Читать книгу Winning Her Heart - Harmony Evans - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAlmost there. Almost home.
Micah Langston shifted his sleek black convertible into fifth gear as it zipped along the Pacific Coast Highway north from San Francisco toward Bay Point.
The midafternoon sun beamed down on his head. The air was fresh and clean, and the convertible, though it was a rental, made him want one for his own.
He loved the feel of the wind sliding over his hair like invisible silk. The unadulterated freedom, riding rooftop down, exhilarated him.
Watch it, Micah, he warned himself, frowning slightly.
You could get used to this.
To his left, the Pacific Ocean beckoned. Magellan, the Portuguese explorer, had coined it Mar Pacifico, which means peaceful ocean. Micah glanced over at the endless expanse of blue, wondering if he’d ever feel a sense of peace. But he’d given his word. He had to give Bay Point one more chance.
Micah left his hometown over ten years ago to attend the famed Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York. Once he’d graduated, he rarely returned home, except for important family functions.
Instead, he’d spent his time focusing on his career.
By the time he was twenty-eight, he owned three successful restaurants in New York City, San Francisco and Portland, Oregon. As executive chef of each one, he created his own recipes, specializing in southern cuisine with a Latin twist. All the restaurants were branded Society Red, were immensely popular and garnered rave reviews. And for good reason; he was a damn good cook.
His older brother, Gregory Langston, the mayor of Bay Point, wanted him to open up a restaurant downtown. He had lured him back home with the promise of big tax breaks and potentially big profits. Mayor Langston was convinced that Micah’s name would draw tourists year-round.
Micah exited the highway and headed east. In his mind, this trip was exploratory only. His brother might have a vision for the small beach town, but that didn’t mean he agreed with it, or necessarily wanted to play a role.
Now, at only thirty years old, he wasn’t sure Bay Point was the place to drop a permanent pin on all he had yet to accomplish in the culinary world.
But he loved his brother, so to appease him, he and his partners, who were also successful chefs, had gone ahead and purchased property in downtown Bay Point, at a very affordable price.
However, Micah had not decided if he wanted to actually install one of his restaurants there. His partners, who each had an equal stake, argued that since he was the most famous chef of the trio, his name and his restaurant would be the best option.
In other words, Micah was their golden ticket.
Work had already begun to restore the decrepit, seventy-five-year-old building. The exterior renovations would take several months, and they were having difficulty getting some of the permits approved. Micah was glad for the much-needed time to make a final decision.
A restaurant would be built in Bay Point, just not necessarily his. He wasn’t making any promises to his brother, or anyone else for that matter. He loved his family, but his ambition had always come first, a trait that had made him very, very rich.
Micah turned onto Magnolia Avenue and his eyes widened. Since he’d last visited a couple of years ago, Bay Point had undergone significant development. There were fancy boutiques, luxury condominiums and a slew of new restaurants lining the main road into town.
“That’s why I’m here,” he muttered. “To check out the competition.”
His first stop was 333 Magnolia Avenue, home of Lucy’s Bar and Grille, a local favorite that had been around for as long as he could remember.
The restaurant was located directly across the street from his property, which he thought was a major bonus. What better way to advertise a new restaurant than to open up right across the street from an old, outdated one?
He angled the convertible into a parking spot right up front and smiled, finding it comical that Lucy’s was even considered “competition.” Though he did have fond memories of eating there when he was a teenager, it was more of a diner than a fine restaurant.
Micah walked inside and stopped in his tracks, shocked to find the dining room full. Though it was way past the lunch hour, the only seats available were at the bar.
A few heads turned as he made his way back. Being recognized always gave him a rush. He openly welcomed fame, but even more, the money and notoriety that came with it.
He slid onto a wooden bar stool that had seen better days, and reminded himself that the only appeal of the place was the food. His stomach rumbled as he inhaled the comforting scents of garlic, hot pepper sauce and olive oil. He’d grabbed a quick bite at the airport, but hadn’t eaten since.
Several feet away, down a small hallway to his right, a door he knew led to the kitchen suddenly swung open. A woman emerged, holding a tray in one hand, high above her head.
She walked toward him, hips swaying side to side in the most tantalizing way. He envied the red-checkered apron riding shotgun on her short denim miniskirt. His lower body tensed and tightened, so much so that he was glad he was sitting down. Suddenly, Lucy’s had more than one thing going for it.
