by Liz Talley
“Why’s that an issue?”
“Maybe it’s not. But you went to Gatsby’s looking for a hookup. It’s not the sort of place you look for something serious, right?”
Nick made a face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I thought I’d look for something to help me forget my world for a little while. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“No, you want more. And I understand that when things get hard, you just want something easy.”
Nick paused. “Guess that’s spot-on. I have a bit of a hole in my life. When my sister suggested I stop worrying about a future and instead look for something fun, it sounded like something I should want. When I saw Lulu, she seemed like the perfect escape. I won’t lie—there was insta-lust. But something about the joie de vivre Lulu displayed hit me where I needed it.”
“But you’re talking about Lulu. Not me.”
He studied her a few seconds. “What do you mean?”
“Lulu’s a creation. I designed her to be flamboyant, bold, yet have this ‘little girl lost’ vibe that works on men. Lulu knows how to work the stage and get what she wants. She’s not me.” At that moment Eden wished she were Lulu. She wanted to be the woman Nick wanted. So desperately. “The good news here is you’re attracted to Lulu. Not me. That makes things easier.”
Those words were hard to speak. Deep inside a voice cried out, asking why she wasn’t good enough to draw the attention of someone like Nick. Like the fontanel on a baby’s head where the bones hadn’t grown together, Eden possessed a vulnerable spot, a crippling insecurity of being poor, insignificant trash not worthy of the country-club life Nick led. She’d seen his membership card, ridden in his leather-drenched Mercedes, glimpsed the extensive cellar of expensive wines. She wasn’t the kind of girl Nick Zeringue dated. Not even close.
“You would think, huh?” He shifted, draping his arm on the back of the couch. “But thing is, I’ve been attracted to you way before Lulu was in the picture.”
Her heart hit the pit of her stomach.
“It all clicked into place when I saw you come out of that dressing room. The reason I was so obsessed with Lulu is because I had suppressed the attraction I felt for you,” Nick said, pausing for a moment. “I thought about it all night. The instant closeness, the intrigue, the desire, was all because I was already attracted to . . . you.”
His words were like a three-point shot. Swoosh. “You’re confused.”
“I don’t think so.” He picked up his glass and shook the ice. Lifting it to his mouth, he sucked in one of the ice cubes. It wasn’t meant to be a sexy move, but it brought all of her attention to his mouth . . . and allowed his words to chip at her resolve. What if this had nothing to do with Lulu? What if her brazen antics were merely the vehicle to lead them to where they were supposed to be? Dare she hope he wanted both of them? Or rather saw through Lulu to the woman beneath the feathers and glue?
Nick crunched the ice between his molars, his gaze hot on her. “How about we find out?”
“Find out what?”
“If this thing is . . . real. How about Friday night? Go out with me. We’ll do a genuine date with white tablecloths, wine, and hopefully not-so-awkward conversation.”
“You’re asking me out? Or Lulu?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You are Lulu.”
Eden frowned.
“You. I want to go out with the woman beneath both the yoga pants and the sequins. What do you say?”
Eden hesitated. If they went there, it could be wonderful. She could experience a world she’d never allowed herself to experience before—a handsome man taking her out to somewhere other than Dean’s Diner. On the other hand, she could be plunging herself into something that could not only end badly for her but for the sweet child watching a movie in her very purple bedroom down the hall. “Are you sure? We can’t go back. Or maybe we can. I don’t know.”
“If we don’t see what this is, we’ll regret it. We can ignore it, but we might miss out on something fantastic. I’ve been living a life of okay. I need a little fantastic in there somewhere.”
She wanted fantastic too. Her life to this point had been anything but. Was it wrong to want to hold something good in her hands for a little while? “Okay. We’ll try a date. I have to work Friday night, but we could do a late supper.”
“Perfect. It’s Mardi Gras weekend, so lots of places are open late.”
“I better go,” she said, rising. Would he kiss her again? Because she wanted him to kiss her. Once. Twice. A thousand times.
