CHAPTER TWO

Aimee

Late afternoon light filtered gently through the red and white checked gingham curtains framing the windows in Evangeline’s kitchen, illuminating a three-tiered devil’s food cake with white cream cheese frosting. I always looked forward to Tuesdays—that’s the day of the week I took the time to bake and decorate a cake. I swiped some frosting from the bowl, closed my eyes and groaned. Delicious. I’d made a matching batch of cupcakes, and would take one home to eat tonight before collapsing on my bed. I’d started work at 5:00 this morning and all I wanted was to have my cake and eat it too—and sleep. Mostly, I wanted sleep.

“You look fairly orgasmic, Aimee Bodine. Maybe cool it with all the moaning. I’m getting jealous.”

I started and flicked my eyes open at the sound of my best friend, Elaine, who was leaning over the kitchen counter in the back of Evangeline’s, grinning at me. A fresh wave of energy surged over me, and I gave my bestie a big hug.

“Where’s the baby?” I asked, noticing the lack of her eleven-month-old, who was usually perched on her hip. “And why are you jealous?”

“I haven’t had sex but four times since the baby was born, who, for your information, is with my mother for the afternoon. I just popped in to see if you’d be able to bake a cake for little Bryan’s birthday next month.”

“You know I will!” I exclaimed, beaming at Elaine. I had no plans to ever get married and bring a child into the world, but I was glad Elaine had gone a different path and produced little Bryan. That kid was adorable. And his birthday cake would be, too. Images of brightly colored fondant cut into delightful shapes and covering a three tier vanilla cake leapt into my mind.

I picked up the cake and motioned for Elaine to open the swinging doors to the dining area for me. After setting down the cake on the front table where a hostess—if Evangeline’s could ever afford one—would have been stationed, I checked the display of other desserts I’d made earlier in the day: a huckleberry pie, a chess pie, several dozen pecan sandies, a slab of hazelnut fudge, and a row of amaretto chocolate truffles drizzled with white chocolate. A lemon meringue cheesecake sat chilling in the back fridge and would be added to this stack by our waitress, Beth, when she showed up for her shift tonight. Smiling, I dusted my hands on my apron. Evangeline’s would sell every one of my desserts tonight. If I had more hours in the day, I’d make even more yummies.

“Aimee, we want to pay you for the cake.”

I whipped around to narrow my gaze at Elaine. “Heck no.”

“But it wouldn’t be fair if you buy all the supplies and take all that time to bake a cake for little Bryan when you could be baking someone else’s cake and making money. Or baking more stuff for Evangeline’s.” She gestured around the now-empty dining area of my uncle’s bar and grill—the most popular dining place in Pontmaison. “I know you’re struggling to come up with the down payment for the bake shop, and I want to help.”

“I’m not taking money from my best friend for my godson’s birthday cake, and that’s final,” I said, walking back into the kitchen.

Elaine followed me, close on my heels. As I fought back a yawn and pulled down the pans the fry cooks would need for tonight’s service, she harrumphed. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know.”

“So you tell me,” I replied mildly. A buzz sounded with an incoming text, which always took me off guard since the cell reception in Pontmaison was so awful most of the time. I gestured for Elaine to hold her next thought while I read the text.

“Damn,” I muttered.

“What is it?”

“Nothing to worry about,” I said, shoving the phone in my back pocket and giving Elaine a big fake grin.

“That’s your fake grin,” she said. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

I sighed. “Beth’s sick again. And Toni’s in New Orleans at her cousin’s graduation.” Evangeline’s was small, but we still needed waitresses during the lunch and dinner rush. Beth had been calling in sick more often than not, and with our relief waitress, Toni, out of town, that meant I’d be stepping in to cover her shift tonight. So much for sleep.

“But you’re wiped. Can’t Remy do double duty?”

Our bartender, Remy Dormaine, sometimes took over waiting duties but only when nights were slow. I shook my head. “Bayou Beaux is playing tonight. Even though it’s Tuesday, we’ll have a big crowd, ready for good food and good music. I’ll have to wait tables.”

“I wish you’d slow down. Hire someone else to sub when Beth can’t make it.”

“It’s fine,” I replied. “Besides, I need the money.”

“And yet you won’t accept payment for Bryan’s birthday cake.”

“That’s different. And I don’t want to argue.”

“Me, either. But you can’t keep working this hard, Aimee. You bake all day and manage Evangeline’s at the same time, and you’re still one of the tour guides out at Gator Ventures. When do you sleep?”

I shrugged. “You’re the one with the baby. How often do you sleep?”

“Hmm… Point taken. I never sleep. Or have sex, either,” Elaine huffed. “I know, I know. I’m back to the sex again. It’s just I miss it!”

I missed it, too. It had been over a year since I’d dated Bill, the nice graduate student from Texas who I’d met at Gator Ventures. He’d spent the summer in Pontmaison working on his thesis and having sex with me. Too bad he’d been a better student than lover. Even so, he’d been sweet and he’d tried hard, and well, even mediocre sex with a warm-blooded man was better than the self-induced kind.

Maybe?

