Lulu's Recipe for Cajun Sass - Sandra Hill Page 0,53

for him. So, maybe that had helped.

He’d cleared out a massive amount of stuff from his Boston apartment, but he hadn’t needed to take any of the furnishings, which were pretty much yard sale finds, since a pal of his, Harry Olson, would continue with the lease. Heavy books, a medical bag and portable equipment, plus out-of-season clothing had been boxed up and were ready for transit. He’d left two sets of mailing labels with Harry to put on the boxes, only one of which would be used, after he gave him a call…either for Houma, Louisiana or for Chicago.

Now he was back in Louisiana and about to have his big talk with Louisa. Unfortunately, after taking a bus to New Orleans and then to Houma, where he’d picked up his mother’s car, and having to spend an hour showering, shaving, changing clothes, and then talking with his parents, it was almost nine p.m. before he’d got to Louise’s cottage. By now, she probably thought he wasn’t coming. Or maybe she didn’t care.

Mon Dieu! He was anxious as a hooker at a Holy Roller convention.

He knocked on the door, and, when Louise answered, he saw that she’d dressed for company…for him? Please, God! She was wearing a short-sleeved, scoop-necked dress with big-ass, brightly-colored flowers—purple gardenias, yellow hibiscus, pink orchids, green ferns, and purple lilies, all on a pale blue background. Sort of Hawaiian-Cajun. (I should have worn sunglasses. Ha, ha, ha!) Glossy watermelon red lipstick (I wonder if it tastes like watermelon. Ha, ha, ha!) matched the toenails that could be seen in the peep-toe, white high heels she wore. (For her, I could turn into one of those foot fetish perverts, maybe. Ha, ha, ha.) Her hair was upswept and held in place with lacquer combs. (The best part of those updo’s, in a man’s opinion, is taking them down, especially if it’s a prelude to— Cut it out, Justin! You need to focus. Keep your cool. Stop wringing your hands with nervousness. Jeesh!)

In any case, he interpreted the special care she’d taken with her appearance as a good sign, which was probably pathetic of him. For all he knew, she had a date with someone else, or had come back from an early date.

“Louise, darlin’, I have missed you so much,” he said, following her into the living room.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, but the sad expression on her face did not bode well for him.

To hell with caution and taking things easy, as he’d planned. He stepped forward and took her into his arms. Just hugging her. And kissing the top of her head. She felt so good. And she wasn’t pushing him away. At first, anyway.

When she did begin to press her hands against his chest, he stepped back immediately and tilted his head in question. “Sweetheart…?”

“Let’s sit down,” she suggested, and motioned toward the davenport. In front of it, on a coffee table, were two stemmed glasses with a pale yellowish liquid in them. “And try my new batch of dandelion wine.”

He waited for her to sit down before dropping down beside her. Not too close, but not too far away, either. He took his glass in hand and clinked it against the one she’d picked up. He wanted to say, “To us,” but figured that would come off as presumptuous. Instead, he said, “To good wine.” But then, after taking a sip, he added, “This is really good.”

“Thank you. It did turn out well.”

“Do you sell it?”

She shook her head. “No, that would be illegal. I just give it to friends. It makes an especially good addition to Christmas gift baskets, along with my jams and pickles and other homemade items.” She was rambling. Maybe she was nervous, too. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“You are incredible,” he remarked and took another sip. Waving at the wine glasses and a plate of crackers and cheese (he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made those from scratch, too), he said, “So, you were expecting me this late? You’re not dolled up for someone else?”

“Is that what you thought?” She straightened with affront.

Uh-oh! He shrugged. “I was afraid.”

“Pfff! That doesn’t say much about your opinion of me.”

“No, it says more about my opinion of myself and whether I’ve shot my chances with you to hell. This week has been a nightmare for me, Louise.” He took her hand in his.

She didn’t pull away. “I haven’t slept two hours straight all week.”

He raised her