So Much More (Made for Love #3) (18 page)

Shit.
I can’t believe I just thought that. He’s
not
my boyfriend. In fact, I have no idea what we are. I can only be sure of one thing. When he looks at me, I don’t feel like such a mess.

When we arrive at Lulu’s, there are crowds of people waiting for an opportunity to be seated—just as I had suspected. For as long as I’ve known about this place, Saturdays and Sundays are always like this. The cute restaurant looks like a gorgeous cottage taken right out of New Orleans. On either side of the main entrance, there are tall windows framed in peach-colored trim and green shutters along side them. The cream tinted columns that line the front of the establishment, supporting the porch overhang, give it that old plantation feel. There are a few tables filled with waiting patrons on the patio, but most groups are situated in the lawn beyond the small fence that wraps around the front.

Brandon wasn’t lying when he said that they don’t wait. He walks me right into the restaurant, waving a friendly hello to the hostess before taking me to a table in the back. It’s already set up and ready for three. Brandon pulls my chair out for me and just as I get settled, someone approaches and calls out his name. He turns to greet her and immediately snatches her into a hug.

“What’s going on?” he asks, clearly pleased to see her.

When Brandon’s body is no longer blocking hers, I see that she’s wearing a waist apron over her shorts. Her dark brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s got a pencil resting behind her ear. The lopsided smile that lights up her face is charming and she looks so friendly that even I feel like I'm drawn to her. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about my age. Maybe a little younger.

“I should be asking
you
that. Where were you last week?” she demands to know, propping her fists against her hips.

Brandon shrugs, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. All of sudden,
I
want to know where he was last week, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seem him look so out of sorts before.

“It was a rough weekend.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what all the guys who stand me up say,” she says, tossing me a wink. Brandon notices and looks my way. When our eyes meet, he smiles at me and my skin breaks out in goose pimples.

“Lucy, this is my friend Sarah. Sarah, this is Lucy—Lulu’s daughter.”

“I'm incredibly
impressed
to meet you,” she says, sticking out her hand. I shake it, deciding already that I like her. She reminds me a little bit of me.

The old me. Pre-Luke-me.

I shake the thought away as I replay what she’s just said. “Impressed?”

“He doesn’t bring the ladies around.
Friend
or otherwise.” She emphasizes the word
friend
, nudging Brandon with her elbow. He rolls his eyes and she laughs. “Let me go put in the order for your beignets. I’ll tell mom you’re here, too.” There’s a bounce in her step when she walks away. She doesn’t get too far before she’s stopped by another guest. I watch their quick exchange and notice that it’s similar to the one she had with Brandon.

“She’s spunky,” I comment as he takes the seat next to mine.

“Yeah. She’s fun. She’s also a bit of a troublemaker—don’t listen to everything she says,” he tells me with a chuckle.

“I take it you’ve been friends for a while?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a nod. “She’s been working here for as long as Aunt Row and I have been regulars. Right now, she’s in her last year at CSU, so we won’t have her for much longer.”

I note how he says ‘
we
won’t have her for much longer,’
and smile. It’s obvious that coming to Lulu’s every week isn’t all about the food, but about the relationships they’ve forged here, too. I like getting to see this part of his life—the side of him that exists
outside
of the bakery.

“What’s that smile for?” He nudges my knee with his, pulling me from my thoughts.

I shake my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Nothing. I’m just glad I came. Thank you for inviting me.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Sunshine.”

“
Three
today, huh? Oh—and she’s
pretty!
”

I look away from Brandon and see Lulu. At least, I assume she’s Lulu—Lucy looks exactly like her, only younger. Lulu also speaks with a French accent, but with just as much spunk as her daughter.

Apparently, she inherited more than her mother’s good looks
.

“I think so, too,” says Row as she suddenly appears.

My sobriety keeps the pink from my cheeks, but their flattery warrants a blush. When I seek out Brandon, hoping to shake my embarrassment with the growing familiarity and comfort that I get just by looking at him, the expression on his face steals my breath. Then he winks at me and my heart practically bursts with excitement.

You’re falling pretty fast and pretty hard, don’t you think?

My heart ignores me, too enthralled by the handsome man who seems to be quite proud to have brought a
pretty
addition to Sunday brunch.

“Rowena, darling, it’s good to see you.” Lulu greets Row—
apparently short for Rowena
—and I’m relieved to look back at them and find that I’m no longer an interesting topic of discussion.

That is, until Row fills the last seat at our table just as our beignets arrive.

“I promise this won’t be like the Spanish Inquisition,” Row begins to say just as Lulu and Lucy head back to work. “I’ll save that for next time, because something tells me there’ll be a next time,” she says, her eyes flicking a quick glance at Brandon before returning their focus to me.

Her irises are green, just a couple shades lighter than Brandon’s, and alight with a welcoming acceptance. She and her nephew have the same color hair, hers cut into a bob that hangs just above her shoulders. She’s tall, maybe five-ten or five-eleven, and the family resemblance makes me think that Brandon must look like his mother.

Most of the questions Row asks are painless.
How did you two meet? He lets you bake? Really? Where are you from? He really lets you bake?—
I find her disbelief both amusing and complimentary. I like knowing Brandon’s trust in me means a great deal.

