Chapter 6
Maurice stared up at the ceiling in Amelie’s apartment, his head resting on one arm of the sofa, his legs draped over the other end. He debated stretching out on the floor, but doubted he’d be any more comfortable there.
He wouldn’t be comfortable anywhere at the moment when all he could think about was the clear invitation Amelie had offered for him to have uncommitted, no strings attached sex with her.
No matter how tired he was, his head swam with all the possibilities, all the reasons he could use to convince himself it was all right.
Uncommitted sex.
What was wrong with that? They were both consenting adults.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Maurice sat up and was halfway off the sofa when logic overrode baser instincts.
What he’d told her was the truth. He hadn’t taken their relationship further because she deserved better. Amelie deserved someone who could commit to something more than a one-night stand. Someone who would be there for her, always.
Someone who could save her when the shit hit the fan.
When his memories replayed the horror of the mission that had ended with the death of his fiancée, he swore he could still smell the chemical, garlic scent of phosphorous and feel the pain of it eating away at his own hand.
He could almost feel the pain Sandy had felt with the chemical burning into the back of her skull.
They’d gone in to rescue two soldiers. Both men had lived.
Yet Maurice had failed to save the one he’d loved enough to ask her to marry him.
He couldn’t commit to another woman after that. What if he promised to love, honor and protect someone like Amelie? Would he fail to fulfill his promise? Could he survive losing her when he did?
The hardest part of going through rehab hadn’t been learning how to be proficient with his left hand.
Working with the psychologist had been the most painful.
He hated that all he’d lost was the partial use of his dominant hand.
Sandy had lost her life. Why had he lived and she’d died?
No amount of counseling could answer that question in his mind.
For the past few years, he’d trudged through life, survivor’s guilt weighing him down so heavily he was an emotional zombie.
Yes, he considered himself part of the team and pulled his weight.
He did a good job on each assignment. But he was in an emotional wasteland, unable to pull himself out.
When he’d seen Amelie frowning on the edge of the dance floor at the Crawdad Hole, the protector in him had rallied and stepped up. Perhaps he’d sensed someone hurting from a similar loss. Or not.
Whatever it was, he’d been drawn to Amelie more than any other woman since Sandy.
Being with her when she’d discovered her life’s work in shambles had been eye-opening. She’d only allowed herself a few minutes of despair before she’d pulled herself together and gone right back to work.
She was strong and independent.
Amelie’s determination and can-do attitude had breathed new light and optimism into Maurice.
Working side by side with her over the long day had been the kick in the pants he’d needed to get on with his own life.
Then why had he backed off when she’d offered herself to him?
He sank back onto the sofa and closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he slept on it, he might have all the answers. As tired as he was, he sure as hell wasn’t coming up with any.
He must have fallen asleep sometime after midnight.
The sound of a door opening woke him in the dark hours of the morning. He leaped to his feet and assumed a ready stance, his gaze going to the door of her apartment.
“I’m sorry,” a soft voice said behind him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Maurice spun to face a fully dressed Amelie, silhouetted by the soft light coming from behind her. She’d pulled her dark hair back in a ponytail and wore jeans and a pastel pink T-shirt.
Maurice scrubbed a hand down his face, even more exhausted than when he’d lain down on the couch. “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty,” she responded and walked through the room without turning on a light. “I have to get the ovens going.”
“I’ll help,” he said.
“You should stay and sleep longer. I do this by myself all the time.”
“You haven’t had a break-in until the night before last,” he reminded her. “Give me a minute to get my shoes on. I’m coming with you.”
She nodded, went to her refrigerator in the corner of the kitchenette and pulled out a small tub of yogurt. “Can I interest you in yogurt?”
“No, thank you. I know it’s supposed to be good for you and all, but I never learned to like it.
” He bent to pull his boots on one at a time, then stood.
Maurice grabbed his T-shirt from where he’d dropped it on the end table and pulled it over his head.
Less than awake, but determined to escort Amelie downstairs, Maurice walked toward the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“Now, when you get those eclairs baked, I’d be more than happy to take one off your hands. Ready?”
She walked up behind him. “Deal. And yes, I’m ready.”
