by Sharon Kleve
CeCe was gorgeous but so skinny I thought she needed emergency ravioli or an ice cream sandwich, or even a large slice of pizza. I watched with concern as she crossed her legs, thin as spaghetti. CeCe said she needed to lose some weight after her divorce, to attract a new husband, and she’d never done anything halfway.
Before I could answer her, the waiter stopped by our table. He swiftly delivered a basket of sliced warm, yeasty smelling rustic bread, menus, and filled our water glasses. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
I wanted to ask him to bring CeCe an extra-large meatball sandwich or twenty pounds. “I’ll take a sweet tea please.”
“I’ll take the same.” CeCe winked at the waiter and he winked back. I guess he liked spaghetti noodles.
“I don’t know why you think I need a man to be happy. I have Beetles, and I’m working on a few new, exciting potions for the shop.”
“A Basset Hound should not replace male—human companionship.” She barely nibbled on a piece of rustic bread. A hamster could have eaten more in one bite.
“The shop is my priority right now. It’s my legacy.” Every other generation of Dubreauil females gave birth to five more females, and the middle child was born with a special Gift, crazy wild red hair, and blue eyes.
“Don’t you want to be able to pass your legacy on to the next generation of Dubreauil?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “To pass it on, you have to have children to do that. Hence, you need to date.”
The waiter delivered our tea. “Would you like more time to decide on lunch?”
“No. I’ll have the Crawfish Étouffée.” My mouth watered thinking about the succulent crawfish with Creole seasonings served over rice. Dieting in a city filled with the most amazing food like beignets, crawfish bisque, jambalaya, shrimp remoulade, pecan pie, red beans’n rice, and elegant pompano en papillote, funky filé z’herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen would be horrible. I offset eating all of my favorite foods by running every day.
“I’ll have the spinach salad without the bacon and the dressing on the side please.” CeCe placed her napkin delicately on her lap. There would be nothing to spill, she’d barely touch the salad.
CeCe leaned toward me and rubbed her palms together. “Tell me all about this Code Redhead gentleman.”
She wouldn’t drop the subject until I satisfied her curiosity. “I wouldn’t necessarily call him a gentleman.”
CeCe fanned her face. “Even better.”
“His name is Remy LaCroix, he owns a bunch of swamp land and takes care of the gators and other animals that live there.” She motioned with her hand for me to continue. “Okay. Fine. He’s smart, sexy and he knows it. That’s really all I know about him.”
“Fine. If you’re going to be that way, I’ll just Google him.” CeCe took out her cell phone and typed. After a minute of scrolling through screens of information, she smiled and tucked the phone away. “He’s gorgeous in a ʽI could rock your world without breaking a sweatʼ kind of way and he’s educated. Before he took over his granddaddy’s business, he was an attorney in Atlanta.”
Yeah. There was intelligence behind those sensual eyes.
“There isn’t much information about him since he’s moved here. It did say he’d been married in Atlanta, but divorced now,” CeCe added.
The waiter brought our lunch, and I dug in. I didn’t want to talk about Remy any longer. “What have you been up to?”
CeCe picked at a piece of spinach with her fork and moved it around her plate without putting it in her mouth. “I went out with Dr. Baristheaut last night. He’s a twice-divorced pediatrician. He pays alimony to the latest ex Mrs. Baristheaut and child support for three kids. He’s not marrying material but a lot of fun. I’ll keep him around for a while.”
A leaf of spinach finally made its way into CeCe’s mouth when her eyes brightened. She laid her fork down and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin. Seriously? What was she dabbing at? A tiny piece of spinach did not leave behind anything to wipe.
Then I understood why she was acting strangely. Remy’s unique scent wafted over me—sugar and chicory. Maybe that was a new male cologne or he kept a stash of beignets in his pocket.
Remy reached down, picked up my hand, and looked me in the eyes. “Ms. Dubreauil,” he whispered and then brushed his lips over my knuckles in a soft back and forth motion.