The woman reached the bar and frowned. Micah noticed that there was no place to set the tray.
He half swiveled in his seat. “Allow me.”
Facing her, without waiting for a response, he lifted the tray from her hands.
She cocked her head at him, gave a little smile and then served the elderly couple sitting on his left their meals.
When she was finished, he gave her back the tray, which she promptly stuck under her arm.
Since he was sitting right next to the pass-through to the bar, he lifted it, telling himself it was the courteous thing to do. But the truth was he just wanted to see her smile again.
With a nod, but not a smile, she skirted through, and he slowly released the counter into place.
She set the tray on top. “Thanks for your help. I’ll take your order in a moment.”
The southern accent he detected in her voice nestled into his senses as he watched her refill drinks and make sure customers were happy with their food.
Then, she took a rag and wiped down the counter in front of him.
“Sorry for the wait. Welcome to Lucy’s.”
Her T-shirt was black, V-necked, and her cleavage was as deep as her smile. The words Ask Me if I Care were emblazoned across the front in thin silvery cursive.
As she handed him a menu, her breasts riffed against the glossy surface of the bar.
Though it was difficult, he managed to avert his eyes as she poured him a glass of water, but his hard-on tightened uncomfortably as though she were standing in front of him, naked.
A customer a few bar stools down asked her a question and she turned her face away. He gave in to temptation, stealing the moment to soak up the woman’s tantalizing figure.
She was petite and curvy. Short hair spiked in a hip style. Bangs asymmetrical, the longer side skimmed her left eyebrow. Daring him to brush them away so he could see the color of her eyes.
She set a glass of water down in front of him. “Can I tell you about today’s specials?”
As she rattled them off, a pang of desire hit him, confused him.
That voice. That body.
She was the exact opposite of the model-thin types that normally interested him, at least for a night.
“Perhaps,” he said, wanting her to linger. “What’s looking good today?”
Besides you, he thought, biting back the words.
He wanted to tease her, to let her know that he found her very attractive, but it felt disrespectful to do that in a place like Lucy’s.
“All the food is good here,” she continued. “But we’ve been real busy today and have already run out of some of the menu items. Tell me what you want, and I’ll check in with the kitchen to see if we still have it.”
Micah set his menu aside. He already knew what he wanted, besides the luscious woman in front of him.
“How about one of Lucy’s famous jerk chicken sandwiches?”
She arched a perfectly curved brow. “Oh, so you’ve heard about those?”
“I’ve had one or two in my lifetime. I grew up in Bay Point, and used to eat here frequently when I was a teenager.”
“Hmm,” she replied, her eyes roaming his face. “You don’t look much older than that now.”
“Thank you. I guess I age well.”
He gave her his most disarming smile, happy that his boyish good looks had netted him another fine catch.
“I’m Micah Langston. And you are?”
“Jasmine Kennedy.”
He reached out his hand, and her palm felt cool to the touch. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Langston.” She tilted her head. “Are you any relation to—?”
“The mayor? He’s my older brother.”
Jasmine’s cheeks dimpled and seemed to light up her face.
“The rumors are true then. Good looks do run in the family.”
He leaned back a little. Her flirtatious compliment spiraled through him, warming his insides, catching him off guard, though he suspected she didn’t mean a word of it.
Seconds later, he chided himself. When was the last time he ever cared what any woman thought about him?
“I like you already.”
She smiled and laid down a napkin, followed by a knife, fork and spoon on top. “I’ll bet you’ll like me even more if we have any jerk chicken left. Let me go see. Be right back.”
He turned his head and watched her leave. Her mini-skirt hugged her curves so tight he wished he had X-ray eyes.
Her hip bumped against the kitchen door, causing it to swing open. When she disappeared behind it, it was like all the air had gone out of the room with her.
Micah gulped down some water, icy cold, but not cold enough to calm the lust she had unknowingly kindled.
To distract himself, he glanced around the restaurant.
The decor hadn’t changed much from when he was a kid. Autographed photos of movies stars he didn’t recognize. African masks draped with Mardi Gras beads. Old porcelain signs that were likely reproductions and other so-called antique treasures cluttered the walls.
He wrinkled his nose. So different from his taste. He favored sleek, modern designs allowing his customers to focus on what was most important—the food.
“I thought I heard a Langston out here.”