“No more running.”
“I’m not. I’m going to my other job.”
“I want you to stay,” he said, his gaze a caress. He reached up and snagged her hand, tugging her slightly, teasingly.
“I can’t.” She pulled him up from the sofa.
“If you must. But Friday night, you’re all mine.” He brought her to him, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The tender gesture caused a prickling of tears in her eyes.
Damn, this man had destroyed her resolve to remain platonic with his careful blend of masculinity and generosity. She longed to tuck herself into his arms and pretend the hard stuff away. Everyone needed that sometimes . . . needed someone to shoulder her burdens for her if only for a little while.
“You realize I’ll be here tomorrow for work. And the next day. And the next.” Her voice was a near whisper.
His answer was a smile.
“Bye, Nick.” She resisted the urge to rise on her tiptoes and kiss him silly.
“Bye, Eden,” he said before gently setting his lips against her forehead.
Her heart gave a sigh.
Yeah, this man could do real damage to her heart.
He hadn’t brought Eden flowers because it seemed too gauche. Instead, he’d called his daddy and asked if he could use Johnny T and the company limo for the evening. In the backseat of the limo, a magnum of champagne chilled. If he had only one chance to test the theory that he and Eden should be together, he was going to do it right.
He’d called in a favor, and they had a nine forty-five reservation at the chef’s table at Commander’s Palace. Normally it was reserved for a party of four, no more, no less, but the manager Dan had once worked for Nick and owed him a favor. After dinner, he’d planned a midnight sail on Lake Pontchartrain. The marina was a skip and a hop from his house, and since he’d sweet-talked his parents into taking Sophie to the country house outside Abita Springs for the weekend, he could serve Eden breakfast in bed tomorrow morning . . . if she wanted.
Because he so wanted to feel her body against his.
Was he moving too fast?
Probably.
But he wanted her so much he’d tossed out his unspoken rule of not dating anyone who worked for him. And he’d tossed it out quick, without a second thought. Since the moment he’d seen her distraught at the coffeehouse over a month ago, he’d known something was there. Her vulnerability paired with the saucy showgirl had dragged any reservations he had and tossed them out the door. His Creole grandmother had always believed in signs. She’d said nothing was coincidence, only meant to be. A person could resist, but fate would bend him as it wished. When he’d first hired Eden, she’d said as much herself. A meant-to-be. Something had brought her to him, and he was tired of ignoring the signs.
“You here again?” The Asian woman sighed, brushing by him, jarring him from his thoughts. Tonight the stage director wore a schoolgirl costume with Buddy Holly glasses. “I’m going to start charging you. You take up too much space.”
“I’m Nick Zeringue.” He held out his hand.
“And I’m not impressed. I didn’t ask your name,” she said, ignoring his hand and giving him the once-over twice. She pushed at her glasses, mouth still flatlined. “But since you feel the need to do so, I’ll bite. I’m Frenchie Pi, and this is my house.” She made a tornado with her index finger to indicate the backstage area.
“I’d say nice to meet you but . . .”
&nbs
p; She reached out and patted his cheek. “Hurt my Lulu and I break your pretty face. I know stuff that will make you shiver in your bed at night.” Then she smiled and blew him a kiss as she sidled off.
“She doesn’t mean that,” Eden said, appearing at his elbow as he watched the fierce woman snap her fingers at a chorus girl.
“I think she does,” he said, finally turning his gaze on Eden.
She was wearing the wig and a tight, pale blue dress that floated out at her knees. Her lashes were long and curled, and the ruby lipstick on her lips made her look like a pinup model. Her blatant sexuality punched him in the gut but it was all . . . wrong.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he said, trying to figure out how a person took a wig off a gal. Pins. Bobby pins if he remembered correctly. He lifted her hair on one side and started rooting for them.
“What’re you doing?” she asked, swatting his hand.
“Finding Eden under this. I like redheads, but I don’t want Lulu. I want Eden.”
