Menu for Romance (2 page)

When he pulled into the condo complex parking lot, his cell phone chimed the new text message alert. He shook his head. Of course she texted instead of calling. He pulled the phone out of the holster clipped to his belt and flipped it open to read the message:

While Kirby’s engine choked itself off, Major typed out a return message:

The phone flashed a confirmation that the message was sent, and he holstered it. Grabbing his black duffel from the back, he left the orange dry-cleaning bag to drop off at the cleaners Tuesday.

To blow off some steam and try to relax enough to fall asleep, he turned on the computer and played a few rounds of Spider Solitaire. About an hour later, his whole body aching, eyes watering from yawning every other minute, he grabbed a shower before turning in. At thirty-eight years old, he shouldn’t feel this out of shape—of course, if he still made time to go to the gym every day and didn’t enjoy eating his own cooking as much as he did, he probably wouldn’t be this out of shape. He weighed as much now as he had playing middle linebacker in college—except twenty years ago, it had all been muscle.

But who trusted a skinny chef anyway?

Thunder grumbled, and rain pattered against the window. Major kicked at the comforter that had become entangled in his legs during the night and rolled over to check the time.

Eight thirty. What a perfect day to don ratty old sweats, sit in the recliner watching football on the plasma TV, and eat junk food.

If he had a plasma TV. Or any junk food in the condo.

Alas, though, he’d promised Mrs. Guidry he would drop by. Best check the schedule of games, see which he cared least about, and make the visit then. He pulled on the ratty old sweats and an equally ratty ULB T-shirt, though. As he passed down the short hallway, he tapped the temperature control on the thermostat up a couple of degrees to knock a little of the chill out of the air.

His stomach growled in concert with the thunder outside. The tile in the kitchen sent shockwaves of cold up his legs. Shifting from foot to foot, he yanked open the dryer door, dug through the clothes in it, and found two somewhat matching socks. Sometimes having the laundry hookups here did come in handy, even though they took up more than a third of the space in the small galley kitchen.

The fridge beckoned. Not much there—maybe he should hit the grocery store on the way back from the Guidrys’ open house.

Half an hour later, with the Rose Bowl Parade providing ambiance, he sank into his recliner and dug into an andouille, shrimp, potato, mushroom, red pepper, onion, jack cheese, and bacon omelet spread with Creole mustard on top.

Maybe he should consider making a New Year’s resolution to cut back on calories this year. What was missing? Oh yeah, the grits. He’d left the bowl sitting by the stove.

Halfway to the kitchen to retrieve the rest of his breakfast, the phone rang. He unplugged it from the charger as he passed by.

“Hello?”

“Mr. O’Hara, this is Nick Sevellier at Beausoleil Pointe Center.” Major stopped. So did his heart.

“I’m sorry to bother you on a holiday, sir, but your mother has had an episode. She’s asking for you.”

Meredith poured herself another mug of coffee. The machine might have cost only twenty dollars, but it sure did keep the liquid hot. Careful not to jiggle the tray table when she replaced the carafe, she blew through the steam rising from the cup and turned to survey her house.

She thrilled at the thought:
her
house. She owned it. She’d dreamed of owning a craftsman bungalow ever since she could remember. Now that Anne and George were getting married, they wanted to convert the three-story Victorian from apartments—where Meredith, Anne, and Meredith’s sister Jenn lived—back to a single-family home. Ready to get out of such close proximity to anyone—even family—Meredith decided to buy a house. She hadn’t been looking a week when she found this one.

From the outside, she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to afford it—the previous owner had restored the exterior and landscaped the front yard to complement it. Inside was a totally different story.

Meredith sipped her coffee and leaned against the door frame between the dining room and kitchen. Pipes stuck out of the wall where the sink should have been. A few remnants of cabinets hung from the walls, and the plywood subfloor moaned and bowed whenever she walked across it.

Her parents had tried to talk her out of it. The previous owner had gone into foreclosure trying to restore the house for resale. But Meredith didn’t mind the gutted kitchen, nor the bare bulbs swinging from wires in every room. She’d be able to fix up the inside exactly how she wanted.

But not if she just stood around looking at it.

Jazz music echoed through the house from the radio. The two large space heaters worked overtime to chase away the damp chill of New Year’s Day. Meredith slipped on her safety goggles and mask, opened the can of paint stripper, and started on the built-in bookcase in the living room. Between the music and the vision of what the house would eventually look like, she lost herself in the project.

She’d just started the fourth shelf when her phone’s earpiece beeped. She grabbed it from the mantel and stuck it in her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Anne.” Her cousin yawned. “Sorry. What time did you get in last night? I never even heard you drive up.”

“After two o’clock.”

“And you’re already out and about?”

“You know how it is when days off are few and far between.”

“Ah. You’re at the new house.”

“Right you are, my dear.”

Anne yawned again. “It’s not even nine yet. Did you sleep at all?”