He sent a shiver of excitement straight from the tips of my toes straight to my normally sensible brain, hitting all of my feminine spots on the way. When my brain regained control, I removed my hand from his. “Mr. LaCroix.” I nodded. He wasn’t dressed for this upscale restaurant, so what was he doing here?
As if he read my mind, he chuckled. “Ms. Delia told me where you were. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by to thank you in person. I haven’t seen neither hide nor hair of the poachers in days. It looks like your potion did the trick.” He turned his attention to CeCe and winked. She winked back.
He extended his hand to CeCe. “I’m Remy LaCroix.” CeCe placed her delicate hand in his, he turned it and kissed her knuckles.
She giggled. “I’m CeCe Clement. Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, CeCe.”
They were both flirts.
When Remy’s attention switched back to me, I said, “I’m glad I could help. Let me know if you need anything further.”
Remy’s eyes gleamed in mischief as he leaned in close. “Really?”
The man had sex appeal streaming off him. If I could bottle that, I’d be rich. “Yes. Really.”
“Great. My family is having a big party Friday night. I’ll pick you up at six oʼclock.”
“Wh-What?” I stammered.
He chuckled. “You live above the shop, right? Just like your grandmother did?”
“Yes, but—”
“Okay. Six oʼclock it is. Dress casually because I reckon we’ll be dancing the night away.” He winked and slowly walked away.
“Wow. When you decide to date, you go for the gusto.” CeCe watched, along with most of the females in the restaurant, as Remy sauntered out the restaurant door. “That Remy, he is one-hundred percent full-octane testosterone. And I thought you’d start dating with some training wheels. You know, someone safe like an accountant or tax attorney.”
I took a drink of water to cool my body down. “I’m not dating him. He assumed I said yes because he didn’t give me a chance to say no.”
“Would you have?” CeCe asked.
“Probably not.” We giggled.
CeCe finished nibbling on her salad and then pushed it aside. “I hope I find a suitable husband soon. I’m sick of this rabbit food.”
I was about to tell her what I thought about her dieting when she shook her finger at me. “I know, I know. You don’t think I need to lose weight.”
“True.” She’d never been open to talking about her weight before. I waited for her to continue.
“It’s more of a control issue for me than about food and weight. When Leontel couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants, food was the only thing I felt I had control over.”
I placed my hand over hers. “Leontel’s an ass, and when he realizes the grass isn’t greener, he’ll beg and plead to come back.”
“You think so?” A single tear slid down CeCe’s cheek. “I know it’s foolish of me, but I still want him back.”
“Well then, you’ll have to decide how much begging and pleading are necessary when he comes groveling for your forgiveness.” I loaded my fork with Crawfish Étouffée and handed CeCe my fork. “Now, you need to start by taking care of yourself.”
The moment the Étouffée touched her tongue, she moaned in delight. “This is sinfully wonderful. Okay, I’ll work on my control issues if you give me all the dirty details from your date with Remy.”
I put my hand in hers, and we shook. “You got yourself a deal.” We both ate off my plate until there was barely a smear of sauce left.
“I feel better tha
n I have in weeks. I owe you. Call me first thing Saturday, even if you’re still in bed—his or yours.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not going happen.”
“If you say so…” CeCe paid the bill, and wouldn’t even let me leave a tip. We hugged outside the restaurant and said our goodbyes.
CHAPTER THREE
I promised myself I wouldn’t go out and buy a new outfit to impress Remy. Instead, CeCe sent over a beautiful red dress made of some sort of soft silky material with a plunging neckline, cinched at the waist, and ended two inches above my knees. The dress flowed around my body like water. She knew me too well.
There was a knock on my door at exactly six oʼclock. I slipped on my heels and opened the door. The sight of Remy in a comfortable looking cream colored V-neck sweater, beige cotton pants, and black ankle boots, took my breath away.
“Hi.”
“Dawlin’, you are truly beautiful.” Remy lifted my fingertips to his lips and kissed them. After lowering my hand, he handed me a small bouquet of vibrant red fern leaf peonies tied together with a short white ribbon.