He got off his chair and gave Lucy Dee Diller, the owner of the diner, a peck on the cheek. The aromatic scent of incense and coffee beans wafted over him. Her raspy voice had deepened, making her southern accent even more apparent. He wondered if she still smoked unfiltered cigarettes, and hoped she didn’t.
Moments later, Jasmine was back, plate in hand. When he saw what was on it, he wanted to kiss her.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Lucy took the plate from Jasmine and slid it in front of him. “My famous jerk chicken sandwich with apple chutney and hand-sliced sweet potato fries.”
Jasmine winked. “How do you like me now?”
“Like? I think I’m in love.” He grinned at the two women, and then pointed at the food. “With all three of you.”
Lucy laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, Jasmine? Just like a Langston. You’re all flirts, though your brother not so much because he’s married.”
Steam curled up from his fries. He could barely wait to dig in.
“After all these years, I’m surprised you still recognize me.”
Lucy nodded. “Of course, I do! And not just because you’ve been on television.”
“You’re on television?” Jasmine asked.
Her voice held a note of disbelief that threatened to irk his ego. Micah shrugged, as if it was no big deal, even though to him, it was. He considered being on TV one of his greatest accomplishments.
She lifted the pass-through, and Lucy joined her behind the bar.
“Don’t you know, honey? Micah is famous.”
“Ever hear of High Stakes Chef?” he asked. “That’s the name of the show.”
Jasmine shook her head defiantly. “I don’t watch television.”
Lucy cut in, nudging the plate closer. “I remember your appetite and I don’t like to see any man starve, famous or not. I made that sandwich just how you like it.”
“With extra pepper sauce?”
At Lucy’s nod, he picked up the sandwich and opened his mouth to take a bite.
“Uh-uh. Not yet. Napkin in the collar, please,” Lucy scolded, unfolding one and doing the honors. “You know the drill. I’m not paying for your laundry.”
When she was done, Micah grinned and fought to roll his eyes as he smoothed the napkin over his clean white button-down shirt. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, but apparently Jasmine thought he looked like one, and Lucy thought he ate like one.
“Now, you eat,” Lucy said.
He took a bite. “Mmm...this is as delicious and—” he paused to swallow and wipe some sauce from his lips “—as messy as I remember.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t order it that way,” Lucy said.
“I’ve been a little distracted ever since I walked in,” he replied, temporarily forgetting his hunger for food.
He looked up and caught Jasmine watching him, a little smile on her lips, as she poured a draft beer.
Lucy glanced between the two and narrowed her eyes. Known around town for having psychic abilities, Micah wondered if she saw the spark between him and Jasmine, or if it was just his imagination.
“Don’t you go taking up my granddaughter’s time,” she warned. She tossed her head to the side and flattened one hand on the bar. “She has other customers and besides, she belongs to me.”
Her voice, though kind, seemed overly protective. What did the woman think he was going to do? Kidnap the girl?
Micah lifted both hands up, hoping to quell Lucy’s fears.
“Hold up. You have a granddaughter?”
He didn’t even know Lucy had children. On the other hand, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t the type to delve into someone’s personal life or even listen to the gossip that ran rampant in the small town.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” She beamed a megawatt grin, followed by a dismayed frown. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just eat.”
Between mouthfuls, he said, “You’re both beautiful. Must run in your family.”
Jasmine wiped her hands and leaned against the back of the bar. “I didn’t want to believe you, but you’re right, Gram. He’s just like a Langston. A total flirt.”
He put his sandwich down. “Takes one to know one,” he teased good-naturedly, unable to help himself.
“Come on, you two. Break it up,” Lucy said, waving her hands like a referee.
His eyes caught Jasmine’s again, and he shrugged in spite of the flame of interest he saw there. It was time to change the subject before he got into trouble.
“How long have you owned the diner, Lucy?”
“Over fifty years. I moved to Bay Point when I was twenty-two years old.”
“That’s the same age I was when I opened up my first restaurant,” he exclaimed, surprised he had something in common with the feisty woman. “Now I have three.”
Jasmine whistled. “Three restaurants!”
“It’s not easy, but somehow I make it work.”
“One is enough for me,” Lucy said. “I’m so blessed that Jasmine moved here to help out.”
“Oh? How long have you been in Bay Point?”
“Only a few months.”
“She’s been a godsend,” Lucy said, looking over her shoulder as she rang up a customer. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“It’s been about two years since I’ve been back in Bay Point,” Micah said, trying a more direct track to get the information he needed. He’d almost forgotten why he’d stopped there in the first place.
