Blue Bayou Final

by Kate, Jiffy

  “Uh—it...it’s not a date,” I stutter, scooting past her with the groceries. “Just dinner. He wants me to go to dinner with him to repay him for fixing the office door knob.” I say it out loud with heavy questioning in my tone, more for me than Mary. “So, it’s more of a business dinner.”

  “Business dinner. He’s taking you out for fixing your knob.” She bobs her head with placating smile. “Whatever you say, honey. Sounds like you’re definitely getting the long end of this stick.”

  My eyes go wide at her words. “Mary!”

  She laughs, swatting at me. “Oh, hush. I just meant you’re making out like a bandit—a fixed door knob and dinner with a fine young man. Can’t complain about that.”

  I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “Dinner. That’s all it is. And apparently, he likes to fix things, so—”

  “Let him.” Turning her back to the counter, she leans against it and crosses her arms, leveling me with her motherly stare. “You’ve been meeting yourself coming and going for the last year and a half, we all have. If Maverick Kensington wants to step in and fix a few things.” She pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side. “Let him.”

  “No harm, no foul, right?”

  “None that I can see.”

  “And it’s not unprofessional?” I question, needing her approval more than I realized.

  She laughs again, shaking her head. “Girl, the stories I could tell.”

  My eyes go wide again. “What?”

  “Oh, honey. They’re not my stories to tell,” she sing-songs, but cracks a conspiratorial smile. “But don’t forget how long Miss Mary’s been around.”

  “Mom?” I ask, when she goes quiet. “Did Mom date guests from the hotel?” I try to wrack my brain, digging through my memory. My mother was never engaged. She always seemed like she was married to the hotel, like me. She spent her days and nights here, taking care of everything, even when my grandfather was still alive. They were quite the team. I sigh, wishing so badly I had that—someone to share the load with. Mary and George are wonderful, but they’re getting older. The mere thought of something happening to either of them sends me into a deep, dark spiral. I don’t know what I would do.

  “Your mama was a beautiful woman, just like you. She had admirers. And she might have been all business, but she had needs.”

  “Mary!”

  “What? Do you think she only had sex once, the day you were conceived?” she asks with a scoff.

  “Oh, my God! How did this conversation go from dinner to sex?” I ask.

  Mary laughs again. “Well, you weren’t an immaculate conception, even though we all thought the sun rose and set with you.” She smiles and swats in my direction. “All I’m saying is there’s nothing wrong with going out to dinner...or whatever else Mr. Kensington might offer.”

  “Okay.” I turn toward the back door. “Thanks, Mary. Good talk.” I feel my cheeks heating up and I don’t want her to see it, so I retreat to my apartment to put up my groceries and get ready for my date.

  Yeah, I said it. Date. Because, damn it, it is. I haven’t been on one in ages. The last time I was with a man was over six months ago on my birthday, when Mary and George covered the hotel while I went out with CeCe. She took me to a bar, and I ran into a guy from college while we were there. There was nothing special about it. We drank. We danced. We hooked up. I did the walk of shame five blocks back to the hotel at four in the morning, where George greeted me with a disapproving shake of his head. It wasn’t my best moment.

  So, even though I don’t want to admit it, this is a date and I’m a little excited about it.

  Chapter 7

  Maverick

  Why am I so nervous?

  I’ve been on plenty of first dates, but I honestly can’t remember ever being this anxious, with the exception of my very first date ever. I took Amy Copeland to our sophomore spring formal and incorrectly assumed we’d be having sex that evening. We weren’t really dating or anything, but I’d watched a lot of teen movies in preparation for the big night and it seemed as if losing one’s virginity after a dance was par for the course. After casually placing my hand over Amy’s knee at dinner, she abruptly shoved it off and told me not to ever touch her again.

  Of course, she changed her tune when I took her to Homecoming the following fall, but I digress.

  Come to think of it, maybe it’s not nerves. Maybe it’s just anticipation. I really like Carys and I’m dying to get to know her better. Whether or not this evening leads to anything other than a nice dinner, I’ll be happy to just be around her.