They smelled sweet, with a slight citrus scent. “Thank you.” I felt my cheeks heat from the compliment. “And thank you for the beautiful flowers. I’ll just be a moment. I want to put them in a vase, and I want to say goodnight to Beetles.”
“Take your time. The party will go on with or without us. Hey, who’s Beetles?”
“My Basset Hound.”
“Seriously? I love hounds. Can I meet him?” Remy had a genuine ear-to-ear grin on his face.
“Sure. Come on, he’s in the guest room.” Beetles was sprawled on his dog blanket with all four legs in the air, snoring and twitching like crazy.
Remy immediately dropped to the ground and started rubbing Beetles on the belly. My dog woke up but let Remy continue to rub. Beetles knew a good thing when he saw it.
“Hey. You can bring Beetles to the party. There are all kinds of critters running around for him to play with.”
“Are you sure? He won’t bother anyone?”
“Of course not. Everyone will love him.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll get some food, his collar, and leash.”
“Come on buddy.” Beetles got to his feet, and my dog followed Remy out into the living room.
From the kitchen, I watched Remy look around my small apartment. My grandmother’s tiny ceramic animal trinkets still sat on crochet dollies around the apartment. I loved them, but they weren’t to everyone’s taste.
Remy walked over to a corner table and picked up a ceramic alligator and smiled. “I gave this to your grandmother for her last birthday.” Then he carefully placed it back in the exact spot heʼd removed it from.
“That was kind of you. I’m sure she loved it.”
“She told everyone in the shop that I was sweet on her. I kissed her cheek, and she actually blushed.”
“My grandmother blushed? I wish I could have seen it.”
“She recovered quickly, but I saw it.” He chuckled and looped his arm through mine. “Let’s go. My family is dying to meet you.”
“What?” I pulled my arm free. “Why would they want to meet me?”
“Dawlinʼ.” He once again looped his arm through mine and tugged me toward the door. “In all my adult years, I’ve never brought a gal to a family party. You’ll be the first.”
He smiled like he was pleased with his admission. I know, I was. He made me feel special, but it seemed strange that his ex-wife never visited his family.
“Not even your wife?”
Sadness crept into his beautiful eyes. “No. We got married in Atlanta after only a couple months of dating—my mistake. Melanie associated the cosmopolitan parties, expensive clothes, our high-rise condo, and the prestige of being married to a defense attorney, with success. When she refused to fly home with me after the wedding to meet my family, things gradually deteriorated. She had no desire to live near a swamp. When I told her I wanted to move home after my granddad died, she filed for divorce.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’m happy here.” His smile returned. “Your grandmother told me you never brought your boyfriend to meet her. How come?”
“Richard refused for some of the same reasons as Melanie. Hey, maybe we should introduce them to each other.” We both laughed. “Maybe not. I have no desire to speak to the pompous jerk ever again.”
“I feel the same about Melanie.” He reached out and played with a curl of my hair and then let go. “I hope you like steamed peel & eat crawfish because my family will be cooking them all night long with deep-fried oyster Poʼ Boy sandwiches, stuffed jalapeno peppers, and voodoo chicken wings.”
“Sounds like a tasty feast and my kind of meal.”
He chuckled.
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve just never met anyone like you before.” He kissed the top of my head and led me down the stairs and out the back door where he was parked. “How do you feel about fan boat rides?”
Remy opened the car door to his Jeep Wrangler, helped me hop in and then lifted Beetles into the back seat. “My brothers owned one when we were growing up. It was fun to zip around the swamp, and I love the wildlife.”
“Good.” He nodded.
“Good?” I asked.
“Yeah. The swamp is a big part of my life. It’s part of who I am and I think it’s in your blood too.”
“My grandmother used to say that’s what made a strong priestess. The ability to communicate with people and the swamp.”
“She was a smart lady.”
“Yes, she was,” I agreed.
