Once Upon a Wedding

by JoAnn Ross

  “We were in a band together for five years. That was some time back.”

  “You didn’t record anything?”

  “I scraped up enough dough to pay for studio time to have an album engineered. But it’s a catch-22. You need a name to be signed. And you can’t be signed if you haven’t gotten enough attention to get a label interested. So it never went anywhere.”

  “I’ll bet it would now,” Luca said, putting the tray on the counter. “I’m a fan, by the way. I’ve got all your blues rock albums. I was wondering about that gap of time. Between albums.”

  “Thanks. As for the time...” Bastien shrugged. “Life happens.”

  “I know about that,” Luca said. “The question of the moment is how you let her get away.”

  Another shrug. “Stupid also happens. But life on the road wasn’t ever for Desiree. She’s been baking all her life and decided it was a more dependable way to earn a living.”

  “She could work in any high-end restaurant in the country, and from what I hear, she turned down a bunch before settling down here. I buy some of my pastries from her, although I make the tiramisu myself from my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Speaking of grandmothers, the reason for the gap is that I quit the road to go home to New Orleans and help my grand-mère run our family restaurant. But she recently passed, so I sold the restaurant to my cousin, and now that I’m free, I intend to win Desiree back.”

  “A man with a plan,” Luca said with an approving nod. “Good for you.”

  “The thing is, I don’t want to go back on the road. So I thought I’d open a restaurant here.”

  Luca’s dark brows rose. “Why would you open a restaurant here in this small town when you could probably put your name on one in any city in the country and fill the place every night?”

  “Because Desiree isn’t in any other city. She’s here.”

  “Wow. You are serious. But I don’t get what that has to do with me.”

  “I wanted to make sure there wasn’t going to be a problem with me giving you some competition.”

  “Hell, no, I think it’s great. You may be able to tell from the town’s name that we’re a destination wedding town. Not like Vegas, but we get our share of tourists. A bigger variety of places for people go out to eat can only make the town more appealing, which in turn brings in more visitors with dollars to spend. Right now, for dinner choices, there’s Mannion’s, which is a great pub, Taco the Town’s food truck, Leaf, which, as it sounds, is vegetarian, and me. Adding you to the mix will help people get into the habit of going out more. Especially in the winter when tourism slows down and the locals start getting cabin fever. What are you going to name it?”

  “Sensation Cajun.”

  “I like it.” Luca held out his hand. “So welcome to Honeymoon Harbor, and good luck. With both the restaurant and Desiree.” He picked up the tray again to take it out. “She’s a helluva woman.”

  “Thanks. You called that one right.”

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH THEY’D STOPPED SINGING, the wedding reception showed no signs of slowing down. And, as long as Kylee and Mai seemed to be enjoying themselves, why should it? The best thing about summer was the long days when the sun wouldn’t set until after nine o’clock and the twilight glowing with shades of gold and amber would last for another thirty or forty minutes.

  During that time, Honeymoon Harborites expressed surprise to learn that the town’s baker had once been in a band.

  “It’s as if you two had been singing together all your lives,” Dottie enthused.

  “It was five years,” Desiree repeated what she’d been saying for the past twenty minutes. “A long time ago.”

  “Well,” Dottie’s twin, Doris, said, “it may have been long ago, but it’s obvious the connection between the two of you is still there. I suspect we’ll be fitting you for a wedding dress before this time next year.”

  “I wouldn’t bet the store on that,” Desiree said with a laugh. A laugh that faded as she saw Bastien heading toward her, setting off those all-too-familiar butterflies in her stomach.

  After greeting the elderly twins and accepting their compliments, he took Desiree by the elbow and led her to the far end of the garden. How could such an innocuous touch send heat flowing through her entire body?

  “I talked with Luca Salvadore,” he said. “I wanted to make sure he was okay with me opening up a restaurant. He thinks it’s a great idea that will create more business for everyone.”

  “I’m delighted he approves,” she said, folding her arms to steel herself against the charm offensive she knew would be directed her way. “Perhaps you may have thought to ask me how I felt before you made your plans to attempt to steal my building space.”

  “What would you say to taking this conversation somewhere more private, before we start garnering even more attention?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Where?”

  “First to the building in question. I have an idea. I also have a question. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I’ve been busy.” She thought back. “A croissant this morning.”

  “Then you should be hungry. Let’s take off. I’ll show you my idea, then cook you dinner.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Lighthouse View Hotel. I was lucky to get the only available room. It seems that you were right about Mai’s family filling both Brianna’s B & B and the hotel.”

  “I didn’t realize they had kitchenettes at the hotel.”

  “They don’t.” There it was. That slow, devastating smile she’d been expecting. “I thought maybe I could use your kitchen.”

  Her initial thought was to turn him down on the spot. Then again, if he actually did intend to stick around, and Desiree sincerely doubted it, since small towns weren’t his style, there were other spaces Seth could remodel for him. He didn’t need hers. Which was what she was going to convince him of. Over his damn dinner.

