“All right then. Hello,” he says softly then he extends his hand to me. “I’m Sylas Broussard. I grew up here. After I was wounded in Afghanistan, I came home and started up Buzzsaw Chartered Fishing—a nonprofit. I have a home here and another down in Cattail. My time is split between the two places. I like Chantilly cream on carrot cake. I hate cheese. I love the Old Bayou Diner and I want very badly to get to know you every day for the rest of my life.”
The grin on my face is so wide my cheeks ache. Leave it to Sylas to find a way around anything and everything. I love that about him.
“Hello, Sylas. I’m Raegan Potter. I carry around more luggage than the baggage claim carousel at LaGuardia Airport. I need saving from myself more often than not. I’m unemployed at present and homeless,” I snort loudly at the ridiculousness of my life at the moment. Sy’s lips twitch. I laugh then laugh more and eventually double over, clutching my stomach as raucous laughter grips me.
“You are definitely not homeless,” he says tugging me closer to him. “Marry me, dammit. I won’t stop asking until you say yes,” he warns as he pulls a sparkling diamond ring from his pocket and holds it out to me as he gets to one knee. He hasn’t even made it to one knee before I am joining him on my knees, nodding my head with tears collecting in my eyes.
“You going to save me?” I ask, looking up at him. His enchanting eyes glitter back at me with so much love as he leans forward catching the tears on my cheeks with his kisses.
“Only every chance I get for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he says with his rich timber.
“I’m letting you,” I promise, then punctuate my vow with a kiss. I move my mouth over his, breathing him in, breathing in the promise of a new future, a new life laid out before us. “I love you,” I vow with my mouth pressed against his.
“I love you too, Snow. Always have. Always will.” He murmurs as he slips the stunning engagement ring on my finger. It fits me perfectly just like him.
“Just in time,” he says checking his watch again. “Happy twenty-ninth birthday baby,” he says with his lips pressed to my ear, his hand tucked into my hair at the nape of my neck.
I gasp realizing he was rushing around impatiently because it was nearly midnight and my year twenty-eight, the year we were to honor our pact, was coming to an end.
Best. Birthday. Gift. Ever!
“I’m gonna need another boat,” he says softly, as he gently tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. His palm brushes against my cheek and I nuzzle toward him, my eyes slipping closed. I melt into him and allow all that we were, all that we are and will be to wash over me. His lips find mine and I’m consumed by his reverence. “Year Twenty Eight,” he murmurs against my lips.
Epilogue
One year later…
It’s so cliché but it’s true when they say what a difference a day makes. When we were ten, from one day to the next we were reluctant friends. Then in high school, from one day to the next we were a couple. Two years ago, from one day to the next I found myself back in Sylas Broussard’s orbit though I had sworn to never return to him or Palmetto Grove. Now, here I am.
“Bethany, are you ready?” I ask into the intercom on my desk phone. This morning she asked if we could have a working lunch to discuss my calendar for next week.
“Be right there,” she giggles.
“Go away Chick,” I order with faux-grimness.
“Hey, boss lady, I can come see my woman any time I please. Sy said so,”
he adds a little sheepishly. And I can make out the sound of Bethany in the background aww’ing.
“Hey, I wear the pants in this relationship and what I say goes,” I say with no real gusto behind it.
“That a fact?” Sy says from the door to my office. I spin around in my desk chair like a little kid that has just been caught stealing the cookies. Still, I stick with it.
“Yep. I’m the boss lady. Says it there on my card,” I say pointing to the stack of business cards sitting neatly in the cradle on the corner of my desk. Sy waltzes into my office, shutting the door behind him and plucks one of the beautifully embossed cards from the stack.
“Broussard Consulting,” he reads. “Raegan Broussard, Founder and CEO,” his lips twitch and a soft smile tilts his full lips up. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of calling you Mrs. Broussard,” he says softly as he rounds my desk and plucks me out of my seat to draw my close to him.
“Me either,” I sigh. He nuzzles his nose into the space behind my ear and hums, sending tingles through my body.
“My door has a lock,” I offer.
“As good as that sounds Mrs. Broussard it’ll have to wait. We have guests showing up any minute.”
“Guests?” No sooner than the word is out of my mouth I hear my office door burst open.
“Happy birthday!” Bethany, shouts, as she comes into my office with a cake balanced in one hand and a gift bag in another. This is a pattern with her but it appears the cake selection has improved over the years because I spy a homemade carrot cake with Chantilly frosting in her hands. My mouth waters. “Yum,” I say eyeing the cake. Behind Bethany are my parents, Sy’s parents, Doug, Ellie and my adorable nephew Grayson Theodore Kearney. He will be one-year-old next week and I have been the very definition of the overbearing, doting, obsessed auntie. Thank God I don’t wear garish pink lipstick or go by the name Gerdy otherwise I’d feel compelled to dial things down a touch.
“Kit said to tell you happy birthday,” Ellie says handing Gray off to me and a familiar paper bag with Old Bayou Diner’s logo on it and a handwritten note from Kit.
“Mmm,” I begin to hum but stop, furrowing my brow and wrinkling my nose as something malodorous seeps into my nose. “Ugh, I think Gray needs a fresh diaper,” I swallow and wrinkle my nose with him on one knee and my lunch on the desk in front of me.
“I just changed him. Little stinker does it every time! Slap fresh diaper on and he’s got to go,” Ellie laughs scooping him off my lap before heading for the bathroom no doubt.
“Thank you,” I smile at everyone as I fish my lunch, my favorite grilled cheese sandwich from the paper sack. I unfold the foil wrapped and dive in and immediately know something is terribly wrong. My gut churns and a cold sweat covers my brow. “I think something is wrong with this sandwich,” I say managing not to audibly gag. It’s putrid. The whole thing reeks like gym socks.
“Had to be gas because he’s clean,” Ellie says rejoining the rest of us in my office. “Oh my god you look pale,” she says with her eyes wide.
“It’s the sandwich. Smell it,” I shove the offending sandwich at Sy and he backs away with his hands up.