Chapter 8

Carys

Holy UST, Batman.

Thanks to Jules, I now know that “UST” stands for unresolved sexual tension and he says Maverick and I have it in spades.

When he mentioned it earlier, I told him he was out of his mind but he swore he spoke the truth. Apparently, he has a gift for detecting sexual desires. Now, I’m no stranger to gifts and special powers, but his seem a little convoluted. But, sitting here, feeling Maverick’s stare like an extra set of invisible hands raking my body, causing my heart to race and my panties to melt, I’d have to agree with Jules.

It’s a no-brainer that we’re attracted to each other. Incredibly attracted, even. But my dilemma is whether or not to act upon it. Do we keep the sexual tension unresolved, therefore, keeping our relationship platonic and uncomplicated, or do we give into the sparks and see what happens after the ashes have settled?

Not gonna lie, I want to resolve the fuck out of this tension right here and now. Pun intended.

Maverick will eventually figure out whatever sent him running for New Orleans. He’ll go back to Dallas, to his job and life. I don’t know if that’s a reason to pursue the sexual tension, or run from it.

It’s been a long time since I had a fling. Actually, I don’t think any of my sexual experiences could count as a fling. Regardless of past experiences, this would be different. He’s staying at my hotel. So, do I pursue it for as long as he’s here? Then what? He goes back to Dallas and I forget all about him, going back to whatever it was I was doing before he showed up?

Existing.

Surviving.

Trying to make it from day to day, keeping myself and my hotel afloat.

That’s what I should be focusing on, right?

Any time I ask myself that, I get the same tug on my heart. I think it’s from my grandpa. I think he would say the hotel is important, but not as important as the people inside. I remember one time, when I was about ten years old, I asked him if he loved the hotel more than me. He’d been working long hours in the office, probably putting out a similar fire like I’ve been doing on a daily basis since I took over. He stopped what he was doing and picked me up, sitting me on his desk, right on top of all the papers and ledgers he had spread out. He looked me square in the eyes and told me the hotel was part of him, but only because of what it provided for his family. He said if it all burned down tomorrow, as long as he had me and Mama and Mary and George that it would all be okay. He said the hotel is like a body and we’re all like the soul. We make the hotel.

He wouldn’t want me to forget how to live. He wouldn’t want me to lose myself in the process of keeping the hotel afloat.

“Deep thoughts?” Maverick asks.

“Sorry,” I tell him, wiping at the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

We’ve both been working on making ourselves members of the Clean Plate Club. The food here is amazing and I can’t believe I’ve never tried it before tonight.

“This is the best shrimp and grits I’ve ever had.” He sits back in his chair, letting out a content sigh.

“How is everything?” a deep voice asks, causing me to look up.

A guy dressed in a white button-down shirt and black jeans is standing there with a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Great,” I tell him.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles, clasping his hands together in a pleased gesture. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Dessert, perhaps?”

“Oh, I’m stuffed,” I say, looking over to Maverick who is looking as full as I feel. “Y’all don’t lie about the lagniappe.”

The man chuckles, shaking his head. “That we don’t. If you leave hungry, we haven’t done our job.”

“Well, job well done tonight, man,” Maverick says, offering him his hand to shake.

Looking toward the back of the restaurant where two sets of large double doors swing constantly as the wait staff walks in and out, I ask, “Are you the chef?”

“Owner,” he says, dipping his head.

I offer him my hand. “I’m Carys Matthews. I own Blue Bayou around the corner. Dinner was great. I’ll be sure to send people your way.”

“Micah Landry,” he says, taking my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Maybe we could do some cross promo. I didn’t even realize there was a hotel nearby.”

“Funny,” Maverick says. “I’ve been telling Carys she needs to advertise more, maybe social media to get the word out.” He pauses, looking across the table at me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Carys is quite fond of antiques and struggles with keeping up with the times. Is, uh, Myspace still around?”

Without thinking, I swiftly kick him under the table causing him to yelp in surprise or pain, maybe both. For his information, we have a Facebook page. It’s just seriously outdated and one more thing I haven’t kept up with since my mother died.

Micah chuckles at the exchange. “So, how long have you been there?” The look he gives me says “are you even old enough to own a hotel?”

“Since 1963,” I inform him with a hesitant smile, feeling the weight of this conversation sitting heavier than the food in my stomach. How is it that a business owner just around the corner from the hotel doesn’t even know it exists?

