Kate Landry Has a Plan (Beignets for Two #2)

Chapter 1

1

THE brIDE’S BOUQUET ARCED THROUGH THE AIR, targeting me like a deployed missile. I stepped back at the last second, letting it smack the ground at my feet. Gasps echoed all around as if I’d committed the vilest of sins. One of the bridesmaids, drowning in peach chiffon, swooped up the floral arrangement, brandishing it high as though she’d won a coveted prize.

I wanted to tell the woman the bouquet meant nothing. That even if she got engaged and made it to a month before her wedding day, her happily ever after still wasn’t guaranteed. Instead, I swallowed my sour grapes and continued to the edge of the courtyard that lay behind my café, Beignets & Books. Thanks to the bride delaying the start of the wedding by forty-five minutes to change the color of her toenail polish, I was late picking up my adopted niece, Hayley. I hated being late. To make matters worse, Hayley wasn’t answering her phone.

A cool mid-February breeze traipsed through, rustling the leaves of the ancient live oak canopying the outdoor space. I cinched my coral cardigan, covering the matching sleeveless sweater beneath. A dark gray pencil skirt and black heels completed my professional appearance. I reached Penny, a college student who’d started as a hostess years ago, moved on to waitress, and now additionally acted as my right hand during special events like this one.

“I need to fetch Hayley from the library.” I adjusted my hold on my purse. “Can you keep an eye on things until I return?”

Penny, with her thick brown hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, cast a wary glance at the temperamental bride. “Of course. All that’s left is the second line?”

“Yes.”

As if on cue, the trumpeter from the live band moved forward, playing a loud, high call to the guests. Everyone stopped in their tracks, responding with the customary shout of “Hey!” The rest of the jazz band joined in, continuing the festive melody of Joe Avery’s “Second Line.” The bride and groom were handed umbrellas decorated with tassels and sequins. They danced and walked, jutting the parasols above their heads. Guests grabbed napkins, waving them as they followed the couple in what I described to out-of-towners as an untamed version of a conga line.

“I’ve got it covered, Boss.” Penny gave a mock salute.

“Thanks.” I hurried through the side gate and into my bright blue Honda Civic (Consumer Reports top safety pick). At five in the evening, the sun barely clung to the sky. I pulled from the driveway and whispered a prayer for God to carry me through the rest of the day. A wedding was one thing. A bridezilla another. But a wedding with a bridezilla in the climax of Mardi Gras season?

Had this been any other time of year, I would arrive at the library within ten minutes. But St. Charles Avenue had already been barricaded for the parade due to start in half an hour, forcing me to the back streets. Back streets crammed with cars parked bumper-to-bumper against the curbs, rendering the narrow roads harder to maneuver.

Using the Bluetooth connection through my vehicle, I called the library, ending up in the librarian’s voice mail. “Hi, Mrs. Gail. It’s Kate. I’m running late, and I’m so sorry. This day has been a doozy on every level. A bridezilla, Mardi Gras ... and all that brings.”

I came upon a group donning coordinated Mardi Gras shirts, their thick horizontal stripes of purple, green, and gold impossible to miss. They moseyed down the middle of the street unaware—or not caring—that they blocked traffic. I ground my teeth, two seconds from honking the horn. If only I knew how to safely rev my engine. Or could conjure Inspector Gadget. Go, go gadget cattle prod . “This world is full of people , Mrs. Gail, which you well know.” Since we both worked with the public, we’d commiserated over the years. My uterus cramped, wanting to add its two cents. “Plus, it’s the heaviest day of my period. I’m totally going to use the remedy you told me about.”

Two of the guys lagging at the rear of the oblivious bunch paused, lowering the large ice chest they carried. One of them opened the lid and snagged a beer. Oh no you don’t! I honked, hating how polite my car sounded. The men didn’t even notice. What I needed was a horn with different settings. A mild toot to scare squirrels and butterflies, a strong warning blast for emergencies, and a medium honk for situations like this. Or for when screen-addicted people hadn’t perceived the red light they sat at had turned green.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and the all-too-familiar worry line stretching vertically between my auburn brows. I pressed my index finger to what I’d dubbed the Crease, trying to smooth it away. Hayley wasn’t supposed to leave the library alone, but at thirteen, she’d been steadily pushing her boundaries. What if she’d slipped out when Mrs. Gail had been in the bathroom or distracted? Mrs. Gail! I was still on the phone with her! “Sorry for rambling. I should be there in a few minutes. Please don’t let Hayley leave. Thank you.” I disconnected.