The LaCroix family parties were legendary, with an overabundance of incredible food, alcohol, and music. Remy’s uncle, Raimond LaCroix built a large gazebo on his property, and that’s where everyone gathered to celebrate anything and everything
The drive out of town only took twenty minutes, but the scenery changed from a bustling city to long stretches of road with trees and a glimpse of swamp land. Remy put the blinker on and took a right turn onto a paved road. After a couple more minutes you could see row after row of cars parked in an area to the right of the house. Remy parked, grabbed a canvas tote from the backseat, and then came around and helped me out of the Jeep. There were ancient avenues of oak trees leading up to the front porch of the white, small, plantation-style home. Beetles was much better at hopping down than up. He shook after he landed on the ground and started sniffing a bush. After relieving himself, he dropped his butt on Remy’s foot.
“Wow. The house is utterly spectacular,” I said in awe.
“I knew you’d like it.” He clipped on Beetles leash, grabbed my hand, and pulled me along toward the side of the house, into the backyard.
An older looking gentleman with a full white beard and a full and bushy mustache, dressed in jeans and a checkered flannel shirt, waved at us.
“That’s one of my uncles.” Remy waved back.
“Hi, y’all. Come on over here!” his uncle yelled.
Remy waved at several more people drinking a golden liquid from mason jars, swayed to rock and rhythm & blues, played by three enthusiastic musicians. The locals called it swamp pop music. As we made our way across the backyard, everyone seemed to be staring at us.
“Don’t worry, they’ll stop gawking at you once they get to know you,” Remy whispered in my ear.
“That’s good to know,” I whispered back.
When we reached Remy’s uncle and the group of people he’d been talking to, his uncle removed my hand from Remy’s and I was engulfed in a short, but wonderful bear-hug. Then he stepped back and grinned. “Aren’t you the prettiest thing?”
Remy tucked me under his arm. “You can’t have her, Uncle LaCroix.”
Remy’s comment had everyone laughing. After a moment, a beautiful blonde woman about Remy’s uncle’s age, walked up and slipped her arm through his uncle’s arm. Then she extended her hand to me. “I’m Francisca LaCroix. You must
be Ms. Dubreauil.”
“I am.” Francisca’s hand was soft and warm. I returned her welcoming smile.
“Take that leash off that poor dog. He can roam with the rest of the animals. The kids will keep track of him and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”
A couple teenage boys came running over. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Beetles.”
“I have a hound too. Can Beetles come play with him?” the taller of the two boys asked.
I removed my dog’s leash and tucked it in my purse. “Sure, but let me know if you get tired of him. Oh, and here’s his food.” I handed the boy a large baggy. Beetles seemed completely happy to run off with two strangers.
“I dearly miss Lorelei, but I’m glad you took over her shop. I’ve heard great things about how you’re running it,” Francisca said.
“Thank you. That means the world to me.” Another group of people began mingling with us.
A short, slightly overweight man slapped Remy on the shoulder. “Remy, my boy. Y’all grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater. You must be real sweet on this one…” He smelled of alcohol and swayed on his feet.
Someone yelled, “Balestrieu! Go sit down before you fall down.”
Remy kissed the top of my head. “I am indeed.”
“Well…that just dills my pickle.” Balestrieu slapped his leg with the palm of his hand and chuckled before stumbling toward another cluster of people sitting at picnic tables.
“Dills my pickle? Is that a good thing?” I whispered to Remy.
“That’s a new one to me, but I would assume it’s a good thing,” he whispered back.
His warm breath tickled my ear.
“We’re going to get something to drink, Auntie Francisca. We’ll catch up with in a little bit.”
“Get that beautiful girl on the dance floor and show her a good time.” Remy’s uncle winked at me, and I playfully winked back.
“I plan to, Uncle.” Remy took my hand and led me toward the open bar set up across the lawn.
The lawn was lush green and bright, colorful flowers were in full bloom everywhere I looked. Two large men wearing checkered aprons stood near three very large grills and a huge pot for boiling. When the lid was lifted on one of the grills, smoke billowed out, and I could smell the rich aroma of meat cooking. Under a covered canopy, were endless tables filled with platters and bowls of food. My stomach grumbled, and Remy laughed.
