by Doreen Alsen
“Do you live here?” He sipped his coffee. “Nearby?”
“You could say that.” He motioned with his head. “I’m the next cottage over.”
Lucien’s eyebrows rose. “So close and a little big to call it a cottage.” He put his coffee down on the patio table and walked down the stairs to the beach. “I guess we’re neighbors.” He held his hand out for Tim to shake. “Lucien Durand.”
“Tim Baldwin,” he said as he shook Lucien’s massive paw.
“You look very familiar to me.” Lucien jumped a foot back as Chester pounded up to them, slobbery ball and all.
“I guess I just have one of those faces.” He threw the ball in the other direction and the dog scrambled after it.
“That must be it.” Lucien squinted out into the horizon. “This is an amazing piece of the planet. I guess you must be used to it.”
Tim followed Lucien’s gaze. “You never get used to it.”
It was the truth, but only because the sea’s nature was ever changing. High tide, low tide, high wind, no wind, sun, and rain. The weather could change on a whim and often did.
He loved that.
“I suppose you’ve met my sister.”
Oh, shit. “Your sister?”
“Oui. The young woman living alone in my beach home. You must have seen her.”
Okay. This was odd. Angelique had made it very clear that he was persona non grata as far as her brother was concerned. He’d honor her feelings, but damn, he didn’t know how to answer that question. “I’ve seen her around.”
“I just bet you have.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“My sister showed me your book last night.”
“She did?” So much for keeping their relationship on the down low.
“She didn’t tell me willingly, but I got it out of her. She says that she told you what happened to her. So here’s what you need to know.” Lucien looked Tim straight in the eyes. “Hurt her and I’ll kill you.”
“I’ve got no intention of hurting her. She’s a remarkable woman.”
“She tells me that you can’t take pictures anymore. Your book, by the way, is impressive. You know that she is camera shy now.”
Tim could figure out where this was going. “Yes, I know.”
“Then I can trust you to honor her wishes in that regard.”
“Lucien!” Angelique called as she walked to the beach. “You behave.” She kissed her brother on the cheek then smiled at Tim. “I see you’ve met my brother.”
“I have.” And now color him confused. She’d been really clear last night about not wanting her brother knowing about them.
She wore a pretty blue sundress and had left her hair tumbling down around her shoulders. It didn’t matter what reason changed her mind. He was just glad she had.
He returned her smile, which was the best he could do as he’d just lost his power of speech.
“Would you like to join us for breakfast? Hope’s cooking a traditional Irish breakfast.”
“Yes,” Lucien said. “Please join us.”
Tim didn’t trust the smile on Lucien’s face. He also realized that he didn’t have a choice. “Thanks. I’d love to.” He prayed to get out of there alive. “But I can’t.” He shrugged and motioned to Chester with his head. “Another time.” He just couldn’t do it right now.
Not even for Angelique.
“Let me walk you home,” Angelique said.
****
“So what changed?” Tim asked as Angelique walked him back to his house via the beach.
“What changed? Lucien changed.” Angelique touched Tim’s arm.
He shook his head. “Come again?”
“He figured out that I was seeing you. Don’t ask. It’s a special Lucien skill, and at first, he was dead set against it. So I showed him your book.”
“You showed him my book.”
“Zut! Is there an echo on this beach?” She elbowed him in the ribs. “I did. I told him that the way to get to know the real you was to look at your work. He was very impressed. The pictures made Hope cry.
Holy shit. No wonder all the warnings about picking up his camera and taking a few shots of Angelique.
Too late.
He should regret it but he didn’t. He’d figure out a way to help her see the beauty in the pictures. He’d have to let his work speak for him. It was his default setting for everything having to do with photography.
But instead, he said, “Hope cried? You’re making that up.”
“I am not, you beast. It’s God’s own truth.” She turned to stand in front of him and clasped his hands in hers. “She cried. Your pictures are that moving. I wouldn’t make that up.”
What an effing dick he was. If Angelique said something, she meant it. Tim, on the other hand
He had to plan his revelation very carefully. How could he tell her about the snapshots when he didn’t understand the whole thing himself? “Thank you.”
They’d gotten to his bulkhead stairs. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Lucien and Hope are staying tonight, but the next night works out because I’m not working.”
“I could take you out.”
He saw her shiver and try to hide it. Damn.
“I’d rather cook for you. I’m nervous about those reporters at the Sea Crest Inn. I managed to avoid being in the staff picture, but I don’t want to push my luck, especially after I saw them at your book signing.”
Tim frowned. “I didn’t see them.” And that was a problem.
“I’ve got Lucien’s recipes for gumbo and oysters.” She preened. “I did a good job with the beignets, you must admit.”
God she was adorable. “Yes, you did.” He looked around to see if Lucien was watching and after ascertaining that Lucien was nowhere to be seen, pulled Angelique into his arms and kissed her.
“I’ve got to go,” she said as she leaned away from him. “Duty calls.” She grimaced. “I’m working on the lookout terrace today and I hate heights.” Shuddering, she continued. “I was leaning out a second story window waving at the garbage men one time when I was two and the screen gave way. The garbage man caught me.”