Although the restaurant appeared to be doing well, he knew that keeping it that way was tough. If he did choose to open up his own across the street, Lucy’s customers would have a choice. He was confident that most would choose to spend their hard earned dollars at Society Red.
“Things sure have changed. There are lots of new restaurants in town. Have they affected your business? Have you lost any customers?”
Jasmine cut in, her tone sharp. “That’s none of your—”
Lucy turned and laid a hand on her granddaughter’s arm. “Mind your manners.”
“I mean. We’re doing fine,” Jasmine amended, folding her arms.
Micah wiped his mouth with his napkin, hiding his frown of concern. Without meaning to, he’d stepped onto some invisible battleground between the two women.
He sighed inwardly. Though he was curious, Jasmine was right. It was none of his business.
“Lunch is our best time, though dinner is pretty steady, too,” Lucy added as she lifted the pass-through. “I’d better get back and start prepping tonight’s specials.”
“Anything I can do to help?” he offered. “I know my way around a kitchen.”
“Thanks, but no.” Lucy gave him a quick hug. “Careful what you ask for Micah or we’ll find something for you to do around here eventually. Won’t we, Jasmine?”
Micah finished his sandwich while Jasmine took care of other customers at the bar.
When she returned, she cleared away his empty plate and placed it underneath the counter.
“How long are you in town?” she asked.
“I’m just visiting. I’ve got to get back to Portland in a few days.”
“Is that where you live now?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. I actually have an apartment in each city where I have a restaurant, so Portland, Chicago and New York City. I bounce around a lot.”
“Sounds like fun, but I prefer to call one place home.”
“You’ve only been here a little while. Is Bay Point ‘home’ for you already?” he teased.
“Time will tell.” A shadow crossed her face, and he sensed she was unhappy. “My grandmother needs me.”
She laid his bill on the counter. “I hope you enjoyed everything.”
He barely glanced at the amount and reached into his back pocket for his wallet, keeping his eyes on hers.
“I did, and if I said something that offended you earlier, I’m sorry.”
Jasmine bit her lip and she seemed nervous. “You didn’t. I’m just protective of her, that’s all.”
“And she seems protective of you,” he said, handing over his platinum credit card. “Sounds like she really relies on you.”
“Lunchtime is busy and she needs the help.”
She shrugged her shoulders, then glanced over at the kitchen. “But I do more than pour drinks, she’s been doing the books by herself all these years, by hand no less. I’m bringing her into the 21st century.”
“Kicking and screaming?”
Jasmine laughed. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
“That’s wonderful. Do you help with the cooking too?”
“No way. I try to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible.”
She asked him if he wanted anything else, and he shook his head. He had other things to do that afternoon, but he also didn’t want their conversation to end.
“I could give you a cooking lesson.”
Jasmine pursed her lips. “Oh really? Can you give me an idea of what the first class would be like, so I can judge if I’m interested?”
“How about I teach you how to make homemade spaghetti sauce? And then how to cook the perfect pasta al dente? There’s an art to cooking, you know.”
Her half smile was sexy and dismissive at the same time. “Thanks, but with all I have to do around here, I don’t think I have time.”
She handed him the receipt, which he quickly signed. She tried to reach for his pen, but he held on to it.
“Wait. Before I go, I have something to ask you.”
Jasmine furrowed her brow, but he couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or curious.
“What is it?”
“Do you?”
He watched her face, deliberately being obtuse.
“Do I what?” she repeated, drawing out the words as if she didn’t understand.
“Care.” He pointed at her with the pen. “Your T-shirt says Ask Me if I Care. So, I’m asking. Do you care?”
She stared into his eyes, challenging him. “That’s an odd question to ask someone you just met.”
“Let’s just say, I care about the answer.”
Smiling, she lifted her chin. “Rub the crystal ball and see.”
“That old thing is still here?”
He glanced toward the door surprised that he hadn’t noticed the large glass orb nestled on a gold-columned pedestal near the front of the restaurant when he’d first walked in.
Locals touched it on their way in or out, hoping it would bring them good luck. He remembered giving the thing a good rub on the night of his senior prom, hoping he’d get lucky with his date. But she’d slapped him in the face when he made his move. He didn’t even make it through the first kiss.
