A Case for Love (23 page)

A sign hung over what looked like a doorbell button. AFTER HOURS DELIIVERIES PRESS HERE. He pressed it; a chime like church bells echoed distantly. In the shelter of the porch, he wiped the worst of the rain from his face and waited.

The door swung open. “We’re closed on Sund—Forbes.” JD looked as shocked to see him as Forbes was himself at being here. “Come in, get in out of the rain.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this.”

“Not at all. Our door is always open to you.” JD ushered him in and closed and locked the door behind him. “Come on upstairs where you can dry off a bit.”

A cacophony of scents slammed Forbes in the nose—sweet and earthy and spicy ... and utterly homey. He followed Alaine’s father through the flower shop’s back room—weirdly shadowy and sparkly at the same time, lined with shelves filled with glass vases in every color imaginable—to a staircase at the back.

“Watch out for the lift chair.” JD skirted around the seat attached to a beam that ran up the right-hand side of the staircase. “You just missed seeing Joe, Nikki, Alaine, and our youngest son, Tony. Solange and I were just settling down for our coffee and newspaper.”

Forbes stopped. “I hadn’t considered—I really don’t want to interrupt your day.”

“Of course you can.” JD came down until he was two steps above Forbes and laid his hands on Forbes’s shoulders. “And I can tell by your demeanor that you’re having a rough day. You’ve obviously come here because something is bothering you. From what Alaine’s told us, I imagine it has to do with your parents’ reaction to finding out you’re helping us. So let us do what we can to make you feel better.”

Forbes tried to clear the cement from his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Delacroix. That means a lot to me.”

“Please, I’ve asked you to call me JD. Come on, now. The coffee should be ready, and Solange has some baklava hidden in the kitchen that Voula Pappas sent over from the restaurant for the store yesterday.”

The stairs came up into a hallway, and a warm light at the end beckoned them forward. Forbes entered a kitchen that looked like it was straight out of the 1950s—the happiness and innocence of the decor imbuing him with a sliver of optimism that, somehow, everything would be okay.

“Joseph, who—” Mrs. Delacroix came into the kitchen through the attached, very informal dining area. “Forbes, welcome to our home.” She narrowed her eyes in an intense study of him. “You go sit in the living room. I will bring you coffee and baklava.” She winked at her husband.

“Best do what she says, son.” JD grinned and waved Forbes on through the kitchen.

If the kitchen had been 1950s kitsch, the living room was definitely Mediterranean, from the soft, seaside colors to the terracotta floor tiles to the Portuguese decorative touches around the room. The pressure in his chest eased even more from the warm, welcoming embrace the room wrapped him in.

Moments later, Solange entered with an enormous coffee mug and a plate of pastries, both of which she set on the low table in front of Forbes. He opened his mouth to ask for milk—and to see if they had any artificial sweetener—then realized that Solange had already taken the liberty of doctoring his coffee. It probably would be full fat milk and too much sugar. He’d drink enough to be polite.

As soon as the coffee hit his tongue, he wondered that Alaine would be able to drink coffee made by anyone else. The smooth creaminess coated his tongue—so it was half-and-half, not milk—and she’d added just enough sugar for a hint of sweetness, but not too much.

The muscles in his shoulders started to ease.

JD and Solange let him drink coffee and eat the sticky Greek pastries in peace, allowing his mind and thoughts to settle.

Finally, he took one more swallow of the coffee, set it on the table, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just walked out on my family’s Sunday dinner. I accused my parents of being—” What exactly had he said? “I accused them of being underhanded and of exploiting the people in the Mills. In front of our entire extended family.”

“And you’re feeling like a bad son.” JD swayed back and forth slowly in his plush rocking chair. “If I may take a wild guess, as the oldest son, you’ve always felt it was your responsibility to step up and fill in for your parents whenever they couldn’t be there. You’re basically the third parent in your immediate family. Am I right?”

Forbes nodded.

“When anything goes wrong, you see it as a challenge that you can and will overcome.”