“A few hours.” Meredith continued stripping the absolutely gross, moss-colored paint from the original, hand-detailed woodwork beneath.

“It can’t be healthy for you to get only five or six hours of sleep a night.”

Meredith let out a derisive snort. “And I’m hearing this from the woman who doesn’t sleep at all during wedding season?”

The thunder outside nearly drowned out Anne’s chuckle. “Point taken. Anyway, that’s not why I called. I’m looking at the Style section of the newspaper. Looks like you really outdid yourself last night.”

Tingles of trepidation and pride danced up and down Meredith’s skin. “The article is good?”

“Article? Try the whole section! Looks like the writers had the time of their lives. All of the quotes from guests are glowing. And the food reviewer couldn’t find enough adjectives to describe Major’s food.”

“Good. Mom and Dad will be happy.” Meredith released her breath and rolled her head to try to ease the tension in her neck.

“Of course they will. Their oldest daughter is the best event planner in town.”

“Second best.”

“Oh no,” Anne disagreed. “I left Boudreaux-Guidry because all those huge events daunted me. I’d never have been able to pull off a party like that.”

“Oh, spare me. You did last summer—or have you already forgotten the wedding and reception you put together for the most popular movie star in the country?”

“But you and Major really helped me out with that. Take the compliment, Meredith. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Why did Anne’s praise make Meredith feel like a complete fraud? “Well, thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave the paper on your kitchen table before I go.”

“Wedding today?” Meredith started on the fifth shelf.

“Yeah. And I’d better get a move on.”

“Okay—oh, Major sent some leftovers home for you and George. They’re in my fridge. I wrote your name on them so they wouldn’t get mixed in with all the other boxes I have in there.”

“I’ll get them. Thanks. And thank Major for me, too.”

Meredith put the earpiece back on the mantel. She tried not to imagine what Anne would think of the interior of the fridge. Hardly a day passed when Meredith didn’t bring home at least one Styrofoam box filled with a more-than-ample serving of the lunch entrée from Vue de Ceil.

She knelt to work on the cabinets below the open shelves. Until now she hadn’t thought about missing her afternoon visit from Major. He’d started bringing her a box of lunch-service leftovers every day about a year ago—after she accidentally confessed to almost always eating out because she hated to cook. Every day around three o’clock, her pulse quickened, and she had to stop herself from rushing to the restroom to reapply her lipstick, fix her hair, and make sure she looked her best for him.

Heart racing as it did whenever she expected his appearance, she sank back onto her heels. She had to get over this. Eight years was way too long to carry a torch for someone who’d shown no indication he had any interest in her other than friendship.

Her earpiece beeped again. She took a deep breath to try to settle her emotions then stood to retrieve the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” Her older brother’s voice filled her ear.

“Hey, Forbes.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope—I’ve been at the new house for a while. You and the boys having fun at the lake?” Her brothers always spent New Year’s Eve at their family’s lake house on Larto Lake.

“Yep, though it’s been really wet and cold. But the fish are biting, which makes it all worthwhile. We’ll be headed back to town around noon, and then we’ll go over to watch football with Dad.”

Watching football with her father and four brothers was something that Meredith usually dropped everything to do. “Aw, that sounds like fun.”

“But not as fun as whatever construction project you’re doing today?” The tone of amusement in Forbes’s voice came across as almost patronizing. Along with their parents, Forbes had been very vocal in his disapproval of Meredith’s purchase of the house.

“Exactly. I’ll miss y’all, but this is where I want to be.”
So please don’t make a fuss and try to convince me to come over.

“Okay. Well, if you decide to knock off early, there might be an inch of sofa for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You are planning on coming over for family dinner tonight, right?” Forbes asked.

“Of course. Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure. Um ... there might be a non–family member there tonight as well.”

“Is Marci’s boyfriend coming?”

Her brother paused a little longer than necessary.

“Oh, Forbes!” She groaned. “Please tell me he isn’t going to propose to her in front of the whole family.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“It’s not
him
I’m worried about. Marci came to me a couple of weeks ago, worried about whether or not he’s the right one for her. If he does this in front of all of us, she’s going to feel obligated to say yes, just so she doesn’t disappoint us or hurt him.”

“You’re not giving her enough credit, Mere. Or him. I’ve talked to Shaun at length. He really does love Marci and will provide her with a good life.”

“You’ve talked ... Did you talk him into doing it this way?”

“No.” A little sharpness crept into Forbes’s voice. “Look. I realize you still haven’t forgiven me for what you think was my interference with Anne and George’s relationship—”

“Forbes, you told George to lie to her—not once, but twice. She was so angry with him she almost let him walk away forever.”

“Whatever happened last summer is between them and me.” Forbes’s voice strained with forced softness. “Besides, I don’t really think you’re upset with me.”

Meredith’s annoyance started turning to anger. “Are you a psychologist now? Is that something they taught you in law school?”