  She fascinates me.

  It’s kind of odd, though, to be taking her out in her city, when I’ve really only done touristy things on my visits to New Orleans. But I get the feeling she doesn’t get out much, so I’m hopeful she hasn’t tried the restaurant I’m taking her to, and if she has, I hope she likes it.

  I also hope she lets me kiss her. And that she kisses me back. I’m not expecting things to turn physical, but I can’t deny I’m dying to feel her plump lips against mine...to discover what she tastes like. It’s all I’ve thought about since meeting her. Well, maybe not all I’ve thought about, but I’m trying not to think about that. If I did, I’d have to relieve myself and take the tension off, which would only make me late for our date and that absolutely cannot happen.

  One last look in the mirror to make sure nothing is stuck in my teeth or my nose and I’m out the door, practically jogging down the stairs to the hotel lobby. I’m about halfway down the steps when I see Carys waiting for me. I slow my pace and try to appear casual, but the truth is my heart is hammering inside my chest so hard she can probably hear it. When she turns around and sees me, her face lights up and my breath catches in my throat.

  Fuck me, she’s gorgeous.

  She’s in a dress that hugs her curves perfectly, and her normally wild hair has been styled in loose waves cascading down her back, just begging me to wrap them around my wrist and pull.

  Focus, Mav.

  “Why, Mr. Kensington, are you late for our date?” Her glossy lips shine as she smiles, and I have to fight back images of her mouth doing other things in order to answer her.

  I slip my hand around her waist and pull her against me. “I may be a few seconds late, but it’s only because the vision of you took my breath away, and I had to collect myself before I stumbled down the stairs.”

  “Just as I suspected,” she says, placing her hand against my chest. “You’re quite the schmoozer.”

  I cover her hand with mine, pretending to be shocked. “You wound me, Miss Matthews. I’d never lie about a beauty such as yours.” I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t help but place a soft kiss just in front of her ear, briefly lingering to inhale her sweet scent. When I pull back, Carys’ eyes are dilated, and she seems to be searching for a comeback, but I believe I’ve left her speechless for once.

  Taking a step back, I take her hand in mine because I need to be touching her in some way and nod my head toward the door. “Shall we?”

  She clears her throat and straightens her shoulders, tightening her grip on my hand. “Yes, please.”

  We don’t have to walk too far before we’re at the restaurant I’ve chosen, and thanks to our reservation, we’re immediately seated in a cozy table for two away from the larger parties dining inside.

  “Have you eaten here before?” I ask her.

  “No, I haven’t but I’ve been wanting to,” she says, her eyes taking in the low lighting and open ceilings. “I’ve heard great things about this place.”

  “I admit, I was intimidated by not knowing how to pronounce the name, Lagniappe, but George helped me out.”

  “My George? He helped you plan this?” Her expression shows surprise, as well as her appreciation that I’d seek her old friend’s advice.

  “He did, indeed,” I tell her, a little pleased with myself. “And then I Googled it and checked out the menu. I like that they tied in the name of the
restaurant with the menu by adding a little something extra to everything.” I give her a wink when she seems a little surprised that I did my homework. “It’s a clever idea.”

  “Seems to be working for them,” she says turning her attention to the menu. “Everything looks amazing; I can’t decide what to order.”

  I watch her for a second, noticing that she’s fidgeting a little, and I wonder if Carys is nervous. She mentioned that she doesn’t date often, and then George made a mention of it when I asked for a restaurant suggestion. “He loves you, you know.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell her something I’m sure she knows, but it never hurts to be told you’re loved, right?

  “Who, George?” Her smile clearly shows she returns his affections. “I know,” she says confidently. “He’s like my second grandfather. I don’t know what I’d do without him and Mary, which is why I worry so much about him working too much.”

  “Why don’t you hire more people for the hotel? Maybe it’s time for George and Mary to semi-retire. I mean, they could still be with you at the hotel, but they wouldn’t have to work as hard.”