Miracle of miracles, the group moved from the street and onto the sidewalk. I hooked a right at the corner and eventually came to the nonbarricaded section of St. Charles Avenue. Another minute and I’d be there.

I whipped into one of the handful of parking spots reserved for the library, elated the paradegoers had obeyed the library-only parking signs. In the 1940s, the historic estate and large plot of land it sat on had been willed to the public library system. It had also been Hayley’s favorite place since I’d taken custody of her at the tender age of two.

Unlike other homes on the grand avenue, this mansion, with its Romanesque architecture, leaned toward a darker, imposing quality. Heavy rock-faced stone and round masonry arches dominated every aspect. Hayley had referred to it as a castle when we’d first started coming each week. She’d even gone through a phase of wearing princess costumes on our visits.

Major roof damage caused by a hurricane had led to the entire interior being gutted and remodeled for function with a cheery modern feel.

I opened the front door, gaze scanning for Hayley, and came to a screeching halt. Behind the library’s reception desk sat Micah Guidry. Or at least, I was ninety-five percent sure it was him. The last time I’d clapped eyes on him had been our high school graduation, two decades ago. He’d always been striking with those deep green eyes.

A warm itch broke across my skin. The years had been good to him. I smoothed my skirt at my hip and pulled my shoulders back. Would he think the same of me?

His gaze met mine, his lips curving into a surprised smile. Lips that had knocked my Keds off in seventh grade. Lips that had tasted like pineapple Life Savers. “Kate Landry.” His low voice held the slightest scrape.

The itch morphed into a tingle, and a faint quiver rolled through my stomach. “Micah Guidry.”

He eased to a stand, his desk chair rolling backward. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. And you?”

“Good.” He scratched behind his ear, the pencil in his hand barely brushing against his tidy, golden-brown hair.

“I’m picking up my niece.”

“Redhead, yea high?” He lifted his other hand (no wedding ring) at chest level, drawing my attention to the firm planes beneath his hideous Hawaiian shirt. Yup. The years had been good to him. But not his style. What grown man walked around sporting palm trees and pink flamingos? At least the short sleeves accentuated his biceps.

I mentally pinched myself. What’s wrong with you? “Yes. That fits her description.”

“So she’s ... Claire’s daughter? You adopted her?”

I nodded.

His features softened, and he set his pencil on the desk. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you.” Despite the eleven years since Claire and her husband Adrian’s death in a sailing accident, unexpected reminders of their passing in moments like this still stung. Though not as bad as they used to. I was just relieved Hayley wasn’t nearby. Reminiscing about how great they both were was one thing. Discussing their actual deaths, another.

“I would have attended the funeral, but I was living in Colorado at the time.” His earnest stare held on mine. That action alone was so different from most people, who looked away when Claire entered the conversation.

“You stayed there after finishing college in Boulder?”

“I did.” His brow tweaked. “I see you’re still good at remembering facts.”

And steamy first kisses. Stop that! Where was this coming from? It had to be the chaos of Mardi Gras wearing me thin. Had I run into Micah Guidry a month from now, my reaction would be that of the rational forty-year-old adult I normally was.

Micah’s head tilted.

Oh. It was my turn to speak. But nothing came to mind. How was that possible? If there was one positive thing my upbringing had instilled in me, it was never being thrown for a loop. Or at least not showing it. Striving for indifference, I slipped on the Landry Mask. Some mothers passed down family recipes of filé gumbo or crawfish étouffée to their daughters. Mine had gifted me with lessons on emotional camouflage.

Movement sounded from above and to the rear. Hayley’s black-and-white-checkered Vans came into sight, plodding down the stairs from the second floor. My tension lessened at laying eyes on her, even if was just her feet.

Micah cast a glance in Hayley’s direction, then returned his attention to me. “I moved back a few weeks ago.”

“And you’re a librarian?”

“I am.”

That made sense. Growing up he’d always had a book in his hand or could be found in the school library. “You’re now working here? Has something happened to Mrs. Gail?”