“Whoa there, girl! I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you. I just wonder if the idea of a sister who’s ten years younger than you getting married first is the main issue.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with it. She’s only twenty-four!” Meredith slammed the scraper on the floor and paced the living room. “She isn’t finished with her bachelor’s degree yet. How can she be thinking about getting married when she can’t even commit to a major?”

“Uh-huh.”

Frustration, disappointed hopes, self-recrimination for her still-single status wrapped around her chest in tight bands, cutting off her air. Her head spun for a moment. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she could no longer deny the fact that there was something wrong with her. Why else would she still be single at thirty-four?

She took a deep breath and tried to gather up the shattered pieces of her emotions, then let out a bitter laugh. “I guess I should thank you for the forewarning. Now I won’t have a meltdown like this tonight.”

“You’re welcome.” Forbes spoke with a gentle laugh.

“I’ll get home in time to make sure Jenn is ready to go at six.”

“Great. I’m going to let you go then.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I’m sorry I deliberately provoked you.”

In spite of the remaining tightness in her chest, Meredith smiled. “Yeah, well, I guess I can forgive you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sis.”

When the call ended, she tossed the earpiece back onto the mantel, wishing she hadn’t answered—but also grateful she knew what was coming. She grabbed her coat and trudged out to the back porch, where she sank onto the wet top step, the rain having momentarily paused. The old cypress boards sagged, just like her spirits.

“Lord, what’s wrong with me?” She glared up at the dark clouds. “Why is it that a twenty-four-year-old without a clue can find a man who’ll love her, and I haven’t been able to get a guy to take me out on a date even once in my life? Why is it that the two men I’ve fallen in love with haven’t even noticed?”

Wrapping her arms around her legs, she rested her forehead on her knees. “It’s not fair. I’ve been asking You ever since I turned fifteen for a boyfriend—for a husband ever since I turned twenty. What have I done so wrong that You’ve kept that from me?”

A large raindrop plastered hair to the top of her head. The cold water running down her neck made her feel even worse, adding insult to injury. She scooted back up the porch to lean against the house wall and pulled her coat closer. Driving rain sliced the air, eliminating her view of the tree-lined fence at the back of her half-acre lot. The squeaky moan of the floorboards did nothing to help her mood—one more thing that needed to be fixed.

She was just like this house. The part the world saw was complete, pulled together, polished; but inside, everything was a mess. The difference was that she could fix the house.

Lightning streaked, followed by booming thunder, the sky nearly black, water forming in vast pools in low-lying places in the yard. The porch boards moaned—no, that wasn’t possible. She wasn’t moving. Something else was making the noise.

The pounding rain nearly deafened her. She leaned over and pressed her ear to the crack between two floorboards.

Was that something whimpering? She crawled to the edge of the porch and leaned over, her head and shoulders instantly soaked. The trellis that enclosed the area under the porch broke away easily.

With one hand trying to keep her hair out of her eyes, the other sinking into the mud to keep her balance, Meredith hung half off the porch, trying to see under it.

No good—too dark.

She pushed herself up, and not caring about the rivulets of water—and mud—she tracked in, she ran into the dining room. From the bottom drawer of her tool chest, she grabbed the giant flashlight.

Back outside, she once again leaned over the edge of the decking. She flicked on the high-powered beam and swept it slowly from one side to the other—

There. Light reflected in two small eyes. Too big to be a rat, not close enough together to be a possum—or were they? No, the rounded shape of the shivering body was wrong.

Though the edge of the porch dug into her diaphragm, Meredith whistled. “Come ’ere,” she called in a high-pitched voice.

The shape moved—Meredith nearly lost her balance in surprise.

“Come on. That’s it. I’m not going to hurt you.” She ignored the water running up her face, filling her nose, and stinging her eyes but kept offering encouragement until she could finally see the puppy clearly.

A few long moments brought it close enough for her to make a grab for it—Meredith landed shoulders-first flat out on her back in the grass, face fully exposed to the drowning rain. And now she had a cold nose whuffling in her ear.

She grabbed the squatter, mud squishing between her fingers. Numb, soaked, and trembling, she struggled to her feet, puppy clenched firmly before her, and went inside.

“Look at the pair of us! Good thing we’ve got hot water, huh?” The heavy pup nearly wagged itself out of her grip. In the utility room, she set him down in the deep sink and hosed him off with the sprayer—revealing what looked like a puppy that was mostly black Lab, though his gangly legs, large muzzle, and huge feet indicated he had some other, bigger breed in his blood, too.

The caked mud and dirt gone, fur soaked down smooth, she could see the poor little guy’s ribs and hip bones. “I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

The tail thumped against the side of the sink. Meredith grabbed a towel off the stack of old ones she kept there for emergencies and did her best to wrap up the little bundle of energy. She carried him into the living room, dragged a drop cloth over in front of the space heater with her foot, and sat down to towel-dry the dog.