Over the years, his luck had changed. He had no trouble seducing any woman that he wanted, and Jasmine Kennedy would be no exception.
He gave her a large tip, and added his phone number before handing the receipt and the pen back to her.
“What’s that sly grin for?” she asked.
“Call me and find out.”
Micah winked and felt her eyes linger on his back as he headed toward the front of the restaurant. He knew she was waiting to see if he would touch the crystal ball.
But he refused, and sailed right past it. He wasn’t a superstitious man, just a cautious one, and he didn’t believe in magic. Just hard work.
The sun nearly blinded him when he emerged from the poorly lit restaurant. He’d forgotten his sunglasses in the car, so he shaded his eyes with his right hand and looked across the street at his building.
There was brown paper on the windows and the scaffolding was up, but no construction workers in sight. Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearly three o’clock. Were they already done for the day?
He stuck his hands in his pockets and jingled his keys, debating whether to check on the renovation, as he’d originally intended. He was expected for dinner at his family’s beach estate at five o’clock, but wanted to get there early for a relaxing shower and shave.
Temporary lodging in his boyhood bedroom, he told himself.
At this point in his life, he just wasn’t sure if his hometown was even worthy of his time, talent and money.
He traveled regularly, living out of one suitcase, trying new cuisines and meeting new people around the world. He loved his lifestyle too much to be snagged down in one place, with one woman.
Micah looked back over his shoulder at Lucy’s, and decided to visit his building later that evening, and check out the interior instead. There was a back entrance he could use to avoid attracting attention.
He got into his convertible and, after verifying that the road was clear, backed out.
All the way to his parents’ house, he denied that it was because of Jasmine that he had changed his plans.
* * *
“My, my, Micah. Talk about afternoon delight!”
The man had left her a twenty-dollar tip on a ten-dollar meal. She couldn’t decide whether he was a big spender or just trying to leave a big impression. He didn’t need to wave around his money. All he needed to make heads turn was to walk into a room.
Jasmine hurried to the front of the restaurant. She bumped one of the empty rattan dining chairs to the side with her hip and positioned herself at the window. The gold curtain rings that held red-checkered café curtains pressed against her cleavage as she peeked outside.
A local construction worker sitting the next table over cackled at her. She ignored him, though she could feel his eyes ogling her miniskirted behind. He’d finished two orders of buffalo chicken wings and a pitcher of beer, and she knew from experience that she’d get nothing from him but trouble.
“Just one last look. That’s all I need.”
She clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth.
Micah Langston was just the break she needed in the middle of a busy day.
Handsome, sexy and not planning to stick around.
His clean-shaven, medium brown tone skin was unlined and appeared as smooth as a baby. His nose was a little smaller than she liked, but still fit with his oval-shaped face that angled at his jaws.
He appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. She didn’t see him pull out any reading glasses, and the piercing way he was looking at her made her think he could see just fine.
She wondered if the flecks of gray in his close-cut black hair were due to heredity, stress or age. She was twenty-three, so if they hooked up, they would be pretty close in age.
Those hazel eyes with specks of deep blue had sunk into hers, and she felt a little like when she slipped on her favorite fuzzy socks at night after a long day on her feet—warm, safe and a little thankful.
Micah had full lips that he knew to close when he munched on his food, unlike some of the customers that ate at Lucy’s. Some of the things she’d seen since arriving at her grandmother’s restaurant made her cringe even now. Just because it was cheap didn’t mean it was okay to leave one’s manners outside.
The black Audi proved he had terrific taste in cars, and the rental plates screamed just passing through.
Fine man, he was. Very fine.
She watched Micah slide his sunglasses over his nose, and check his rearview mirror, but not for his reflection.
A man that looked like him did not need to check his appearance, Jasmine thought. He was perfect.
She pressed the palm of her hand to the back of her neck. Her skin was hot, her secret gauge that indicated she was equally hot for a man, double verifying the exquisite pull in her loins that she felt when she first laid eyes on Micah.
He watched for cars, of which there were some crisscrossing the road, before pulling out onto Magnolia Avenue, heading west toward the beach.
She sighed and put one hand on her hip, watching until he disappeared.
“Get away from that window,” her grandmother said, picking up a set of rooster-shaped salt and pepper shakers from an empty booth. “Never let a man know you’re interested.”
