Chapter 1 #2
At Armand’s funeral, she’d stood beside his son, Luis, mourning the loss of a father, mentor and friend. The emotion had cut so deep it had hurt physically.
Her world, her trajectory, everything had changed from that moment. Her mentor. Gone. Her career as a sous chef in France. Over. The restaurant closed and was sold.
Heartbroken at the loss of Armand, Amelie couldn’t stay in the city that reminded her of the man who’d taught her so much about the kitchen, life and a different kind of passion.
She’d left Paris and returned to Louisiana, where she’d searched for work in New Orleans, thinking it was as close to her home in the bayou as she could get and still practice her skills as a chef.
With her resume, she was hired within a couple of weeks, landing a job as sous chef at one of the most exclusive French restaurants.
Learning the ways of her chef and the restaurant had kept her busy, kept her moving through her grief. But working and living in New Orleans hadn’t filled the hole in her heart. Amelie had trudged through her days, wanting more, needing connection, but hadn’t found it in the city.
When her apartment had been vandalized while she’d been working one evening, she’d been shocked and frightened. What if she’d been in the apartment when the criminals had broken down her door and torn through her belongings? The destruction added to Amelie’s grief and longing for a safe haven.
“Hey,” Maurice spoke softly. “Are you all right?”
Amelie blinked up at him, coming back to the present—to the arms wrapped around her and the silence following what must have been the end of the song and the set.
“The band is taking a break.” Maurice’s arms lowered. He took her hand. “Let me buy you a drink. I think you need one. You were back in that dark place.”
She grimaced. “I try hard not to get lost in my memories. They sneak in on me when I’m tired.”
“You should go home and get some rest,” Maurice said.
“That’s my plan,” Amelie said. “Thank you for the dance. I’m sorry I wasn’t very lively.”
“I wasn’t looking for lively,” Maurice said.
Amelie tilted her head as she met his gaze. “What were you looking for?”
He gave her a twisted smile. “I wasn’t actually looking for anything. But when I saw you at the edge of the dance floor, I felt like I’d found what I was looking for.” Maurice shrugged. “Sounds weird when I say it like that. I guess I felt like you needed to be rescued from your own thoughts.”
“And you rescued me.” She squeezed the hand holding hers. “At least you helped me by reminding me I wasn’t alone. Thank you. Now,” she glanced toward the table where her girl squad had gone, “I’ll say goodnight to my friends and go get that rest I’m sure I need.”
Instead of dropping her hand, Maurice held onto it and walked her back to where Gisele, Bernie, Felina, Camille and Shelby laughed as their friend and waitress, Holly, unloaded a round of drinks onto their table.
As Amelie approached, they all looked up, their gazes zeroing in on her hand in Maurice’s.
Shelby was first to comment. “Ah, Maurice, so glad you managed to keep Amelie out on the floor for another song. She works entirely too hard and deserves a break.”
Maurice grinned. “It was entirely my pleasure.”
Amelie smiled at him and pulled her hand free. “No, it was mine.” She faced her friends. “I have to leave now, or I won’t be functional at three in the morning to make fresh donuts, beignets and cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh, and don’t forget the petit fours,” Camille said. “My favorites are the pistachios.”
“Ladies, goodnight,” Amelie said. “It’s been fun. Let’s not wait so long to do it again.”
“Agreed.” Camille rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around Amelie. “We love you so much.”
“And we love your baking even more,” Gisele said with a wink.
Shelby, ever the sheriff’s deputy even when off duty, rose. “I’ll follow you home.”
Amelie shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself home. You all stay and enjoy.”
“Perhaps Maurice can escort you home.” Camille cocked an eyebrow and smiled in Maurice’s direction.
“I’d be happy to,” Maurice said.
Already shaking her head, Amelie touched his arm. “Really, I don’t need an escort.” She nodded toward the table full of Brotherhood Protectors. “I’m sure you’d rather stay and visit with your friends.”
Maurice shook his head. “I’m ready to call it a night.” He raised a hand toward his friends. “The way they look, they’re in it for the long haul. Besides, I see them all the time.” He smiled at Amelie. “So, it’s settled. I’ll follow you home to make sure you get there safely.”
Not wanting to make a scene or appear ungrateful, Amelie nodded. “Okay, then. I’m ready when you are.”
As her friends waved goodbye, Amelie left the Crawdad Hole Bar and Grill with Maurice.