  Carys bristles at my question and I mentally kick myself for sticking my nose where it’s not wanted.

  “It’s not that simple.” I can tell she’s trying to reign in her emotions. “They’re all I have left of my family and I can’t just let them go. Besides, I can’t afford another salary. It nearly killed me to hire Jules with all the extra expenses I’ve had lately.”

  I slip my hand across the table and place it on top of hers, wanting to smooth things over so we don’t get off on a bad foot. “I’m not meaning to sound insensitive; I only want to help. I really like you, Carys, and I think your hotel has great potential. It just needs a few upgrades to make business boom again.”

  “Firing George and Mary wouldn’t be an upgrade. They’re what keep the place going. They keep me going.” She pulls her hand away and goes back to looking at the menu.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. And I would never suggest firing George and Mary.”

  “Well, I can’t afford another salary. Besides, they both need their pay. The Blue Bayou is their livelihood too.” She sighs, setting the menu on the table. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so sensitive, but I depend on them. I need them. They’re the only people who know as much about the hotel as I do, probably more. If they weren’t with me, I’d feel completely lost.”

  “They depend on you too.” I take her hand back, forcing her to look at me. “You take care of them just as much as they take care of you. I’ve only been around a few days and I can see that you’re a family. All I’m saying is that maybe with a few changes—a few upgrades…” I pause, holding up a hand so she’ll hear me out. “You could bring in some more help and still make the ends meet.”

  “Upgrades always mean money, and we don’t have that right now. I know they say you have to spend money to make money, but what happens when you don’t have the money to spend?” she asks, exasperation evident. I can tell she’s thought, probably worried, about this very subject a lot.

  I exhale, sitting back in my chair as the waiter comes up to our table.

  “Welcome to Lagniappe, my name is Max. Have you dined with us before?” He smiles, eyes on Carys as he speaks. I can’t fault him for that. She’s a looker. I’d probably be doing the same thing, but my tone when I respond says: Eyes over here, Max. She’s with me.

  “Hello, Max. This is a first for both of us. What do you suggest?”

  “Well, let’s start you off with some drinks. Are we partaking this evening?”

  I look over at Carys and she shrugs her shoulders as if to say if you’re game, so am I.

  We take Max’s suggestion of the French Quarter—Jim, Jack, Johnnie, and Jose mixed with a splash of Coke, simple syrup, and a twist of lime. For our lagniappe, we opted for a sidecar shot of tequila.

  “Go big or go home, right?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Well, if I’m only having one drink, and I am only having one drink because it’s my night to work the desk, I might as well make it a good one.” She laughs and does this girly move of flipping her hair over her shoulder and I forget about the deep conversation we were having about the hotel. All thoughts not pertaining directly to Carys’ gorgeous hair or her full lips or the freckle on her shoulder go out the window.

  “You’re so pretty.”

  “There you go schmoozing again.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  She shakes her head and hides a smile. “I bet you’ve got girls in every city.”

  “Ha, no,” I deadpan.

  “Liar.”

  “You think I’m a player?” I ask.

  Leaning into the table, she sighs as she contemplates. “I’m not sure what to make of you. Where are you from, by the way? I just realized I don’t even know where you live.”

  “Dallas.”

  “So, if you’re a city boy, where’d you learn to be so handy with tools and fixing things?” she asks, leaning in a little further.

  “My grandfather,” I tell her. “He owned a ranch about two hours from Dallas. I used to go there during the summers. He was a businessman, but he really loved working with his hands, building things. I think that’s why he loved the business so much. He told me once if his parents would’ve been able to afford it, he would’ve gone to college to be an architect, but they were dirt poor. He was the definition of a self-made man.”

  “You admire him.”

  “I do...did. He passed away a few years ago.”

  “I’m sure you miss him,” she says.