“She’s fine, but her brother in Arkansas had a bad fall. She’s taking a leave of absence to care for him. I’m filling in until she returns. Or I find a permanent position.”

I gnawed my lower lip. He’d be here for a while. Here, where Hayley visited several times a week and regularly volunteered, which meant I’d have to see him again. “I’m sorry I’m running late to pick up Hayley.”

“You’re not late.”

I glanced at the huge clock on the wall made up of books with numbers in their titles. Oversized hour, minute, and second hands accommodated them. The short hand pointed to a novel titled Five Days in Skye , the long hand to a children’s board book called Two by Two . “You should’ve closed ten minutes ago.”

One corner of his mouth hitched. “You’re still a stickler for punctuality.”

I slightly narrowed my gaze. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended.” His smile broadened, a gleam in his eyes emphasizing his amusement.

Hayley had stalled at the first landing, bringing her toothpick legs clad in jeans into view, as well as her drooping backpack. Her head bowed over her phone, her thumbs tapping at the screen.

“Would it make you feel better to flip the Closed sign?” He inclined his chin to the door behind me and the sign hanging on it, facing the wrong way.

Warmth invaded my cheeks. “I see you’re still a stickler for...” Where, oh, where had my brain slunk off to? “Books.” So lame.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He crossed his arms, causing one flamingo on his shirt to appear as if it sniffed the butt of another flamingo. “I’m guessing you’re still anti-books?”

“No.” Slight annoyance shadowed my tone. I wanted to reference the publications lining the walls of my café, but I didn’t want to initiate Micah Guidry visiting my establishment and flustering me on my home turf. Though those books were all nonfiction, and Micah had always preferred made-up stories.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

In a blink I was back in seventh grade, the pressure to experience a first kiss growing rampant among my friends. Like having to get a Swatch watch. And a Swatch guard. Talk about useless protection. “I seem to remember you using that line on me once before.”

Micah’s mouth pursed in a combination of shamelessness and delight. He rubbed his jaw, his fingers bristling against his five-o’clock shadow. “It wasn’t a line then.”

Heat swept up my neck.

He paused mid-brush. “You still blush.”

I stiffened, cursing my tell and my pale skin that highlighted it. “And you’re still brash.” Though that wasn’t exactly true. Micah had just always been forthright. Or maybe that was what we now called not having a filter. I eyed Hayley, silently imploring her to get off her phone and hurry.

“How about a truce?” Micah’s goading expression had transformed to one of repentance. Sort of.

“I didn’t realize we were at war.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges. A blinking light on the desk phone caught his notice. He nodded at the front door. “I bet it’s a madhouse out there with the parade coming.” Holding the handset to his ear, he pressed a button on the phone’s base.

Hayley slunk down the final steps. Her red flannel shirt looked like it’d been filched from Paul Bunyan’s closet. And an oversized sweatshirt was tied loosely around her waist, as though it could slip off any moment, tangle her legs, and send her plunging to her death. Adding to the likeliness of that scenario, her focus lay on digging through her schoolbag.

I clenched my keys in my hand. She knew the dangers of not paying attention when going down stairs. I’d created a song that we sang together when at the age of four, she’d insisted on taking the stairway on her own from our second-floor residence above the café. “Hold the railing, look with your eyes , then there won’t be a tumbling surprise.”

“Looks like I missed your call,” Micah said.

I blinked back to the present. “What?”

His athletic body hunched over the phone, listening intently.

Oh no. The rambling voice mail I’d left for Mrs. Gail.

My stomach plummeted. I scowled at Hayley, who moved like an inmate walking to the electric chair. I headed for the front door and opened it, hoping to elicit a quicker stride from my niece. “See you around.” I’d tossed the hasty farewell over my shoulder, one foot out the door.

“Kate,” Micah called from behind.

I stilled. Hayley crossed the threshold, nearly dragging her book bag, the straps brushing over my feet, gathering a million germs.

He lowered the phone, mischief twinkling in his emerald eyes. “My sister swears by Advil and Pop-Tarts.”

I held in a breath in timing with two beats from the wall clock. “Thank you.” My tone relayed two different words: shove it . I flipped the sign on the door to Closed and left.