That went without saying. He nodded again.

“When one of your brothers or sisters disobeyed or openly defied your parents, you took it personally and didn’t understand why your parents were sometimes lax in enforcing their own rules with your younger siblings.”

Consternated but intrigued, Forbes propped his chin in his hand.

JD continued his slow, contemplative rocking. “But you decided not to go to work for your parents when you finished college because ... why?”

“Because...” He thought back twenty years. “Because I was afraid that if I went into the family business, I’d never be my own man. I’d never see if I could make something of myself without constantly taking from my parents.”

“And how do you feel about the man you’ve become?”

Forbes couldn’t answer right away. He had a good life—made an enviable salary, lived in a luxurious home in an exclusive community, drove a high-end vehicle, knew all the “right” people. And he lived alone and ate dinner by himself most nights. “There are some things I’d like to change about myself. Some things I’m working on already. Others I probably need to spend more time studying to see how I can improve.”

“Do you think you’re a better man than your father?”

“No. I’m a different man than my father.”

JD’s head bobbed slightly in what could have been a nod. “That’s a good attitude to have. I wish I’d realized that before my father passed away. Forbes, you are a good man. You have high morals and ethics. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re a man of faith as well.”

“Yes, sir.” He could visualize everything JD mentioned as if they were boxes of different shapes and sizes. Forbes wasn’t sure just how they all stacked together.

“Because I know those things about you, I know that your parents are, deep down, good people. They may have just forgotten it as other influences, such as wealth and prestige, have drawn the curtains over the qualities that they found important enough to instill in their son. The best way you can honor them is to help them remember those greater qualities, help them remember that they’re good people.”

Air rushed into Forbes’s lungs, filling every cell in his body with hope. All of JD’s boxes made sense, stacked together quite neatly. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear. Because the next time I see my parents will most likely be across a conference table with their lawyer—the managing partner in my law firm.”

“You have to know that we don’t want this to go to court if it doesn’t have to. We’re praying for an amicable negotiation because we don’t want you estranged from your parents, from your family. It might make things awkward.”

Forbes could understand how not being welcome at his own family’s functions could be awkward for him, but... “I’m not sure what you mean by awkward.”

JD exchanged a look with his wife—a look replete with mysterious smiles. “Because when you marry our daughter, we want your family to be there to celebrate along with us.”

Alaine tucked the phone receiver between shoulder and ear and continued writing copy. “Alaine Delacroix.”

“Good morning.” Forbes’s smooth, mellow voice oozed out of the phone to wrap Alaine in warmth.

“Good morning to you, too.” Caterpillars of excitement crawled up and down her skin at the thought of seeing him this afternoon. “You sound like you’re feeling better today than you were last night.”

“It’s a new day. The sun is shining. And it’s a holiday.”

“Rub it in, thanks.” She sent the finished copy to the printer so she could read through and make any revisions quickly before she went in to film the studio segments of today’s broadcast.

“Since I’m off the hook from going to my family’s cookout tonight, I’m all yours today.” While he hadn’t gone into great detail over the phone last night, her heart still ached knowing that she’d caused a rift between Forbes and his close-knit family by involving him in the case.

“I’ll be heading out there in about an hour. I’ve got to roll some tape and edit together a piece before noon so I can run it during my live segment. So you’ll probably want to wait until after one o’clock before meeting me.”

“I’d rather come and watch you work.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. No offense, but I have a really tight schedule with this, and I don’t need any distractions.” Nor the jittery feeling she got whenever he was around.

“I distract you?” The low growl in his voice very nearly pushed her out of her chair and onto the floor in a swoon.

“Incessantly and unforgivably.”

“Well, on that note, I won’t tell you what else I talked about with your parents yesterday.”

Finding out Forbes had been at her parents’ house for almost three hours yesterday afternoon had come as quite a surprise; and when he’d told her they’d talked about his confrontation with his own parents, she’d been truly shocked. He didn’t even go into all the details with her.