“You do?” She sounded surprised as she caught his hands in hers. She crooked her head adorably. “I thought maybe you’d want the fantasy? See how it played out?”
“You thought wrong. I wanted Lulu. Sure. You know that. But I want Eden more.”
Her smile could have lit all the candles at the Saint Louis Cathedral altar. She started pulling pins out. “I’ll be right back.”
Five minutes later she emerged from the dressing area wearing the same dress. Only this time she’d traded her stilettos for a lower pair of pumps, and her shiny black hair framed a face devoid of heavy makeup. A ladylike pink lipstick had replaced the riveting red. A heart locket nestled at the swell of her breasts. She looked perfect.
“Better?” She crooked an eyebrow.
“Much,” he said, wrapping his arm around her and giving her a squeeze. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
They made their way through the back to a passage he’d never seen before. Thankfully, the limo sat shining in the low lantern light across the street.
Johnny T had shed his normal jeans and Bob Marley concert T-shirt for the uniform he wore when the family needed to put their best foot forward. He doffed his cap and opened the door for Eden. “Ma’am.”
She turned to Nick. “You’re kidding? A limo?”
“Too much?”
Shaking her head, she slid inside. “No, but the only one I’ve ever ridden in was at a funeral, and that was just around a block. Is this champagne? Someone pinch me.”
Johnny T gave a genuine smile. “I like this one.”
Nick clasped the shoulder of the man who’d taught him to tie his shoes. “I do too.”
Eden hadn’t heard the exchange because she was too busy checking out the bar and marveling at the open sky roof. The vision of an exuberant Tom Hanks in Big popped into his head. Maybe they’d act like fools and stand on the seats with their head out of the sunroof.
“Better give y’all some privacy then.” Johnny laughed, closing the door and walking to the driver’s side.
“We have reservations for nine forty-five, but I think we have time to take it slow, right?” he asked Johnny before hitting the button that would raise the glass divider. Johnny’s answer was a grin. The glass slid up, and Nick pulled the champagne from the silver bucket. “Champagne?”
“Is it like pink champagne? I had that once.” Eden fiddled with the hem of her skirt, suddenly looking embarrassed.
“Not pink champagne, but let’s give it a try.” He popped the cork and suds erupted, making Eden squeak. Something about her very girlish response to the fizzy outburst made her all the more desirable. Eden never acted girly. On the contrary, she was competent and methodical . . . almost too cautious.
She wriggled her nose on the first sip. “Oh, it’s, uh, different.”
“You’re probably not used to dry,” he said, filling his own glass, then lifting it. The stars winked through the sunroof and the full moon peeked into the limo. “A toast?”
Eden lifted her glass. “To?”
“To Sister Regina Marie for seeing that you belong with me.”
Her lips parted slightly. “That’s a powerful statement, Nick Zeringue. And a Taylor Swift song.”
“It is a Taylor Swift song. But I mean it. Every word. I think this was in the . . .” He looked up through the roof before clinking his glass to hers. “ . . . stars.”
They each took a sip before Nick took her glass and pulled her into his arms.
“Wow, you really know how to sweep a nanny off her feet,” Eden said, sounding almost breathless.
“Can’t say I’ve had much practice.” He smiled, then kissed her.
Eden tasted like champagne and something he could never put into words—a rightness? A fierce desire to possess and protect this woman he held vibrated inside him. Her life had been hard, and he wanted to make it easy. If only for a little while.
She drew back, her eyes soft. “You are lethal, mister.”
Nick kissed the tip of her nose. “The feeling is mutual.”
By the time Johnny pulled up to the front of Commander’s Palace, they’d drank most the champagne and had successfully worked themselves into a mutual state of breathlessness.
“Nick Zeringue, I can’t believe you are darkening my doorstep,” Dan Finn said, holding open the door as Nick escorted Eden through the canopied entrance. Dan had worked for Parran Z for a decade before being seduced over to Commander’s by his wife and head pastry chef, Twyla Leonard. Nick couldn’t fault him as Twyla created delicious combinations that rivaled the traditional menu items. And she had a killer pair of legs.