“Tell me about the bake shop plans—is everything coming along?” Elaine could switch the subject like a quarter horse turning on a dime.

I nodded, and grabbed an apron off the hook by the swinging doors. No time to go home and take a shower or change. I’d have to wait tables tonight with frosting in my hair and smelling like chocolate. “Elmer Lamell drew up the papers at his bank last week. So long as I can come up with the $15,000 deposit by the end of the month, the place is mine.”

Three months ago ol’ Reba, who’d owned Reba’s Diner, had passed. Her diner had come on the market as either a purchase or rental. In a town as small as Pontmaison, and as far off the map as one could get in rural Louisiana, finding a buyer wasn’t easy.

So when I’d mentioned to the local banker who held the note on the diner that I wanted to open my own bake shop, he’d made me an offer: $15,000 down and $2,000 a month thereafter for thirty years, insurance and property taxes included. Because Elmer Lamell had known me and my family since his grandparent’s time, he knew I’d be good for the loan. And since there were separate living quarters above the diner, I’d jumped at the chance; even though it meant having to move out of Miss Cecily’s place, I knew it was time. I was about to become the proud owner of a bake shop, where I could bake and cook to my heart’s delight.

So long as I made the down payment, that is.

“How much more you need?” Elaine wasn’t nosy, just concerned.

“Another three K. So basically this month’s salary at both Evangeline’s and Gator Ventures, plus whatever I make in tips, and the rest of my savings should make it.”

Elaine grinned at me. “I’m so proud of you, Aimee. You’re going for your dream, and you’re gonna get it.”

“Fingers crossed, Elaine. Fingers crossed.” I crossed my fingers and held them out, then yawned so wide I was sure I was showing Elaine my tonsils.

Yeah, I’d get my dream so long as I could stay awake.

* * *

Corbin

I floored the GTO and headed out on the highway, but even with the throttle wide open, I wasn’t sure I’d make it on time. Evangeline’s was way farther out in the bayou than I’d ever imagined, so far that Google maps was no help. I’d even stopped at a gas station outside of Lafayette and tried to locate it the old fashioned way. Not much luck. The directions that Cindy had written down were based on landmarks and, about thirty minutes ago, I’d turned left down a one-way dirt road, doing my damned best to keep my Pontiac from grinding over every rock in the way.

“That’s no way to treat an American classic muscle car,” I grumbled. The Pontiac had been a part of me ever since I’d earned enough money in high school to buy what had been a bucket of rust. I’d spent three years in auto shop repairing this baby to cherry condition—no way was I gonna let some backwoods boulder destroy its chassis.

I put my focus back on the road, hoping that the log ahead was the one mentioned in Cindy’s directions, but at this point, I was scared I was about to encounter the family from Deliverance or some shit like that.

Finally, when I thought I’d either be murdered by hillbilly cannibals or eaten by a pack (did they come in those?) of alligators, I pulled up to something that was nicer than I’d imagined. The roadhouse actually looked comfy and cozy and well-kempt, definitely not skeevy-looking as I’d imagined. It was a one-story with a wide front porch, and on the porch sat a few tables, complete with white cloth and candles, set out for customers who wanted to eat outside. Tall trees with moss wafting from widespread limbs framed the building, and a hard-packed dirt parking lot was filled with a mix of beat-up trucks, minivans, and older sedans. A sign along the roofline looked like it was straight out of the sixties, one of those old neon deals. It amused me that the “EV” and the “INES” were out. The only part left was “Angel,” which I took as a good omen.

I parked my car over by Daniel and Cindy’s van just before nine p.m. I was wired from too many Red Bulls and restless after the ten-hour drive (which should have really taken me closer to seven). I couldn’t wait to get on stage, to feel the energy of the music thrumming through me. I’d warned Daniel and Cindy that I couldn’t commit to anything long term, but ultimately I’d told them I’d probably stay at least a week before moving on.

I grabbed my bass from the backseat and headed inside. The place was hopping, with patrons drinking cold beers and scarfing down spicy wings. Over the stereo, an old ’80s hair band tune pounded out. I could see Daniel, Cindy, and the others already setting up on the small raised stage in the corner. Cindy saw me first and waved.

I was about to hop up on the stage when Cindy shook her head. “Give us a minute and then I’ll help you set up, that cool?” Cindy called out. “Grab yourself a seat.” She pointed to a table next to the stage and I did a double-take.

Seated at the table was a young woman who was half-laying on the table, her head burrowed in the crook of her arm, long dark hair covering her face and curling down her shoulders in a mass of enticing ringlets. All I could see was a tight black t-shirt and a pair of jeans shorts that were so tiny they were probably a felony in some states, all covering a petite body with curves. The shorts caressed her pert ass and showed off the olive tone of her legs. The drummer for Bayou Beaux dropped his cymbals, which created a cacophony of sound that would wake the dead, but the girl still didn’t stir.

Was she passed out?

Did people party that hard down in the bayou? It was only nine o’clock at night.

I yanked a chair out and sat at the table, still staring at the girl. No beer bottles or empty glasses sat on the table, and I couldn’t smell any alcohol emanating from her, just a whiff of…was that chocolate? A soft snore came from somewhere under the mass of hair, and I grinned. The girl wasn’t passed out—she was sound asleep.

