“I have to warn you,” Beau says. “Declan’s not a great cook.”
I simply nod and smile as I remember having cereal in bed just yesterday morning. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Hey, stop trying to scare her off,” Declan says and slips his arm around my shoulders.
“It’ll take more than bad cooking to do that,” I immediately reply.
“He’s also not good at laundry,” Eli adds.
“That did it.” I move to walk out the door while everyone else laughs, but Declan catches my arm and twirls me back to him, plants his lips on mine, and right here in front of his mother, lays a kiss on me that makes my toes curl. “Okay.” I swallow. “I guess that makes up for the laundry.”
***
“That was fun,” I say as we pull away from the inn into the dark Bayou. It was surprisingly easy. As rich and intimidating as the Boudreaux family can be, I found them to be welcoming and funny.
“They liked you,” Declan says.
“It was mutual. Thanks for taking me.”
He kisses my hand and rests our hands on his thigh. “That place,” he says and points to a colorful plantation house, “is Laura. Another plantation here in the Bayou, it was one of the first built.”
“Are you giving me a tour? In the dark?”
“It’s not my fault that you women can talk for hours on end about shoes,” he says defensively.
“If I’d known I was going to get a tour, I would have cut it short,” I reply.
“Well, this will give you a start.” He points out different homes and tells me stories about the families that originally homesteaded them.
“You know, if you ever lose your night job, this might fit you perfectly,” I say when he pauses. “You know your history.”
“A lot of this could be bullshit,” he admits. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”
“Isn’t that what most tales are?”
He’s headed back to the freeway now and I turn the music up, singing along with an old Goo Goo Dolls song. “I met Johnny Resznik once,” I inform him.
“Really? Do tell.”
“It was at a Goo Goo Dolls concert. I got VIP tickets and got to pose for a photo with him.” I giggle and shake my head. “So, I didn’t really meet him, but I did get to touch him.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
I turn in my seat and stare at Declan. “You know him?”
“I’ve just met him a couple of times when they recorded in Memphis.”
I sit back in my seat and stare straight ahead. “You know Johnny Resznik.”
“I’ve met him,” he corrects me.
“That makes up for the lack of cooking skills.”
Declan lets out a loud, surprised laugh. “I’m glad.”
“Besides, I like your cereal breakfasts.”
He sends me a naughty grin. “How about dessert?”
“We had dessert at your sister’s house.”
“I could go for second dessert.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s a thing?”
“Oh yes. It’s a thing.” Just as we enter the city, he pulls off the freeway and turns into the parking lot of a divey little diner. “And this place has the best peach cobbler in Louisiana. Wait here.”
He jogs inside, places his order to go, joins me again and then lays the warm box in my lap.
“It’s hot.”
“Yes, ma’am. And there’s a pint of vanilla ice cream in there too.”
We’re not far from his house, and he pulls into the driveway and escorts me to his door.
“I guess you’re not dropping me off at home.”
He turns the key in the lock and grins knowingly. “You’re a good guesser. Let’s go this way,” he says when I would head back toward the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to show it to you yet. I just finished it the other day.”
He opens a door, and my jaw immediately drops. “Oh, Declan.”
Chapter Eight
~Declan~
Her eyes are wide with wonder as she wanders around the music room, the dessert, and me, long forgotten. I hang back and gaze about the space with her, proud of the finished product. The walls are painted a soft grey with one wall lined with old grey barn wood. Antique brass instruments are hung on the walls, and the instruments I play are on stands, placed throughout the room.
But her eyes are glued to the piano in the corner, where wide windows look out over the back yard.
“You have a baby grand,” she breathes and gently runs her fingertips over the top of it.
Every move, every sound she makes is pure sex. I want to boost her up and take her right here, on this piano, but I have to reign myself in.
“Can I play it?” she asks without looking back at me.
“Of course.” I sit in a chair, giving her space, surprised that she plays. Not that I should be surprised; I never asked her. She opens the keys, settles her bottom on the bench the way she’s comfortable, and then begins to play a song that I played at the bar a few nights ago.
Funny, I was thinking of her when I played it. But that was on the guitar. The piano makes it softer, more romantic. She’s humming as she’s playing.
Jesus, I’ve never seen anything sexier than Callie in this very moment. I’d wondered how I would feel about having her around my family. Would it be awkward? Uncomfortable? I’d never taken anyone to family dinner before, but it was none of those things.
Callie was gracious and friendly, despite being nervous, which she’ll deny, but her sweaty palms didn’t lie. She charmed my family almost as quickly as she charmed me.