DANI HAS BEEN GONE FOR half an hour and I’ve pretty much been standing at this window the entire time. Maybe I thought she’d change her mind and I’d see that red mustang pull back up at the curb. But she didn’t and now it’s just me and this empty apartment.
I could head out and go to Grinders or drive to New Orleans and put myself to work, but I don’t want to. I had my heart set on Dani and now I just want to be here, as close to her as possible. That might make me sound weak, but I don’t care. I am weak when it comes to her. I don’t think she knows exactly how much I love her.
This past week has been good for me in a way. It’s allowed me to realize how deep my feelings for Dani run and how sure I am of wanting to spend the rest of my life with her. Now, if only I can get the chance to prove that to her, I’d be a happy man.
But for now, that crawfish etouffee I’d planned on making for Dani is calling my name. Going into the kitchen, I start unloading the sack of groceries and laying everything on the counter.
As I’m getting a pot out for the rice, a vivid, random memory of Dani and I fooling around in the kitchen hits me out of nowhere. I can see her so clearly—her head tilted back laughing, her slender neck on display, the way her hair hangs down her back.
The raw emotions coursing through my body nearly bring me to my knees. I set the pot down on the counter and brace my arms on the edge, breathing deeply to regain control.
What if Dani loves it in Birmingham?
What if Piper were to offer her a permanent job there?
Would she take it?
Would she leave me?
So many questions and fears flood my mind, things I haven’t allowed myself to think until now. But I can’t make them stop. All of this relationship stuff is still new to me. I’ve never given my heart over so completely to someone before. What happens if the feelings I’m experiencing are one-sided.
Without thinking, I pull out my phone and hit redial on Dani’s number. The panic setting in can only be relieved one way. I need to hear her voice. I need to hear her tell me it’s going to be okay, or I need her to tell me it’s not. Regardless, I have to hear it from her and it can’t wait a week.
After the third ring, she picks up.
“Hello.” I can tell she has me on speaker phone due to the slight roar of the engine, mixed with the noise of the road in the background.
“Hey,” I reply, feeling a slight decrease in the tightness of my chest with just that one word.
“What’s wrong?” There’s an edge of concern in her voice and I love that even over the phone she knows me so well.
“Are we okay? I mean, I know we’ve been arguing a lot and we haven’t seen each other much . . . and now you’ve left for Birmingham.” I pause, trying to put the right words together to convey what I need to say. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever. I mean, I don’t know how this relationship stuff goes, but . . .”
“I’m coming back, Micah,” she says with a sigh into the phone. I can hear the tenderness in her voice. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re okay. Everyone argues. If they don’t, something’s wrong with them.” She laughs lightly and sighs again. “There are going to be a lot of times over the years when we don’t agree, but just like now, we’ll work through them. And I promise, this won’t be the only time our timing will be off, but the important thing is that we eventually come back together. This phase of our relationship, and it is a phase, is just making us stronger.”
I just let her talk, because listening to her refer to us in conjunction with years and hints of forever is exactly what I needed to hear.
“We’re going to be fine, okay?” she says softly into the speaker. “Please don’t worry about us the entire time I’m gone. I’m sorry I didn’t stay longer. I should’ve. I was just frustrated and I left. Forgive me?”
“Of course,” I tell her, without even having to think about it. “I’ll always forgive you.”
“See, you’re so good at this relationship stuff,” she teases and I can hear the smile in her voice. I wish I could see it. I wish she was standing in front of me so I could have a do-over on the entire conversation before she left. I’d put my own agenda aside and use the time we had more wisely. I would kiss her, soundly, until she walked out the door.
“I’m going to miss you while you’re gone,” I admit. “I already miss you.”
“Make crawfish etouffee and sleep in our bed. I’ll be home before you know it.”
Our bed.
Home.
“Okay. You have to promise you’ll be safe and call me whenever you get a chance,” I instruct.
“I promise. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Call me in an hour. I need you to check in.” I might sound like a dad or something, but Dani’s mine and I’m going to take care of her, whether she likes it or not.
“Yes, sir. One hour.”
“That’s better.”
“I love you,” she says, her voice turning even softer.
“I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”
“I’m gonna let you show me.”
“Don’t tease me like that, woman. I have an entire week to wait.”
She laughs, and it’s full and happy and everything I love about her. “Okay, love you. Talk to you in an hour.”
After hanging up the phone, I hold onto it for a few minutes, like it’s a lifeline. Of course Dani would know exactly what to say, exactly what would put my fears to rest. It’s the motivation I need to carry on.
Instead of moping around the apartment, I do exactly what Dani instructed, I make the etouffee and think of her as I’m eating it.
An hour later, when she calls, I tell her I love her and she promises to call when she gets into Alabama.
When she makes her final call at eleven, telling me she’s at Piper’s, I fall into bed and inhale her lingering scent. It’s just enough to lull me into the best sleep I’ve had in the last week.
The next morning, I wake up and immediately reach out for Dani, but of course she’s not there. She’s in Birmingham. For the next week.