Jasmine turned and plastered an innocent smile on her face. “I’m not interested and besides, he’s gone.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She moved out of the way so Donnie, one of the busboys, could clear a table that was recently vacated. His arms stretched here and there removing every dish and piece of silverware into a square plastic tub.
As soon as he was done, Lucy slapped a wet rag down on the table and started to scrub.
“Great. A man like Micah Langston is no good for you.”
Jasmine spotted another patron in the corner gesturing for a check, and hurried over. After she’d run their credit card and provided the receipt, she joined Lucy back behind the bar.
“What do you mean that Micah is no good for me? I thought the Langstons were a little like royalty in this town.”
Lucy cocked a brow. “Just because Gregory is the mayor?”
Jasmine shrugged, placing a used beer glass on a tray under the bar.
Two years ago, Jasmine had graduated with honors from Tulane University with a degree in business administration, and a minor in accounting. Because of her strong internship history, she was lucky enough to land a job with a small advertising agency in the French Quarter as a junior account manager.
The pay was decent, the work interesting. She’d enjoyed helping the agency’s clients, who were mostly restaurants, shops and historical sites, with their marketing strategy in hopes of attracting increased numbers of tourists to their respective businesses.
Then one night she’d stayed until almost midnight to help finalize a new business pitch. Her boss put his hand on her thigh, and she gave him a right hook across his leering mouth, and she never went back. Broke her lease and used her rent money to fly one-way to California.
“The Langstons have been here for generations,” Lucy continued. “Micah is the only one who, after college, didn’t come back to stay.”
“He probably figured you were the best chef in town, so why stay here and get his butt beat?”
Lucy patted Jasmine’s cheek, and she relished the touch of her grandmother’s hand.
“You’re kind to flatter me, but I’m not the one who is on television, am I?”
“Did you ever want fame and fortune?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, I moved to Bay Point to brush shoulders with both from time to time.”
“The town used to be a weekend getaway for the stars, wasn’t it?”
Lucy wiped down the bar and smiled wistfully. “I’ve seen my fair share of Hollywood royalty during the almost fifty years this restaurant has been open.”
Lucy’s Bar and Grille was an institution in Bay Point. It was no Sardis, the famed New York City restaurant with hundreds of celebs and Broadway stars on the walls, both in atmosphere or price, but it was charming nonetheless. Several black-and-white or color autographed celebrity photos hung on the walls, alongside old porcelain, Cajun art and other antique treasures her grandmother had brought with her from her native Louisiana.
To most people in Bay Point, her grandmother’s restaurant was just a homespun place to eat, but Jasmine knew that it was Lucy’s life. And she also knew that as the town continued to grow, so would the competition to threaten its existence.
“The men and the women were gorgeous. Glamorous! And the directors?” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Pigs, mostly, with hands like an octopus.”
She thought about her boss, Peter, and what he’d tried to do, what he wanted to do. A flash of anger rose up inside her, like bile, and Jasmine almost thought she was going to be sick. She poured herself a ginger ale and sipped it slowly until the feeling passed.
Donnie gathered up the last of the shiny aluminum carafes that held Lucy’s famous “bottomless coffee.” The lunch crowd was slowly filing out which meant only one thing. The dinner crowd would soon replace them, gathering again in the vintage button-tufted blue vinyl booths that lined the walls or at the green Formica tables scattered about the room.
Jasmine rang out the last customer at the bar and sighed. Since she’d arrived, she’d been so busy helping her grandmother that she barely had time to notice anything but receipts spitting out of a credit card machine, and the unpaid bills piling up in the back office.
Although Mayor Langston had done a great job revitalizing downtown Bay Point with new restaurants, housing and shops, and they had customers other than the regulars, they weren’t out of the hole yet.
She’d already talked the landlord, George Stodwell, off the cliff of eviction. He’d given them another six months to pay the back rent owed or she’d be selling jerk chicken from the trunk of her Mini Cooper.
Jasmine wrung a rag out in the bar sink, wishing for a moment that it was Stodwell’s neck. But she knew better than anyone that violence didn’t solve anything. It just made things worse.
Besides, her grandmother needed her, though she would never admit it. Now in her seventies, Lucy Dee Diller was as feisty and fierce as her Cajun dishes.
Growing up, Jasmine had never really known her. Lucy’d been so busy with the restaurant that she rarely returned to New Orleans. This was her chance to give her grandmother the love and affection she’d wanted to since she was a little girl. Lucy was trying to teach her how to cook, and now with her warning about Micah, also about men.