“Hey, Corbin,” Cindy called out.

I glanced up at her and held a finger to my lips and whispered, “Someone’s taking a nap.”

“That table is no bed. Wake her up and tell her Daniel says to go home. She’s worked long enough today.”

Waking the girl seemed cruel, but so did letting her continue to sleep on a table in a pub ready to explode with zydeco. I reached out and gently shook the girl’s shoulder. She responded by mumbling something and rolling her head on her arm, the movement enough for me to catch a glimpse of her face.

I sucked in a breath. “Holy hell,” I murmured. The lights in the sign on the pub’s roof had illuminated “Angel,” and that’s exactly what I was looking at—an angel. Her olive skin held a sun-kissed glow on high cheekbones. Dark eyebrows framed closed eyes with long, silky lashes that went on for miles, pointing to an adorably slightly crooked nose and berry red lips in the shape of a bow.

Kinda wishing I could stare at her forever, I instead gave her another shake, but this time let my hand rest on her shoulder a little longer than necessary (but not enough to be a creep). This time she stirred, first rubbing her face against her forearm before lifting her chin and opening her eyes.

I guess I was a little too close to her face when she woke up, because her grey-green eyes went wide with alarm and she jolted upward. Her chair tipped right and she yelped as she realized she’d knocked herself off-balance. My attempts to save her from falling to the floor failed miserably as both she and I and our individual chairs went ass-over to end up in a pile of bodies and chairs on the floor.

Then there we were, me and an angel, on the sticky floor of Evangeline’s, under a table, the crowd roaring with laughter in the background, and our faces about two inches from each other.

“Um, hi?” I offered softly. I should have sat up, offered her a hand, but I rather liked being this close to her.

For a moment, she lay there, frozen, still confused, judging from the wrinkle on her forehead. Finally, she grinned, a smile that seemed to send out sunbeams and stardust all at once. “Hi, back,” she replied.

The sound of her voice was sexy as fuck, with a rich, honeyed flavor that reminded me of whiskey. Or brandy. Or rum. The combination of her pretty face, smoking body, and husky voice made me shiver. Down, boy, I warned my cock.

I stood up and helped her to her feet, giving the gaping crowd a silent warning to mind their own business. The attempt upward was a bit awkward, given that her feet had tangled in the chair, but we managed to find ourselves upright and chair-free, staring at each other, still a little too close. And yes, she definitely did smell of chocolate. Delicious.

“I’m Corbin, Bayou Beaux’s new bassist. At least for a week.”

Her eyes widened just slightly before she nodded. “I’m Aimee. Daniel’s my uncle and I run this place for him.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“You sound surprised. Why? Because I look too young?”

“I—no—I mean…” I relaxed my shoulders and poured on a smile. “I guess I imagined the person who ran this place would be like my Great-Aunt Maude. You know, poodle-hair and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. My bad.”

She laughed at that.

“Corbin, you gonna flirt all night or get up here and play some zydeco with us?” Cindy’s voice rang out over the crowd.

I watched in fascination as a pink flush came over Aimee’s face. I wanted to cup her cheek. Feel for myself how warm that blush was. And that was just for starters. Instead, I cleared my throat. “I gotta go play some music,” I said quietly. “And apparently Daniel said you were supposed to go home. Something about you working too long already.”

She looked around the room and bit her lip. “Can’t go home just yet. I finished dinner service but Remy’s gonna need help serving drinks.”

The poor girl was exhausted enough to fall asleep at a table in the middle of a crowded roadhouse and should probably head on home to bed, but I still felt a surge of excitement knowing she’d be around watching as I played. “Maybe when the set’s done I could buy you a drink? Because you’re beautiful and I’d love to get to know you better.”

To my surprise, she didn’t giggle or melt the way another woman would have if I’d handed her that same line. Instead, Aimee rolled her eyes.

And I laughed. “Too much?”

“Just a tad.”

“Then what about this? Your voice is like buttered rum, all smooth and with a bit of spice, but you smell like chocolate. That combination intrigues me.”

The cloud lifted, just a little, but enough to give me hope. “Now that’s a line I haven’t ever heard,” she said, a slight smile teasing the corner of her mouth.

“So that’s a yes?”

The cloud returned and she gave a quick shake of her head. “I don’t date musicians.”

“Smart woman,” I said, and meant it. We could be scum. But not if women knew the score—just sex, no promise of more. I always made things clear before I slept with a woman. Told her how it was gonna be. At the same time, when I wanted a woman, I didn’t hesitate to make my desires known. And I most definitely wanted this woman. “I’ll tell you what: I won’t ask you on a date while we’re having a drink.”

Her brow creased, as if she were trying to puzzle out what I’d just said. Then she pursed her lips in thought before shrugging one delicate shoulder. “Maybe you can buy me a drink when we’re both done. Maybe. But if you do, you definitely won’t ask me out. Promise?”

I crossed my heart and held two fingers up to the sky. “Promise,” I agreed, then grinned, and took the stage.