  “I do.” I didn’t plan on our dinner conversation going anything like this. I wanted to get to know Carys, maybe make out with her, but I wasn’t prepared to expose myself. I know I don’t have to. I don’t have to say another word. I can leave it right here and change the subject, but I want her to know me just as much as I want to know her. “My mother died six months before him. Sometimes, I think he loved her so much that he died of a broken heart. My grandmother died when I was a baby and my mother was an only child. So, they were really close.”

  Damn, Mav. Let’s dig up all the bones.

  “Do you ever dial her number and then remember she’s not gonna answer?” she asks just as Max delivers our drinks, which we both definitely need now.

  Carys and I both breathe out a thank you and immediately pick up our shots of tequila.

  “All the time,” I tell her.

  “To our moms,” Carys says.

  “To our moms.”

  We both toss back our shots and chase them with a drink of our French Quarter.

  “Shit,” I groan. “They might need to change the name of this. Maybe Alcohol Poisoning?”

  Carys laughs and then takes another sip of her drink. “Pretty sure that honor’s already been taken. I vaguely remember drinking it on my twenty-first birthday.”

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I know it’s not appropriate to ask a woman’s age, but I want to know.

  “Twenty-five.” She takes another drink, visibly relaxing—sinking into her seat, shoulders at ease, and a slight pinkish hue to her cheeks. Parts of her look every bit of twenty-five, but others, like her fresh skin and freckles, make her appear younger. “What about you?” she asks.

  “Twenty-eight. I’ll be one year closer to thirty next month.”

  “Meh, thirty-shmirty. What’s thirty? Right?”

  “I agree. I’ve always felt like age is just a number.”

  “So, what do you do in Dallas, Maverick Kensington? Such an important sounding name...Maverick Kensington.” Every time she says my name, I like it a little more. I’d like to hear her say it under other circumstances...perhaps coming undone beneath me.

  “I’m in real estate. Family business,” I tell her, not really wanting to get into all of that tonight. My father has been blowing my phone up the last couple of days, but I’d like to ignore my problems for just a little while longer.

&nbs
p; “Real estate? Really?” She scrunches her nose and leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I have to say, I didn’t have you pegged for a real estate guy.”

  I laugh. “What did you have me pegged for?”

  Shrugging, she looks away, thinking about it for a second. “Maybe an entrepreneur of some sort. I don’t know. You seem very capable, but also... I don’t know? Something I can’t put my finger on, like carefree or spontaneous. Regardless, you don’t seem to fit the stuffy, real estate mogul vibe.”

  “I never said mogul. That’s my father. He’s the buyer, seller, and disposer of dreams.”

  “Disposer of dreams, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I pause, exhaling a deep breath. “He buys large properties, usually from people who have no choice but to sell, tears them apart and sells the pieces. And I work for him, so I guess I’m a disposer of dreams by proxy.”

  “But these people want to sell, right?”

  “Some do, some don’t. Some have no choice and they’ve exhausted all other avenues. When they fail, my father swoops in and makes the kill.”

  “You make it sound so brutal,” she says with a slight laugh.

  “Because it is.”

  I look past Carys and see our waiter approaching. This time when I let out a deep breath, it’s out of appreciation. We need a change of topic before I release all my demons and ruin our date.

  “Have you had a chance to decide what you’d like to eat? Can I make any recommendations?” He looks at me and then smiles over at Carys, obviously finding her just as pretty as I do.

  “What would you recommend?” she asks, her cheeks a little pinker. The French Quarter is definitely doing its job.

  “The shrimp and grits with a side of fried crawfish is one of our best sellers. It’s served with bacon, crispy jalapenos, and a drizzle of honey balsamic.”

  She smiles, closing her menu. “Sounds perfect. I’ll have that.”

  “Make that two,” I tell him, handing over my menu.

  “Great. I’ll get that turned in. Can I get you another drink?” he asks, pointing to my nearly empty glass. I hadn’t even realized I’d drank most of it. Huh. Probably why I’m just a wealth of information. Liquor has always been a lubricant for my mouth.