“Gotta check out the competition every now and then,” he said, tamping down the residual resentment he still felt at Dan’s jumping ship. They’d paid the man a small fortune to bring Maude’s into prominence. Nick supposed loyalty deflated when a flamboyant, sexy chef crooked her finger. Glancing at Eden taking in the storied landmark restaurant, he could understand how that could happen. Beautiful women had always been man’s eternal downfall.
“You know we only have competition from you. No one else.” Dan grinned, gesturing toward the inner sanctum of the grand old dame that had sat on Washington Avenue since the late nineteenth century. The key to Commander’s wasn’t merely the quality of the food, it was Southern dining at its best with gloved attendants pulling back chairs and draping napkins. Live jazz music filtered through the various genteel rooms over the sound of the polite clinking of glasses. Dining at Commander’s was like walking down Bourbon Street or taking a streetcar. It was all part of the New Orleans experience.
“Wow,” Eden breathed as they passed the other diners and headed for the kitchen.
Sitting near the line in the center of all the action was a pristine table set for two.
“Chef’s table,” Nick said as Dan pulled out the chair for Eden.
Dan tipped his head toward the slender young man standing to one side. “This is Luke. He’s the sous chef and will be taking care of you. Bon appétit.”
“It’s so quiet in here,” Eden whispered as Luke ducked a quick bow and set a watermelon gazpacho with tomato caviar at each of their places.
“A well-run kitchen is never noisy. Creativity and perfection takes a certain amount of gravity,” Nick said.
For the next two hours, Luke kept them entertained with tales from the kitchen as the dishes to sample flew by. They dined on escargot, duck confit, flavorful soft-shell crab with caviar, pork belly boudin, all cut occasionally by a coupe de milieu to give them reprieve from the richness. And, of course, they finished with an array of desserts, including the popular and to-die-for bread pudding soufflé.
“Oh, my Lord,” Eden said, sipping the sparkling water and surveying the remains of their desserts. “I’ve never had something so decadent in my life. This has been incredible.”
Luke glowed, and Nick gleaned the young sous chef had fallen a little bit in love with Eden. Her genuine appreci
ation and marveling at the food was the ultimate in attraction for a chef. And that Eden was gorgeous wasn’t so bad either.
“Whoa, it’s midnight already,” Eden said with a yawn.
“You ready to cash it in or are you up for more adventure?”
She blinked, and he realized what his words sounded like. “No, not that. Though I could be talked into it.” He gave her a teasing smile. “But I was thinking more along the lines of a midnight sail.”
“On a boat?” she asked.
“Uh, unless you know another way to do it,” he said with a laugh. “So are you game or do you want to hit the sack?”
“A midnight sail sounds incredible. I’ve never done that either, but I’m pretty tired. Long day.”
Guilt walloped him when he realized she’d been up early for rehearsals, had a full afternoon with Sophie, and then ran across town to do an early performance so she could go on a date with him. Eden never complained about what she had to do each day. Total trouper—another thing he liked about her. “Of course.”
“You’re not disappointed? You planned this incredible date for me, and I’m pooping out.”
He took her hand as she rose. “How could I be disappointed in this night? The food was excellent, the wine fantastic, and the girl beautiful. Add in that story about Joe Dale and the night he caught the gazebo on fire in the Morning Glory town square, and a guy can’t have a better time.”
“It really was an accident. But of course, if the man hadn’t had brought the moonshine to the gig, it wouldn’t have happened.”
They walked out into the balmy-for-February night where Johnny T waited in the car, the blue glow of his phone illuminating his features.
Nick held up his hand in an “I got it” gesture as Johnny clued in and tried to climb out to get the door for them. Nick opened the door for Eden. Settling in next to her, he lowered the glass. “It was a great dinner, Johnny.”
“No leftovers?” the man cracked.
“Did you want some?”