The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,154

he says, as I hang up the phone. “You sure you’re okay hangin’ wit’ your friend for a little bit?”

Do I have a choice? “Yeah. Brie’s like family to me.”

“Das good. Ain’ nothin’ and no one more loyal den family.”

40

Céleste

The neighborhood where Brie lives is the same one she grew up in with Maw Maw, except nine years has turned it into a place about as dilapidated as Charpentier. Homes of various designs line the street just off the main strip, with unkempt yards and boarded-up windows.

Luc rolls to a stop at the curb of a shotgun-style house, so named for the fact that one could shoot a bullet straight through the front door, and it’d exit through the back door without hitting a thing. Between the full-sized houses that stand at either side of Brie’s, it almost looks smooshed.

Before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt, Luc’s at my door, opening it for me. Taking me by the hand, he helps me out of the truck and closes the door behind me.

“I really think, once you drop the playboy act, girls are going to be on you like …”

“Flies on a turd?”

The visual has me laughing, as we stride up to the door, where Brie greets us with a smile.

“Catch you back here in a couple hours.” Luc says, backing himself toward the parked truck. “Très bien?”

“Oui. Try not to kick too much ass.” I make my way up the creaky wooden stairs of the front porch.

“No promises,” he says, grinning, then he spins around, jogging the rest of the way to his truck.

The moment I enter the house, Brie’s arms are wrapped around me, and I feel the tremble that vibrates through her.

“Hey, you okay?” I hold my arms out, not really sure what to do with them, seeing as affection has never really been my thing, but it’s obvious she’s scared.

“I just …. I’m …. I don’t know what to do. What if Marcelle is—”

“Hey,” I interrupt. “Don’t think like that, okay?” Finally, awkwardly, wrapping my arms around her, I frown at the unspoken speculation. “She’s probably just … having a bit more fun than she should be.”

A laugh bursts from Brie, and she releases me. “You’re horrible at making someone feel better, you know that?”

“I really am. I laughed at a funeral recently.” Russ’s funeral. And had Brie been sitting beside me, she’d have surely elbowed me to stay quiet.

Rolling her eyes, she snorts and shakes her head. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Any chance you have some food? I’m starving. Nothing against Luc, but the guy doesn’t think beyond the next beer.”

“Of course. Come in. Welcome to my humble abode,” she says, waving her hands over the small, but cute, little living room. With hardwood floors and white walls that match an ornate white fireplace, it’s like something out of the early 1900’s. Everything is clean and tidy, well-kept, if not slightly outdated. It has a homey feel, with its crocheted doilies and old-fashioned furniture, the scent of lemons on the air.

“I love it,” I say, scanning the surroundings, as she leads me to the kitchen.

“Tante Clothilde definitely took better care of it. Just haven’t had time between work and school.”

The kitchen is small and quaint, with white tiled walls and adorable natural wood furniture. Simple, but clean. Brie pulls out what must be leftovers from dinner: pasta with pieces of chicken, shrimp and …

“It’s andouille sausage.” Brie finishes my thought, scooping some of the pasta onto a plate. “We call this pastalaya.”

“It looks delicious.” My mouth is practically watering, as she shoves the plate into a microwave. Can’t help the constant shift of my gaze from her to the number of seconds left on the countdown. A grumble in my stomach is the goading reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since that sandwich Luc made this morning.

Once done, she pushes the plate in front of me, where I already sit at the kitchen table, eagerly holding my fork. “So, spill the beans. What’s it been like hanging with Bergeron.”

Stabbing my fork into the pasta, I spool and shovel it into my mouth. The flavors that explode on my tongue are nothing short of orgasmic, and I tip my head back, capping the moan begging to escape. “He’s nice.”

“Nice? Bergeron is many things. Domineering. Insulting. Demanding. Nice does not come to mind.”

“Well, I’ve seen a different side to him.”

Hands on her hips, she rears back. “He has a different side? ‘Cause I was pretty sure he only