“Remi wanted to see the bayou.”
“You guys live nearby, right? Same house after all these years.”
“My mother’s in real estate. She snatched up that house and she’s not giving it up,” Rosalie answered. She hated how her palms moistened, feeling clammy to the touch. There was no excuse for it; the day was light and breezy. “What about Maxie and you? It’s a far walk if you don’t live in the area.”
“Not far at all. We’re on the other side.” Nick jutted his chin out southbound.
“That’s a…a coincidence.”
“Sure is. How about we do something?”
“Do something?”
“The girls are going to be glued at the hip for another couple of hours. I’m here. You’re here. It’s Saturday afternoon.”
Nick explained the situation so effortlessly it was hard not to be convinced. Rosalie caught her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at him with momentary deliberation. Inside, nervous energy fluttered faster than butterflies.
It had to be Nick’s relentless stare, expression lax and eyes honest. He never looked handsomer. Her fingers curled and uncurled, the temptation to reach up and run them through his golden strands rising high. The slight kink in his hair pattern amused her. Compared to her tighter, coiled, jet-black curls, the contrast was obvious. She wanted to finger a strand and twirl it long enough to define a real curl. He needed it badly.
Her lips spread. “What did you have it mind?”
Nick suggested dessert at his house. The girls ran around outside while Nick and Rosalie sipped coffee in the kitchen. The last slice of banana bread pudding awaited them in the center of the table. Earlier, the girls wolfed down their child-sized portions. Rosalie and her sweet tooth devoured her larger slice, and Nick’s was gone in two or three bites too. Now the debate wore on over who got the last piece.
“I’m the guest,” Rosalie pointed out.
Nick leaned forward on the table. “I’m the one who slaved away for hours.”
“Banana pudding? Really? It’s that hard to make?”
“You think it’s as easy as popping the lid off the jar of your spaghetti sauce?”
His tease heated up her cheeks. She rolled her eyes despite herself. His sense of humor was difficult to resist. She couldn’t deny that. The longer she sat underneath his playful gaze, eyebrows wiggling and cheeks dimpled, the easier it became to stop fighting it. She gave in with a crack of laughter.
“How about we split it? That’s fair.”
“Leave it to you to bring logic into it.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Is that a bad thing?”
“When I’m trying to have a whole ’nother slice of banana bread pudding to myself, it is,” he joked boldly. He picked up the cutting knife and handed it over. “Alright, go on and do it. Cut it in half. Fair is fair.”
“You sound like you’re giving up your most prized possession.”
“Did you taste this bread pudding? It’s amazing—another recipe from my mom.”
“Okay, it is pretty damn delicious,” she admitted, laughing. “How often do you bake it?”
“I try to bake something for Maxie on the weekends. Mom used to—”
Nick stopped there, inhaling a sharp breath. His discomfort was clear. His posture stiffened and the vein in the side of his neck protruded. He was literally jamming down the emotion talking about his mother brought him. She wanted to offer sympathy, some brilliant words of condolence, but her tongue fumbled. Her eyes diverted to the glass dish with the banana pudding.
“You should have the last slice. It’s special to you.”
“Rosalie, cut the slice in half. I’ll bake more.” He drew another breath and shook it off. The morose lines faded from his brow. “It’s hard sometimes talking about her. Especially if it’s her cooking. It meant a lot to her.”
“I’m sure it’s hard when her recipes are probably another reminder.”
“Don’t feel bad for me. It’s my own issue dealing with her being gone.” Nick noticed her immobile hand hovering over the glass dish. His hand brushed hers, easing the knife out of her grasp. The little hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. Eyes on hers, he smiled. “I was joking earlier. We’ll share it.”
Now mute, Rosalie nodded shallowly. She let him cut the last slice in half and serve her. Her heart had faltered when his hand touched hers, skipping a beat. It soon recovered, but the surprise washing over her went nowhere. She couldn’t think straight or else she would’ve tried to decipher what was wrong with her.
The feelings springing up were perplexing. The last type of emotion she expected. After years of struggling with Clyde, recent months of heartbreak and financial worry, these new feelings were a welcomed change of pace. They were light and sprightful, inflated like a balloon in her chest. She smiled back at him and brought her fork to her mouth for her next bite.
“Listen, I know we said we’d sit down for our budget on Monday, but it’s gonna have to wait ’til Tuesday. I’m gonna be out of town most of the day.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were going anywhere.”
“If we’re gonna start these cooking lessons to get you in shape for the festival, we’ve gotta have the right stuff.”
Rosalie eyed him skeptically. “The right stuff as in…?”
“The right ingredients. We used to drive an hour to Coffy’s every week for groceries,” Nick answered, collecting the last morsel of banana pudding with his fork. “My mom refused to go anywhere else for certain things. She wanted to handpick everything herself.”
“Coffy’s. Isn’t that the creole grocer in New Orleans?”
“Best in the state. It’s expensive but worth it. We’ve downgraded to the Save Mart and our food hasn’t been the same.”
“Maybe I should go with you.” She caught on to how that sounded last second, and added, “It’ll help me learn the ropes. I don’t know anything about what ingredients to use.”
“You’re really dedicated to this festival thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ve already told you why. I need this job, Nick. I need Ady’s to succeed, which I think means winning that competition. What time are you leaving on Monday?”
Her stern answer earned a low chuckle out of him. She didn’t know if it was the natural light from the screen door or a light from within shining, but his eyes brightened. He rose from the table and gathered their plates to drop them off at the sink.
“How’s nine o’clock sound?”
Two hours later, she and Remi waved Nick and Maxie goodbye. He had driven them to Ma’s house and dropped them off by the porch. Remi bounced on her feet and begged for another playdate next weekend. Rosalie was on the verge of caving in. The buzz in her pocket interrupted her. She dug her phone out of her back pocket, but she was a split second too late. The call went to voice mail and she brought up the call history. Her brows knitted close.
The number was unknown. The voice message ten seconds long.
Rosalie pressed play. The smooth baritone that she had memorized from the time she was fifteen spoke on the other end, and her heart crashed against her rib cage in frantic beats.