Groaning, I roll over and think about going back to sleep, until my phone starts to ring and I nearly fall out of bed reaching for it on the nightstand.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice groggy from sleep and lack of talking. Clearing my throat, I give it another go when the person on the other end doesn’t respond. The number is local, but not one I have programmed into my phone. “Hello.”
“Micah,” Alex’s voice is tentative. “Uh, hey. Are you on your way to the city?”
“Not yet. Why?” I go from content and lazy to annoyed and pissy in two seconds. Alex is currently my nails on a chalkboard. All she has to do is breathe in my direction and I’m instantly on edge.
“We’re having a problem with the water. The contractor called me,” she huffs. There’s talking in the background, but I can’t make anything out. “You know I don’t have a clue about that stuff. Will you meet him there? He’ll be there at nine.”
I look at Dani’s alarm clock on the other side of the bed and pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from releasing my frustrations on Alex. A fiery dragon lies just beneath the surface these days, waiting to lash out and scorch everything in its path.
“It’s eight fifteen. There’s no way I can be there by nine. I’m in Baton Rouge and I just woke up.” I want to scream at her, tell her she should do something helpful for once. I swear, since we finished picking out the dishes and glassware, she hasn’t lifted a finger. I’m so done with her, I can’t even stand it.
“Well, I can’t be there. I had an eight o’clock appointment this morning.” Her tone comes off high and mighty, like her plans are so much more important than anyone else’s, not leaving any room for negotiation.
“I can be there by nine thirty. Call them and reschedule.” Two can play at that game.
“Fine.”
I expect her to offer more information or have some other issue to talk about, but I’m met with dead air.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
She hung up on me.
Flinging the covers off, I climb out of bed and stomp to the bathroom. The little cup by the sink offends me, because Dani’s toothbrush should be in there beside mine, but it’s not.
When I get to the kitchen, the coffee pot also offends me because, normally, I’d set it for Dani, but she’s not here.
As I grab my boots by the door, I throw shade at the hook where Dani’s bag usually hangs.
I know I resolved to make the best of things while Dani’s gone, but I’m finding it to be quite challenging this morning. Hopefully, I’ll miraculously find my zen on my way to New Orleans.
About ten minutes out of the city, my phone rings and I jump on it, thinking it could be Dani.
“Hello.”
“Hey,” a familiar voice says from the other end.
“How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
Cami chuckles and I know she’s rolling her eyes at me. She’s always rolling her eyes at me. “I’m you’re only sister-in-law, dumbass.”
“Why don’t I talk to you every morning on my way to work?” I ask with a laugh. “Everyone should get this kind of pep talk before tackling the day.”
“I’ll put it on my to-do list.” She pauses and I know there’s something on her mind, but I also know Cami and she’ll get to it, in her own time. “Listen, something else that’s been on my to-do list,” she says, with a brief clatter in the background. “Shit.”
“Shit? Do you have to schedule that sort of thing in? I mean, I know being a mom takes up a lot of time, but I thought you at least got to go to the bathroom by yourself. At least for now.”
“Funny. No, I just knocked over some paint.”
That’s Cami, always multi-tasking.
“So,” she continues. “As I was saying, I wanted to call and just . . . I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to let you know that I understand what you’re doing. With the restaurant and everything.” She sighs, pausing again and I’m not sure what to say in reply.
“Thanks,” I tell her. I know she’s always on Deacon’s side, but it’s nice to hear that she sees my side of things. “I figured you’d be pissed at me like everyone else.”
“I’m not pissed. I know it’s hard going against something you’ve always done, stepping out of the box, and I know you and Deacon. Y’all are stubborn asses. If you looked it up in the dictionary your pictures would be there.”
“You’re probably right,” I tell her.
“I know I’m right.”
There’s that sass I’ve always known and loved.
“I think you forget that I’ve been there for all of the fallouts. Remember that time Deacon wouldn’t let you ride your bike to town with him and Danny Henson?” She laughs. “He said you weren’t old enough. Gosh, you were so pissed. You were gonna do it anyway, and Deacon knew it.”
“So, the fucker locked my bike up in the shed and took the key with him.”
“Yep,” she says, laughing. “You worked for hours picking that lock. You’d have stolen Tucker’s bike, but he locked it up too, and you weren’t about to ride mine, because it was pink. By the time you got the lock picked, Deacon was back, and y’all didn’t talk for weeks. And, oh, the revenge . . .”
“I remember.” I shake my head at the memory. “I threw all of his underwear in the pond.”
“Yeah, and your mama made you fish them out.”
“Dad finally made us hug it out. I think he made us hug for an hour, before we finally agreed to forgive each other.”
“He’d probably do that now, if he thought he could get by with it,” she says.
“I know.”
“I’ve told Deacon the same thing, and now, I’m tellin’ you, don’t let something like this come between y’all. Your relationship isn’t worth all the restaurants in the world. And Carter misses you and there’s a new baby . . .”
“I know.”
“Just makin’ sure.”
“Thanks, Cam.”