“Poor baby.”
She pouted. “I know! But about tomorrow night? Is seven o’clock okay?”
He kissed her forehead. “Sounds great.”
“See you then.” She turned and left.
He watched her walk away. He had to figure out a way to stop her from walking away from him once she learned about the pictures he’d taken of her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Fresh okra?” Helen Troy scratched her head. “We don’t get much call for okra.”
Angelique fought back a sigh. She’d planned to make Grand-mère’s recipe for gumbo and okra was crucial.
“Not even frozen?” It wouldn’t be gumbo if it didn’t have okra.
“Sorry. What else do you need?”
“Crème Fraîche?” She needed it in order to pull off Lucien’s Oysters Hope.
“Don’t have any of that either. Is it like sour cream? ’Cause I have sour cream.”
“I guess.” She bit her lower lip. “I also need fresh tarragon and chives.”
Helen smiled. “Those I have, right over in produce. But you know, out on millionaire’s row, you should plant an herb garden.”
What the hell did Angelique know about planting an herb garden? She imagined Hope would plant one if they needed it. “Thank you.” Angelique trundled over to the veggie section.
She’d already put in an order at the Fish Market for shrimp and oysters. At least she could find all her seafood needs there.
She’d have to call Lucien to find out what were adequate substitutions for the ingredients she couldn’t find in Lobster Cove. At least Lucien had brought her some of his filé powder when he and Hope visited the other day.
She was crazy. She didn’t even have the proper pots for everything she wanted to cook. But given the choice between c
ooking and going out where the media lurked, ready to pounce on her, there really had been no choice.
She could do this. Millions of people cooked a meal several times a day. She could do this. They’d have a lovely meal and a romantic evening afterwards.
Providing she didn’t poison him. She crossed her fingers.
****
Tim shifted the bouquet of freesia he’d picked up at Flowers In Bloom to his left hand so he could knock on Angelique’s door with his right. He cleared his throat and knocked.
Why the hell was he so nervous? It was just dinner at her house. Except that he’d met her brother and that took things up a notch. Bam!
Doh! Wrong New Orleans chef.
She opened the door and he just about swallowed his tongue.
“Hey, cher. Where y’at?” She gifted him with a saucy grin. “Pretty flowers.”
“They’re for you.” He held them out to her, feeling more awkward than a pimply boy handing a bouquet of dandelions to the prom queen.
She took them and buried her nose in the blooms. “I love the smell of freesia.” Stepping aside, she motioned with her head. “Come on in.”
As he had the last time, he found her cottage so feminine. All pink and green, a touch of lace here, some ribbon there, pillows strewn all around. Fat rose-colored candles rested on every tabletop.
Look up the word girly in the dictionary and a picture of this room would be in there next to it. He wondered what Lucien thought about the décor.
“Smells good.”
“It’s Grand-mère’s recipe, the gumbo that is. The oysters are a dish Lucien invented when he met Hope. I could tell you what goes into the dish, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Oh, really.”
She poured him a glass of white wine. “I know you usually drink beer, but Lucien would never forgive me if I let you drink beer with Oysters Hope.”
He took the wine. “My lips are sealed.”
“They better be, Skipper. Now, sit down while I bring out the oysters. While I’m working on this, would you open the bottle of champagne I’ve got chilling in the fridge?” Angelique nodded in the direction of the refrigerator.
“Sure.” Tim was glad to have something to do. He pulled out the bottle and worked the cork out with a little thlippp.
“The glasses are over on the counter.”
“Will do.” The glasses were very cute, hand blown and twisted into the shape of calla lilies. They were more fanciful than cute.
He brought the bottle as well as the two crystal champagne flutes to the table.
“Thank you!” She gifted him with a warm smile as she held her glass up. “To oysters!”
He thought oysters were weird things to toast, but when in Rome…he clinked his glass up against hers. “To oysters.”
She expertly cleaned the oysters and slipped them under the broiler. While they cooked and their shells opened, she whisked together some sour cream, champagne, and some fresh herbs. After she pulled the oysters out of the broiler, she discarded the top shell and spooned some of the sour cream and champagne mixture over each oyster.
“Here, try this. It’s my brother’s special oyster preparation that he made to honor Hope, then his girlfriend, now his wife.” She winked. “I think he just wanted to get her into bed.” She laughed. “I think it worked.” She smiled. “Let me know what you think.”
He took the cream-covered shell along with the seafood fork she offered. Without another word, he popped the cream-covered oyster into his mouth.
The champagne sizzled against his tongue as the sour cream mixture calmed the burn. It shouldn’t have been delicious, but it was, very much so. “Mmmmm, it’s good. What’s in there?”“
“Champagne, obviously. I can’t tell you the rest.”
“Or else you’d have to shoot me?”
“I’ve got the table set out on the patio. Let’s move out there and have my Grand-mère’s gumbo.”
“Bring it on.” He got all warm when she turned that million-dollar smile at him.
“Right this way, cher.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
****
This was going well, Angelique thought. The Oysters Hope tasted pretty much the same as they did when Lucien made them.