  “I could use something to eat. And I’ve missed New Orleans food. Also you’re right about it giving us an opportunity to discuss the flaws in your impulsive plan in private.”

  “Believe me, cher,” he said, his eyes turning as serious as she’d seen him since he’d put her on that plane to New York, “there was nothing impulsive about it.”

  And didn’t that have her thinking about how he’d been spending the past two years? Family was important to Cajuns, and Bastien was no different. The fact that he’d give up a successful career to take over his grandmother’s popular, but small, restaurant proved that under that hot, sex-on-a-stick exterior was a huge and caring heart.

  Bastien had never been a bad man. He’d just proven to be the wrong man for her. Or perhaps they’d met too soon and she hadn’t been ready for him.

  “So, what do you say?”

  “I don’t have anything in the house to make a meal with,” she said. “We’ll have to stop by the market.” And wouldn’t that have Mildred Marshall posting about Desiree buying dinner groceries with the hot new stranger in town on the Facebook page before they’d left the parking lot?

  “Sounds good to me. I’m guessing, since we’re on a harbor, there’s a fish shack?”

  Desiree glanced down at her watch. “Kira’s Sea House should still be open. For another twenty minutes.”

  “Bien. We’ll start there.”

  * * *

  HE WAS A fast shopper who knew what he wanted. Kira packed up some Dungeness crab and Gulf shrimp. He wanted the ones with shells, he told the fishmonger, to make stock.

  Which admittedly impressed Desiree. And apparently Kira, who asked for the recipe.

  “I’ll have Desiree write it down for you as I fix it,” he said. “I learned to cook in my grandmother’s restaurant, and neither of us have ever been the type to use recipes.”

  “That must
have been an adventurous experience for diners,” Kira said as she wrapped the shrimp in white waxed paper and put them with the crab in a bag with ice to keep them cool.

  “Food should be an adventure,” he said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  “You won’t get any argument from me,” Kira agreed cheerfully. Then turned to Desiree. “But please, write down what Chef Adventurous here does, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” she agreed. “Just remember. I’m a baker, not a cook.”

  The farmer’s market was down the street, and although the stands were beginning to close up for the day, Desiree was not surprised when both men and women stopped to sell him what he needed. Charm. Say what you want about it, Bastien was definitely born with more than his fair share. And when you tossed in that slow, sexy Cajun accent, well, he was pretty much irresistible.

  One of the buskers, playing an alto sax for tips at the front of the market, recognized him immediately and looked on the verge of having a seizure from excitement. Especially when his alleged musical hero signed an autograph, then invited him to perform with him at the preopening trial run dinner at Sensation Cajun. By the time they escaped, Desiree was worried about the kid driving home safely.

  The rice, unfortunately, had to be bought at Marshall’s Market, where Bastien had the usually stone-faced Mildred Marshall giggling like a schoolgirl as he laid on a Cajun accent as heavily seductive as Dennis Quaid’s in The Big Easy. But a great deal more authentic.

  “You’re like the Pied Piper,” she said as they walked out of the market to their cars. Having driven to the wedding alone, they had to take two cars to each of the stops. Which kept her from being in a confined space with him before she worked out her feelings about him appearing so unexpectedly.

  “Just being friendly,” he said. “Bein’ as I’m going to be part of the community.”

  “You are not.”

  “Of course I am. And for old time’s sake, your first dinner at Sensation Cajun will be on the house.”

  * * *

  OVENLY WAS PAINTED a soft green the color of pine needles with white trim and double doors that looked as if they’d been taken from some old building in France. A green awning extended over the sidewalk, allowing for three bistro tables and chairs. Since she didn’t serve dinner, the bakery had closed for the day.

  “There’s a brick patio in back,” she said. “Normally I’d only be able to use it about two or three months a year, but I extend the season into fall with portable post heaters.”

  “That’s a good idea. And something I’ll have to consider for my place.”

  “I still can’t believe you’ll actually build a restaurant here in Honeymoon Harbor.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “I’m not a betting person.”

  “You took a bet on me,” he reminded her.

  “And look how that turned out,” she snapped, then pressed her fingers to her forehead, where a headache was beginning to throb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

  “You’re hungry,” he said. “And undoubtedly tired. Besides, your leaving was partly my fault. I was young, too cocky, and we clicked so well, in every way, I forgot to let you know how much I loved you.”

  “That’s all in the past.”

  “The past isn’t dead. It’s not even past,” he said, quoting William Faulkner. From his outward appearance, Desiree never would have taken him for a serious reader, but in all their years together, she’d never seen him without a book. “But here we are, cher. So, let’s deal with who and where we are now, and the rest will fall into place.”

  He’d always been that way, looking for the positive in a situation. Despite having been abandoned first by the father he’d never known, then his mother, Bastien Broussard had somehow remained the most optimistic person she’d ever met. She also wasn’t all that surprised that he would have given up a career, just as it was skyrocketing upward into the stratosphere, for family.

  “Tell me about your idea,” she said. She still didn’t believe he’d stay, but she was willing to listen.

  “First off, I want to paint my part pink.”