“Some guys are okay,” Jasmine said, handing Lucy the cash drawer.
“Yes, the mayor is a fine man. But he’s taken. Money and good looks flow throughout the Langston family tree, but as far as I’m concerned, Micah can plant his seed somewhere else.”
“Lucy!” Jasmine croaked out a shocked laugh, as racy images flitted through her mind, but her grandmother had disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Leaning her elbows on the bar, Jasmine felt her nipples tighten involuntarily as she recalled Micah’s packed, athletic build. His white short-sleeved polo shirt and pressed khaki shorts, with just enough bulge in all the right places, and none of the wrong ones.
She licked her lips and drank the rest of her ginger ale to cool off.
Lucy reemerged and Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest.
“What are you standing around for?” Lucy called out, as she went to the front door and locked it. “Time to prep for dinner.”
Jasmine slipped under the counter, rather than lift it up. “I’m on it.”
“Whew, girl,” Lucy said, walking back. “You make me nervous every time you do that.”
“I’m ok. Besides it’s good for my thighs.”
“Honey, I can’t even remember a time when I was able to squat that low.”
She gave Lucy a hug. “Why don’t you go up to your room and rest? Donnie, Gloria and I will handle prep.”
Every dish at Lucy’s Bar and Grille was made from fresh ingredients. Even the spices were freshly ground just before use.
“I guess you’re right. I could use a little nap.” Lucy wiped her brow. “I hope I’m not keeping you from whatever it is you kids do these days. I love having you here, but—”
“And I love being here,” Jasmine interrupted. “We’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for, don’t we?”
“We certainly do, and I’m treasuring every moment.”
Jasmine backed against one of the swinging doors to hold it open so her grandmother could pass. At the end of the kitchen, which smelled of roasted chicken, allspice and thyme, there was a short hallway with stairs that led up to a small apartment, which she shared with Lucy.
Although Jasmine had a fair amount of money in her savings account, she wanted to take her time to find her own place. She was hoarding her tips to get her stuff out of storage, when the time came. For her, Bay Point was not only a place to reconnect with her grandmother. She hoped it would be a refuge.
After she got Lucy settled upstairs, she went back down and started to cut onions, while Gloria sliced the potatoes. She was almost finished when Donnie informed her she had a call.
She swung into the main dining area and picked up the cordless at the hostess station. “Lucy’s. This is Jasmine Kennedy. How can I help you?”
“Miss Kennedy. That sounds so presidential.”
The man’s low baritone voice, sounding vaguely familiar, sent a chill up her spine.
“Who is this?” she demanded in a sharp voice.
Donnie stopped stacking the highball glasses and frowned.
“Micah Langston.”
“Oh,” she said, letting Donnie know with a nod that everything was okay.
“Forget me so soon? I haven’t forgotten about you.”
Now that she knew who he was, his intimate insinuation transformed the chill in her spine into a pool of heat in her belly.
She sank onto a bar stool, not expecting to hear from him so soon, or even at all.
“What can I do for you, Micah?”
“I think I left my pen, a black Mont Blanc, very expensive, there at the bar. Can you check for me?”
Jasmine furrowed her brow. Pharmaceutical sales reps, who had Bay Point Community Hospital in their territories, often stopped in for breakfast or lunch on the way in or out of town. She distinctly remembered giving Micah a pen imprinted with the brand name of some kind of drug, but she’d humor the man. Besides, where would he have kept it? The polo shirt he’d worn had no pockets.
“Sure, hold on,” she said, and set the phone upright on the bar.
Just for kicks, she did check near where he sat, but there was nothing but some food scraps on the floor. Not from him, she knew, but from the previous customer who routinely dropped food in his lap, while talking to his coworker.
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You do have what I’m seeking. You just don’t know it yet.”
He sighed and the low sound vibrated, soft and sexy, against her ear as though he were right next to her.
Suddenly she knew what he was implying and her loins pulsed with need. And though he’d made her go chasing for something that didn’t exist, she found him very exciting.
She sucked in a breath, and he chuckled softly.
“Get lost, Micah,” she said, disconnecting the call.
Jasmine stuck her hands in her apron and brought out his receipt. She examined his signature, or autograph she supposed, if she were a fan, which she most definitely was not. Her eyes traced his phone number, committing it to memory.
Time for a fling? Perhaps.
Time for love? Not a chance.