He opened the door, stepped out onto the landing and glanced around at the dark shadows surrounding the building. Nothing moved. Before the butt-crack of dawn, who would be stupid enough to be out and about?
A baker on her way to get ready to open her doors for the early risers on their way to work—that’s who.
Once again, he had to admire her drive and determination to make her business a success. As she stepped out onto the landing, she turned to him with a smile. “One éclair seems a small price to pay for all your help.” She glanced up at him, her eyebrows rising. “Did you sleep well last night?”
He sure the hell hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit to it. “Yeah.”
She held his gaze a little longer, her lips curving. “Good. I worried you wouldn’t be comfortable.” She turned and started down the stairs, adding as if an afterthought, “…on the sofa.”
The sofa had been only a fraction of the problem leading to his sleep-inhibited night.
Thoughts of making love to Amelie, possibly lying naked in the bed on the other side of her door, a few short feet away, had kept him awake.
Add to that his survivor’s guilt and internal battle over whether he should or shouldn’t make a move on someone after his failure to protect his fiancée had led to her death.
Yeah, his sleep had been doomed before he’d even closed his eyes.
As soon as they entered the bakery kitchen, Amelie made a beeline for the coffeemaker and started a fresh batch of fragrant brew.
Maurice thanked the gods for coffee. He stood close to the pot and inhaled the aroma as the magic elixir brewed.
Amelie went to work preheating ovens and pulling dough out of refrigerators. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the scent of coffee and baking bread.
“What can I do to help?” he asked her.
“Stack cookies in the display case.” She showed him what to do, handed him a pair of rubber gloves, a tray of cookies she’d baked the night before, and set him to work.
In the cabinet, Maurice arranged chocolate-chip and oatmeal-raisin cookies. Alongside those, he lined up pralines and peanut brittle.
In between batches, he sipped on the best coffee he’d ever tasted, the caffeine reviving him.
Maurice was wide awake by the time the bakery opened bright and early at six o’clock.
Customers streamed in for their morning cup of coffee or a shot of espresso and one of Amelie’s pastries that melted in their mouths as soon as it touched their tongues.
Maurice had known the draw well before he’d gotten to know the woman behind the magic. Now, he loved the pastries even more.
Amelie had a gift she chose to share with the people of Bayou Mambaloa, and they were grateful, expressing their gratitude in moans of delight.
After the first rush of the morning, Amelie came to stand beside Maurice, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. “Are you surviving?” she asked.
He nodded. “We’re practically sold out of eclairs. Do you have more in the oven?”
Amelie nodded. “They’ll be out in five minutes.”
“Everyone who has come in this morning expressed their concern over yesterday’s closure.” Maurice gave a crooked smile. “Apparently, news travels fast in the community.”
Amelie nodded and sighed. “It does. I imagine the news about the break-in went out even before law enforcement arrived.”
Maurice’s lips twisted. “It’s hard to believe the sheriff’s department hasn’t found a single suspect.”
Amelie leaned against the display case, her gaze on the window overlooking Main Street.
“Apparently, whoever broke into my shop and apartment had the foresight to wear gloves, thus hampering law enforcement’s investigations into their nefarious activities.
” She shook her head. “What would the vandal be looking for in my bakery?”
“Great eclairs?”
“He didn’t take any of the baked goods,” Amelie said.
“Hopefully, Swede will come up with something soon.” Maurice straightened the row of chocolate chip cookies. “In the meantime, how about taking a break? You’ve been on your feet for hours.”
“I could do that.” Amelie sank onto a chair at one of the bistro tables and took a sip of her coffee.
Maurice poured another cup and joined her.
As soon as he sat, the chirping of a cell phone sounded behind the counter.
When Amelie started to rise, Maurice held up a hand. “I’ll get it.” He retrieved her cell phone and brought it to her.
“It’s a text from Luis.” Amelie glanced down at the text.
“He says he’s sorry he got busy last night and forgot to take pictures of the photographs he’d kept.
He just sent them.” Amelie brought up the first black-and-white photo of Armand’s young parents, standing in front of the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.
Maurice recognized the location, having been there a number of times.