And she had double-checked. There wasn’t a single piece of shell or grit in any of the oysters. She hoped she hadn’t messed up the gumbo.
Although, could you call it gumbo if it didn’t have any okra in it? Even so, she kept her fingers crossed. At least she’d been able to find Abito beer here in the great wild North, the only thing to drink with gumbo.
“It smells great.” Tim sniffed into the air, like he was Chester scenting hamburgers cooking on a nearby grill.
She put some saffron rice into each bowl then ladled the gumbo over it. It smelled pretty much like Grand-mère’s.
“Go ahead,” she told him. “Let me know what you think.” She held her breath.
He dipped his spoon into the soup then brought it slowly to his mouth. He blew over the spoon and slid it past his lips.
His faced turned red and he started wheezing. He looked like he was having a heart attack.
Oh my God! What did you do for someone having a heart attack? She had no idea, so she went with the basics.
Call 911.
She scrambled back into the house to get her phone. She punched the numbers.
“This is 911. What is your emergency?”
“My friend is having a heart attack! You’ve got to come quick!” Angelique started to hyperventilate.
“Please calm down, ma’am. What is your address?”
“Fifteen Seagull Lane. Hurry!”
“The E.M.T.s are on their way.”
“Okay! Thank you!” She clicked the phone off and turned to run back to the patio and try to keep Tim from dying out there.
She froze. Tim stood in the door from the deck. “What are you doing there? You’re supposed to be dying of a heart attack!”
“Sorry to disappoint you. It wasn’t a heart attack.”
“It wasn’t,” she squeaked.
“Nope. That gumbo is pretty spicy.”
“Spicy! Spicy? I thought you were having a heart attack! I called 911!”
“Um, about that…are those sirens I hear?” He coughed. It might have been to cover up a laugh.
Since he wasn’t having a heart attack, she might have to kill him with her own bare hands. “Oh, no.” She groaned. “Can they put you in jail for calling in an emergency when there wasn’t one?”
He grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Great. Just great. Lucien can never, ever find out about this.”
The E.M.T.s were pounding down her door. “I’m coming,” she hollered as she went to let them in.
They burst into the room lugging a small fortune in electrical equipment and a gurney. “Where’s the victim?”
Tim waved from the door. “Right here.”
The first guy in the door stopped short. “You don’t look like you’re having a heart attack.”
Angelique stepped up and turned the charm up to eleven. “I’m sorry,” she said in a drawl that would make Scarlett O’Hara prickle with envy. “I thought he was having a heart attack and I guess I panicked.” She actually fluttered her lashes.
“What happened?” the E.M.T. demanded, the very picture of pissed off.
“Gumbo,” Tim said, with a sorry shake of his head.
“Gumbo.”
“Yeah. Ms. Doucette makes a very spicy gumbo. I wasn’t expecting it and I guess it looked to her I was in cardiac arrest or something.”
Yeah, she was going to have to kill him. Angelique, in the kitchen, with a carving knife.
“If that don’t beat all.” The E.M.T. glanced at Angelique.
“Like I said,” she said, in a tone of voice dripping of corn pone and grits and as much sex appeal as she could manage, “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’ll know better next time
.”
“Okay.” He looked over to Tim. “Do you want an EKG before we go? Can’t be too careful.”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for coming so fast.”
“Then we’ll be on our way.” He nodded to Angelique. “Don’t be so quick to touch the panic button next time.”
“Yes, sir.” She resisted the urge to salute the E.M.T.
Finally alone, she turned on Tim. “You jerk!”
“Sticks and stones. I’m sorry I worried you.”
She wanted to slap him silly. He wasn’t the least bit sorry. “No you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” He walked toward her. “I just didn’t expect the gumbo to pack so much heat.”
She brought her hands up in front of her in order to push him back. “It was barely spicy.”
“Maybe not for someone born on the bayou.” He moved another step forward. “We northerners are a bit more sensitive.”
“Sensitive, my Aunt Yvette! Cochon!”
He laughed. “So I’m a pig, am I?”
“The worst of all the pigs in the world. In the universe!”
“I am, I really am.” He pushed aside her hands and put his hands on her hips and pulled her in close to him. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“Yes, I would,” she whispered. “I really“
He silenced her with a sweet, intoxicating kiss that left her boneless and whimpering.
“Now, this,” Tim whispered against her mouth, “could really give me a heart attack.”
She gulped in as much air as she could. He smelled lovely, of the wind and the sea, and of soap and of, of, well, of Tim. That unique scent that belonged to him alone.
She was burning up, being held so close to his body.
“You hungry? We don’t want that gumbo go to waste.”
Gumbo? “What?”
“I thought we’d go and have a bite to eat, if you promise to not call 911 again.”
She was melting in his arms and he wanted to eat gumbo. She’d begun to think her bedroom would be their next destination. “You want to eat?”
His eyes glittered. “You’re right. I’m hungry, but not for gumbo.” He pulled at her right ear with a scrape of his teeth and a lick of his tongue. “I think I want to head upstairs and make a meal of you.”