Micah’s eyebrows go up. “Wow, 1963.” He nods his head, looking back over his shoulder. “Tell you what, drop off a brochure or something. We’ve got a bulletin board up front with local vendors. I always have people asking for recommendations, so I’d love to be able to tell them about your hotel.”

“That sounds great,” I tell him, even though inwardly I’m cringing because we don’t have brochures. We used to, but I haven’t seen a box of them in a long time. This conversation is making me realize how badly I’m sucking at promoting the Blue Bayou. “I love supporting locals.”

Micah smiles, nodding his head. “Me too. We’re already doing a lot of cross promotion with other businesses, like Neutral Grounds.”

“Oh, I love Neutral Grounds. CeCe and I go way back,” I tell him with a nod.

“Do you know my sister-in-law? Camille Landry, well, it was Benoit...I think she hyphenates now Benoit-Landry.”

“She’s an artist, right? I’ve seen her work in CeCe’s shop.”

Micah shakes his head. “Yeah, she and CeCe have been friends for a while, since she was here going to school. She’s getting ready to open up a new art gallery down the street featuring local artists.”

“Wow, small world, huh?” I ask, looking over at Maverick who seems to be taking it all in with a pleased expression on his face.

“Definitely,” Micah agrees, clapping his hands together. “Well, Carys Matthews, I’m glad you came in tonight and I look forward to getting to know more about the Blue Bayou. Maybe my wife and I will stay there soon, get a first-hand experience.”

“We’d love to have you.”

Someone from the kitchen calls out for him and he dips his chin in departure. “Y’all have a great night.”

“See,” Maverick muses approvingly when Micah’s out of earshot. “That’s what I’m talking about. It’s all about networking, getting your name out there. People need to know about the Blue Bayou. I like this.”

I laugh, wondering, not for the first time, why this man is so invested in me—my hotel. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love that he is. I love that he seems to really care about the Blue Bayou. I wish everyone felt as passionately about it as Maverick Kensington. But you don’t usually find complete strangers who understand the importance of your business from the moment they stumble in the door.

“Who are you, Maverick Kensington?” I ask, equal parts in awe and infatuation, but also cautious. I have to force the latter. My heart wants to jump in headfirst, but my head is putting up blockades, keeping me from pursuing what my body desires.

How did I get so lucky that it was my hotel he sought refuge in? I’ve never had someone besides my family, George and Mary being included in that, who care about the well-being of the Blue Bayou like I do, but Maverick seems to fit the bill.

He gives me a smile that is slow and easy and shoots straight to my core.

How can he be so nice, so handsome, and so business savvy? That’s unheard of, some sort of magical trifecta. Usually, people are one or the other, maybe two of them, if they’re lucky. The ones who have it all are taken.

“What do you mean?” he asks, leaning forward and placing a few bills in the black folder the waiter left at our table.

“I don’t know. I just find it so hard to believe that all of this is just a serendipitous coincidence. You walk into my hotel at just the right time, fix my computers, and my door knobs,” I add with a smile. “Now, you’re taking me to dinner and putting me in the right place at the right time to make connections with people like Micah.” I pause, shaking my head. “It just all seems too good to be true.”

With a wry smile, he asks, “So, you’re saying I’m too good to be true?”

“I didn’t say that.” I try to keep the smirk at bay but fail.

There’s mischief gleaming in his eyes as he leans a little closer, lowering his words to a near whisper. “So, you do or don’t think I’m good?” His gaze burns into mine, making me swallow hard. “I just need to know where I stand and how hard I’m going to have to work to change your mind.”

I swallow, wanting to look away from his penetrable gaze, but being completely unable to. I’m under a spell, his spell. To answer my own question from earlier, I think I’m willing to take the risk—no expectations, just pleasure. If I’m not expecting anything, then there’s no chance of heart break, right?

“Let’s get out of here,” Maverick says, standing and offering me his hand.

As we walk out of the restaurant, I try to make my heart stop beating so fast. I try to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I try to ignore the electricity that seems to be transferring from his hand to mine and the way my hand feels in his.

I fail.

Half a block away from Lagniappe, I stop in the shadow of a darkened storefront and tug his hand until he stops. Turning toward me, his eyes find mine, and in them, they find the answer they’re looking for.

I want this.

I want him.