In the parking lot, she approached the little car she’d purchased second-hand when she’d returned from France. It wasn’t fancy and didn’t have all the bells and whistles, but it got her around.
After Amelie unlocked the door, Maurice reached around her to open it for her.
“Thanks,” she said and slipped into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll be behind you in my truck.” Maurice closed the door.
Amelie watched as he walked away. He had really broad shoulders and narrow hips—and he could dance.
A triple threat, in her books. Though she envied her friends’ love lives, she didn’t envy them enough to do anything about her own.
She’d been too busy building her business in Bayou Mambaloa to care about dating.
Still...
It had been nice to lean into him when her memories and grief had weighed heavily in her heart. He’d made her feel less alone.
Maybe she’d be ready to spend time in the company of a man soon. A man who recognized a troubled soul on the edge of a dance floor, going through the moves when her heart wasn’t in it. A man like Maurice.
Amelie squared her shoulders and started the car.
The engine ground lethargically and died.
She tried to start it again, but with the same result.
On her third attempt, the engine didn’t even rumble. The car was dead.
She glanced through the windshield to find Maurice headed back toward her and her vehicle.
Her cheeks heated. It appeared she’d get to spend more time with him sooner rather than later. Had her wishful thinking manifested the stranded vehicle?
As he neared, she pushed her door open. “Won’t start.”
“Pop the hood,” he said, and walked around to the front of the vehicle.
Amelie pulled the lever that unlocked the latch.
Maurice lifted the hood and disappeared beneath it.
“Try again,” he called out.
She did.
And...
Nothing.
Only a clicking sound. Not engine rumbles or signs of life.
“Could be a dead battery or the starter.” He closed the hood. “Or both. Do you want me to call for a wrecker?”
Amelie grabbed her purse and got out of the vehicle. “I’ll do it in the morning. If I need to get around, I can use the bakery’s delivery van.”
“In the meantime, can I offer you a ride home?” Maurice asked.
Amelie glanced toward the building. She didn’t want to interrupt her friends enjoying their girls’ night out. She turned a tired smile on Maurice. “Yes, please.”
He held out his arm.
Amelie hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow and let him lead her to the passenger side of his pickup.
He opened the door and handed her up into his vehicle. In the next moment, he stepped up onto the running board, leaned over her and buckled her seatbelt in place.
Amelie’s heart fluttered as she inhaled his woodsy cologne. “I—” she squeaked, cleared her throat and continued, “could have done that myself.”
He dropped to the ground and grinned up at her. “But where’s the fun in that?” His lips twisted. “That buckle can be a little finicky. I thought I’d spare you the frustration.”
She snorted, but bit down on her lip to keep from telling him that he’d caused more frustration than he’d spared.
How long had it been since she’d been with a man?
Apparently, too long.
“Thank you,” she murmured instead.
Maurice closed her door, rounded the front of the truck and slid into the driver’s seat. Resting his arm across the back of her seat, he looked over his shoulder and backed out of the parking space. Once he’d driven out onto the highway, he shot her a glance. “By the way, I should be thanking you.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“For giving me an excuse to leave early. I wasn’t feeling it tonight.”
“Why?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I get this way when I’m in between assignments.”
“I thought the boat factory kept your team busy when you’re not on assignment.”
“Usually, it does. But the boat production is in between projects as well. We’re waiting on supplies.”
“How do you like making boats?” she asked. “It’s a lot different than being a bodyguard.”
He smiled. “I like the hands-on aspect and getting to see the end result. Most of the security services we provide are pretty much hands-off. There’s something to be said for seeing the fruits of your labor. It’s gratifying.”
Amelie nodded. “I get that. In my case, I get to see, touch and taste what I make with my hands.”
“And then it’s consumed, with gratification expressed by your customers.”
“Happy customers are the goal.”
“Same with the boats, only they last longer than a really great pastry.”
“True,” Amelie admitted. “But the memory of that exceptional pastry keeps them coming back for more.”
“Speaking of exceptional dishes,” he said, “have you always been a baker?”
Amelie shook her head. “No. Baking was only part of my previous work. But when I came home to Bayou Mambaloa, I didn’t think a town this small would warrant a five-star French restaurant, nor did I have the funds to build or staff one.
” She shrugged. “Running a bakery made more sense. It didn’t require a big building, and I could run it myself, although I think I’ve got enough business now to hire a helper soon. ”