I gave it to her. But then she kept coming back, night after night, pestering me for a kitchen tour, and then sex. I know I shouldn’t have, but I gave in just to finally get rid of her.”
Sara looked up at him. A stricken look crossed his face. His confession seemed sincere and she wanted to believe him. “You had sex with her. It doesn’t seem like it was such a burden,” she said.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m just not a player like that. Yes, I’ve had other lovers, but everything I said to you is true. I love you,” he said.
She really, really, wanted to believe him, but her inner consultant kept raising doubts. You knew it would end in heartbreak. She had been ready to leave her life for a fresh start in New Orleans. Now she knew it was the hopeless romantic in her making the decision. “I just don’t see how it’s going to work,” she said.
Laurent stepped aside, but before she took a step, he touched her arm. His eyes were sad. “I love you Sara with all my heart. I know I do. But unless you can get past the hurt in your past to see that I’m different, then I don’t see how it can work either.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning away and heading back to the remaining contestant tables.
You’re making the right choice. She walked to the parking lot and pulled out her phone to call directory assistance for a cab. A tear fell down her cheek and she wiped it away. Every step she took, she repeated how leaving was good for her. All the while, she couldn’t remember a time when making the ‘right decision’ felt so wrong.
Sara paced her hotel room. Even when her boyfriends had mocked her weight, and she had consoled herself with some cookies, she’d never felt so horrible. Every mile closer to the hotel the taxi had taken her, the certainty that she had made a hasty decision increased. By the time she had arrived and paid the driver, all she wanted was to be alone. She had hurried up to her room, put on the ‘do not disturb’ sign, and drawn the shades. Then she let herself cry.
Cajun Vacation Page 12