What did you study in school?—
Yeah, that one stung.

A part of me is afraid it always will.

Brandon must sense the change in my disposition. He jumps in, making a joke about how she promised this
wouldn’t
be an inquisition. Row laughs before she says, “Yes, alright. Well, Sarah, I’m glad you’re here. You seem like a breath of fresh air. After Olivia, I’m convinced that Brandon could use all the fresh air he can get.”

At the mention of
Olivia
, Brandon reaches up and scratches the back of his neck—just like he did earlier with Lucy. I wonder who she is—
Olivia
—and I’m curious to know her history with Brandon.

“Oh,” says Row, catching on to my obliviousness. “She’s a topic yet to be discussed.”

“I wouldn’t mind if we changed the subject,” Brandon replies.

I can feel his discomfort as if it were my own. My head is filling up with questions wishing for answers, but I tuck them away and save them for later. Just as Brandon saved me just a second ago, I’m hoping to return the favor now.

“How about we talk about these beignets?” I reach for another—my third? Or is this my fourth?—and dowse it in powdered sugar. “Like how we’re going to need
a lot
more.”

Row laughs, which makes me smile. Brandon reaches under the table and squeezes my leg in thanks.
That
elicits another round of goose pimples.

B
RUNCH WAS AMAZING—AND
I’m not referring to the food. I barely tasted the food. At this point, I can’t even say for sure what I ate. We always order a few different things and share. This morning was no different. I’d usually regret my lack of enthusiasm for a plate full of Lulu’s breakfast, but the distraction was so worth it. All I remember are the number of beignets Sarah devoured. Seven. It was incredible. Food is something to be
experienced
and
appreciated
. I know lots of people who
enjoy
eating—but it’s more than that. Maybe I think this way because I know what kind of effort goes into creating something delicious. In any case—Sarah knows how to appreciate a good thing when she tastes it.

It’s sexy as fuck.

We stayed for longer than usual, the three of us too wrapped up in conversation to pay attention to the time. When Aunt Row noticed it was after one, she told us she had to leave so she could squeeze in a few errands before it got too late. We said our goodbyes on Lulu’s front porch. Row, Lu, and Lucy—my Sunday crew—were gracious as we parted ways, saying nothing to embarrass Sarah or incriminate me, for which I was grateful.

I think they like her. Then again, it’s hard not to.

“Oh, my god, I’m
so
full. You really should have cut me off sooner,” Sarah moans, resting her hands against her stomach as we make our way to the car.

“Do you need to walk it off?” I tease.

“Can we?” she asks hopefully. “There’s a park around here somewhere, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, actually, there is.”

“Would you mind?”

I furrow my brow at her as if she’s crazy. She must be to think that I would mind getting the chance to spend more time with her. “Give me your purse,” I insist. Her confusion at my request shows on her face and I reach for the strap, easing it off her shoulder. “I’ll put it in the trunk so you don’t have to carry it.” She relinquishes it and I arch an eyebrow at her when I feel the full weight of it in my hand. “What in the hell do you carry in here, woman?”

She laughs, following me the rest of the way to the car. “Essentials. My Kindle. You know.”

I chuckle as I pop the trunk. “No. I don’t know. And now that I think about it, I’m not sure that I
want
to know.”

“It’s probably against the rules for me to tell you, anyway. A woman never reveals her secrets.”

I lock up her purse and reach for her hand.

I hope that’s not true.

She laces her fingers with mine and then we both start walking.

“Your Aunt Row is wonderful, by the way.”

When I look over at her, she’s smiling up at me. “I’ll tell her you think so.”

“I can tell by her personality that she’s a great journalist. She seems incredibly smart.”

“
Incredibly,
” I agree.

“What about your mom? What does she do?”

“She’s a realtor. She’s great at what she does, too. Really dedicated,” I add dryly.

Sarah squeezes my hand. “What does that mean? Is that why she doesn’t come to Sunday Brunch?”

“It’s why she doesn’t do a lot of things.” I speak before I think and shake my head, wishing I could take it back. Not necessarily what I’ve said, but the way I’ve said it. “Growing up, she was my provider. For that, I’m grateful. She did the best she could, I suppose. It was hard on her when dad died. I won’t judge her for her coping mechanisms.”

“But a
mother
and a
provider
aren’t necessarily the same thing,” she says softly.

I look down at her and find her staring up at me. Her blue eyes are soft with sympathy and I shrug. “I love my mom,” I tell her. “We just aren’t close. Happens to a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She pauses and we walk a few paces in silence. “I hope I get to meet her, sometime. Does she ever come into LB?”

Her question takes me back to the grand re-opening of Little Bird, just after the remodel. I was so fucking nervous, I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. I showed up to the shop at three a.m. and started baking. While I was mixing together my first batch of blueberry crumble muffins, I just knew they’d taste like shit. But when I popped them in the oven and they started baking, the sweet, fruity aroma filling the kitchen, I started to relax.

They came out perfectly.

Lori and Daphne were the first to arrive. I hadn’t even opened yet and my first barista was still on her way—but they were too excited to wait. I remember the looks on both of their faces. They were proud of me. They’d been with me through the journey of acquiring the shop from Lori and all the changes that came along with that. Having them there to bear witness seemed to make it all the more real.