“Any time. And, if you’re serious, I’ll pencil you in for morning pep talks.”
“Thanks.”
By the time my truck rolls up behind the restaurant, I’m feeling somewhat better, until I remember what I’m here for. Slamming my door, I mumble words of displeasure as I walk in the back door.
“Hey, Boss.” Randy greets me from his spot under the sink. “I told Alex not to call a plumber, or you,” he growls as he uses a large wrench to tighten something on the pipes. “I told her I could fix it.” He slides out, partially out of breath, and wipes his hands on a towel.
It’s too bad that murder is against the law, because right now, offing Alex doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
“You look like you could use a drink,” he says, standing up off the floor and gathering his tools.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and then exhale loudly in an effort to get myself under control. “Since I’m here, let’s go over the menu for the soft opening.”
Next week will be a trial run for friends and family before our grand opening to the public the following week. It’s crunch time, and again, a time for all hands on deck, but I’d bet money that Alex won’t show her face until opening night.
And she’ll waltz in here, dressed to the nines, bringing all the attention to herself. Just thinking about it has me fuming again.
“Micah,” Randy says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head and pulling out a barstool, taking a seat. “I’m fine. Just grand opening jitters.”
“Sure,” he says, but Randy’s not a fool. He sees what goes on behind the scenes and he knows the kind of tension that’s been building between me and Alex. He steps behind the bar and pulls out two rocks glasses, tossing in a couple ice cubes and a couple fingers of Southern Comfort. Sliding me one, he tips his toward me and drinks. I do the same, appreciating the soothing warmth as it travels down my throat and into my stomach.
“Thanks,” I tell him, setting my glass to the side and reaching for the file that holds the plans for the soft opening. “If that chef thing doesn’t work out, I’ll move you to the bar,” I tease, needing to clear the air before we get down to business.
Randy really was the best hire I’ve made so far. He’s good at his job, a team player, and I feel like he truly has the restaurant’s best interest at heart. I think to myself as we go over the menu that he’s the kind of employee Deacon would hire and it makes me feel like I’m doing something right.
“Oh, hey,” he says, as we’re finishing up. “I almost forgot. There was some nerdy lookin’ guy that came by yesterday—suit, bow tie, glasses—takin’ himself way too seriously.”
“What did he need?” I ask, organizing the papers in the binder.
“He was lookin’ for Alex,” Randy says, reaching under the counter of the bar and coming back up with a business card. “Said he has some business with her and can’t seem to track her down.”
I take the card, looking over the front. U.S. Treasury Department—Internal Revenue Service. Stanley Foster—IRS Revenue Agent.
Huh.
“I’ll make sure Alex get this,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
Randy gives me a pointed nod. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll be here tomorrow morning to finish up some training. Food order arrives in two days. Everything is green light for next week.”
“Thanks, Randy.” I give him a hearty slap on the back. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Don’t give me too much credit, boss. The greatness of Lagniappe is all you.” He motions his arms around the place—understated, yet classy. It’s really come together nicely. “This is your baby. I’m just here to help you take care of it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“See ya tomorrow.”
Once Randy is gone, I pull the business card back out and look over it a little closer. IRS Revenue Agent. What would someone like that want with Alex?
My curiosity gets the best of me and I pull out my phone, doing a Google search. According to the results, a revenue agent’s job is to collect past due money from taxpayers.
“What kind of trouble have you got yourself into, Alex?” I ask to no one, but myself.
The wheels in my head start turning as I make my way back to the office down the hall. An idea I’ve been toying with for a few weeks now starts to solidify as I consider the fact that Alex might be desperate. And desperate times call for desperate measures.
And desperate people are known to settle for less.
This little tidbit of information might be the break I’ve been needing. Opening the file cabinet, I pull out the copy of our contract, taking some time to read through it.
Of course, I read it before I signed it, but at that time, I wasn’t looking for a way to get Alex out of the picture. I need to know what my options are before I make any moves. All my ducks have to be in a row.
Scouring the pages, I stop when I get to the buyout agreement.
Since Alex didn’t put up any money, her only investment in this partnership is the building. In the agreement, it states that the building can’t be sold for the next five years, unless it’s purchased by another partner. So, if I’m understanding this correctly, purchasing the building would technically buy Alex out.
Real estate in New Orleans is expensive. Real estate in the French Quarter can be downright outrageous. But now that I know Alex is more than likely hurting for cash flow, this might be a buyer’s market.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I dial the number I have written down on the inside of the folder.
“Mr. Wells’ office. How may I direct your call?”
“Mr. Wells, please,” I reply, holding my breath and hoping I’m not acting before thinking.
“Hello,” a friendly, yet stern voice says from the other end of the line.
“Mr. Wells, it’s Micah Landry.”
“Mr. Landry, what can I do for you?” he asks, getting down to business.
“I was wonderin’ if we could meet and discuss the restaurant.” I don’t want to say too much. I still have some thinking to do, but I don’t want to waste any time either.
“Looks like I’m free tomorrow at two.”
“Tomorrow at two is great. I’ll be there.”