“I’m not taking the bait. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you a little after one at my parents’ place. Don’t forget to display your parking permit, or you’ll have to park in public parking over by the old mill.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alaine turned around at a rustling sound from behind her. Bekka stood in the cubicle’s doorway—if only it had a door—tapping her watch.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a few hours.” As soon as she got Forbes to say good-bye and hang up, she grabbed her copy off the printer along with her steno pad and pen. “Sorry. I know, I’m running a few minutes behind.”

“We’re okay. We still have a few minutes. How was your weekend?”

Self-consciousness flamed in Alaine’s face.

Bekka stopped her and pulled her to the side of the wide hallway. “Tell.”

Alaine gave her a quick rundown of the incident at the coffee shop Saturday morning. Her heart raced and cheeks ached with the effort to control her expression as she got to the end of the story. “And then he leaned across the table and kissed me.”

“He—what?” Bekka’s eyes grew big—as did her smile. “He
kissed
you? On the lips?”

Alaine’s laugh echoed down the tiled corridor. “Yes,” she whispered, “on the
lips.
Twice.”

Bekka pulled her into a quick, bone-crushing hug. “I’m so happy for you. It seems like everything is finally working out for you, as I knew it would eventually.”

Alaine pulled her along—they needed to be in the studio. “I hope so. We haven’t really talked about what it meant, though he did call me last night and we were on the phone for almost four hours.”

“If you didn’t talk about your relationship, what did you talk about?”

“Everything—nothing. I found out that his favorite author is Charles Dickens. Something about how Dickens wrote several novels that were scathing criticisms of the legal system in Victorian England and he wrote papers about it as an undergrad. Most of it went way over my head. So I paid him back by talking about art for a few minutes. His sister told me that he’s not really a fan.”

As soon as they stepped into the frigid studio, they separated: Bekka going to the news desk and Alaine going to her comfy arm chair on stage three to record her studio segments for the show. She pulled her jacket—a lightweight broadcloth in navy blue, with three-quarter sleeves ending in a little ruffle detail—on over her sleeveless red-and-white abstract patterned blouse. She thanked the fire marshal for coming in early and explained the process to him.

An hour later, she pulled her little black Mazda into the gravel lot beside Delacroix Gardens and walked the half mile to the community center where the TV station’s van was setting up to broadcast. She left her jacket on the front seat of the van, did a quick sound and picture test with Nelson, and then headed into the crowds already starting to form around the dozens of tents lining the streets in all directions—all displaying DELACROIX RENTALS logos on them—containing merchandise and goods from Mills retailers, food of every imaginable ethnicity from every restaurant in the Mills, and carnival style games that filled the air with what Alaine thought of as the sound of Independence Day.

She went to her parents’ booth first and chatted with them while Nelson got some footage of the flowers and potted plants they had for sale.

“Seems busier this early than it was last year.” Alaine looked around at the visitors milling about.

“It is. And you know what they say—all publicity is good publicity.” Her father rearranged the small pots of sweet peas to fill in holes where someone had obviously bought a few. “I know it’s not great for Forbes, but I think everyone will be in the black this month due to the increased traffic we’ll see today because the news stories have brought the Mills back to Bonneterre’s attention. We’ve already scheduled appointments to meet with two different landscapers to bid some projects for them in the upcoming weeks.”

“That’s great. I hope it works out....”

Nelson indicated his readiness, and Alaine switched from daughter playing catch-up to reporter getting sound bites for her piece. After getting quotes from both parents, she sought out some of the more eclectic restaurants’ and merchants’ displays to make sure that she showed off the cultural diversity of the area to its best extent.

Stepping under the canopy at the tent for Abu Dhabi Restaurant, she bumped into a tall, broad-chested man. “I’ll beg your—oh, hey, Major.”

Major O’Hara turned. “Alaine, good to see you again.”