  “Pink?” She’d been about to point out that it wasn’t yet his part, and wouldn’t be if she had anything to say about it, when his words sunk in. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “This town came of age during the Victorian Era. Pink was a popular color for houses back then. They’re scattered all over New Orleans.”

  “But not here in the Pacific Northwest,” she said.

  “That’s exactly my point. I don’t want people thinking of being in the Northwest, as stunning as the scenery is. I want them to feel as if they’ve been whisked away to the Big Easy. I want Sensation Cajun to be, well, a sensational experience.”

  “Okay. I get that. But why pink?”

  “Brennan’s is pink. It’s also been a destination landmark for decades. Tourists who go to New Orleans are willing to wait in line to get in for a meal. And mine wouldn’t be Barbie pink. I’m thinking of a deeper rose that will stand out when people are coming in on the ferry. With big arched windows on either side of the door with an awning over it. I’d already thought of green, which works perfectly with yours. It would also be great if you extended the exterior color to yours, so they’d be more uniform.”

  She folded her arms. Tried to picture Ovenly painted pink. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because along with the larger windows on both the street and harbor side to let in more light, I’d like to take out that wall between our places.”

  “You want to invade my bakery?”

  “Invade’s a bit harsh. My idea was to have Brianna’s fiancé build some sort of archway between the two, keeping the old brick. New Orleans and French styles aren’t that different.”

  “That’s true enough, given that New Orleans is the closest you’ll come to France in the States, thanks to our ancestors.”

  “You’re getting it. Our styles could blend well together, Desiree. And not just outside, but on the menu. Luca told me he buys pastries from you.”

  “He does. And Brianna buys cookies and croissants for her B & B.”

  “See? You’d have a new outlet. We could set up the dessert cart with items you chose for each day. After diners tasted how good your pastries were they could go into your bakery after their meal and take some more home for their evening dessert, a late-night snack, or even breakfast the next morning.

  “And,” he pressed on, “you said you wanted to expand. There’s plenty of space for you to do it. Especially since I’m putting smaller, more intimate dining rooms upstairs. I believe together we’ll draw from neighboring towns along with visitors to the National Park. I’m also going with green shutters on either side of the windows across the second floor and putting wrought iron on a little extension. Not an actual balcony, but to give the impression of one.”

  “This is sounding more and more like Brennan’s exterior.”

  “I doubt I’ll be taking any business away from them. But for those who’ve been to New Orleans, dining at Sensation Cajun could feel like reliving their time there. And for others who’ve never been, it’ll give them a Big Easy experience.

  “You’ve thought this through.”

  “I have, ever since your father complained that you hadn’t come home to work in the family business. Luca thinks my name will bring in some people, too, though I’m not sure that this is blues rock country.”

  “You’d be surprised. Don’t forget, Jimmy Hendrix was from Washington State. You wouldn’t, by the way, be the only famous person in town. Brianna’s uncle Mike is an artist.”

  “Michael Mannion lives here?”

  “He has a studio and a gallery. Like me, he lives above the store on the third floor of a building he bought. But he’s turning the second floor into space for various loca
l artisans. Brianna talked him into doing wine painting evenings which have proven quite popular.”

  “I went to a showing of his work at a gallery on Julia Street. He’d done a book of paintings from each of the fifty states. We hit it off, and though his original paintings are above my budget, I could definitely use some of his Louisiana prints. With little tags beneath stating his name, with the address of the gallery. It might even drive some business his way.”

  He smiled at her, obviously pleased with that idea. “Small town interconnections,” he said. “This isn’t turning out to be that different from New Orleans, which is, in its way, several small, close-knit communities within one city.”

  She couldn’t deny that. Still, as they entered her bakery, Desiree wondered if a man whose dream was once to play concerts all over the world could truly be happy running a restaurant here, in a town that didn’t get the number of tourists in a year that New Orleans or Paris did in a day.

  “I realized I’ve dropped a lot on you today,” he said.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” The sarcasm didn’t have the edge she’d intended. He was getting to her, the sane, sensible voice in her head warned. Be strong.

  “Just think about it,” he suggested easily. “What could that hurt?”

  “Nothing.” But her hopeful heart, as tended to happen whenever she was anywhere around Bastien, was disagreeing with her head. “I suppose.”

  “I’d never make you do anything you don’t want, Desiree,” he said, just as he’d told her that first night he’d made love to her. Damn. That memory had long-neglected body parts jumping into the interior conversation, siding with her heart. Dinner, she reminded herself. Then he’d be on his way, back to the Lighthouse Hotel, and hopefully New Orleans, or Paris, or wherever the gypsy musician might roam.

  “I’ve mostly given up making bread,” she said as they passed the pastry case, which her two employees had emptied for the night. “I prefer the art of pastry making. But I do bake bread once a week for Luca. He uses whatever he needs for that night, then vacuum freezes the rest and warms it as he needs it. I kept out a loaf to eat with some cheese along with Roma tomatoes and basil when I got home tonight. So, I can contribute that to our dinner.”