“I should have known you’d be out here examining all the different cuisine.” She turned and motioned for Nelson to start rolling. At his thumbs-up, she held the microphone up in front of herself. “Chef Major O’Hara of Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises.” She paused. “Chef O’Hara, what brings you out to the Moreaux Mills Independence Day Street Festival?”

“As anyone in any profession knows, expanding your knowledge of your profession is vital if you want to keep improving your own skills, so I come out here every year to study—and to taste—the best in multicultural cuisines.” He’d come a long way since his first couple of segments for her show, now with a smooth yet casual delivery—and no
um
s or
uh
s and steady eye contact with her.

Next year she’d have him do a segment where he went around from booth to booth and featured some of his favorite food finds—if the Mills still existed this time next year. “You worked in New York City for several years. How does the spectrum of ethnic foods represented at the festival compare with what you found there?”

“I don’t know that any city would be able to compete with New York for the range of cuisines available, but those that we do have here are amongst the best I’ve ever had.”

She asked him a few more questions, then wrapped it up. “Thanks, Major. Have a great day.”

“Meredith is around here somewhere. Looking for stuff for the house.”

“I’ll look for her.” She did a quick interview with the owners of Abu Dhabi, then moved on to try to talk to another dozen or so people as quickly as she could. By the time she got back to the van to try to edit her story together, she had so many good sound bites that she wasn’t sure which ones to choose.

Finally, she got it cut together in a piece she was happy with—just in time to slip back into her jacket, even though she really didn’t want to. She decided to stand in the middle of the community center’s parking lot—since today it was a no-parking lot—where the building, the kids’ pony ride, the inflated air-bounce thingy, and the large banner hanging from the side of the center could be seen in frame behind her. She positioned her two live-interview guests to either side of her so that Nelson had only to zoom out slightly and pan to the right or left for each one. She turned the volume on her earpiece up so she could hear the broadcast.

And then she made the mistake of looking past Nelson when she noticed someone walking toward them.

Forbes grimaced, then raised his hand in an apologetic wave at Alaine. He’d hoped he’d be able to stay unseen, but the guy in the clown getup had to walk right in front of the shady bench Forbes had found where he was close enough to see her, but not necessarily to hear her.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head and looked back at her cameraman, but not before that cute, deep grin stole over her face. He breathed deeply, enjoying the fragrance of the small sprig of lavender he’d picked up from Solange on his way over here. It would look perfect peeking out from the cluster of dark curls at the back of Alaine’s head.

He wished he could have found a place where he could hear her. She seemed to put her two guests quite at ease as she talked to them—they visibly relaxed while she held the microphone in front of each one. Of course, he’d be able to watch the recording of it tonight.

Grinning, he crossed his legs and stretched his arms out across the top of the bench’s back. Alaine had laughed harder than he’d ever heard from her when he’d admitted last night he’d been recording her show for years. He’d been surprised when she then admitted that she couldn’t stand seeing or hearing herself on camera.

She finished up at ten minutes till one and, after helping her cameraman pack up his equipment, she tossed her jacket over her shoulder and sauntered over to the shade of the oak tree and sat down beside him.

“So what did you think of the horse-and-pony show?”

He wrapped his arm around her in a squeeze but let her go quickly as he could feel the heat radiating from her. “I’ll let you know after I watch the final thing tonight.” He pulled the sprig of lavender out of his shirt pocket and carefully stuck it into the clip holding up most of her hair. He let his hand drift down to lift one of the stray tendrils and placed a kiss on her neck where it had lain.

She shivered, as if with a sudden cold chill, and goose bumps pebbled her skin. “Forbes, I—”

“Hey, you two!” The wheels of Joe Delacroix’s chair whispered across the pavement toward them.

“Joe, your timing leaves a bit to be desired.”

Forbes couldn’t decide if Alaine was cuter when she was frustrated or disgruntled. Right now, disgruntled was winning.

Joe grinned shamelessly at his sister. “Mother sent me to find you two to find out if you wanted to join the family for lunch. We’re going to pick something up for them and take it over to their tent.”

“What about your tent?” Alaine repositioned the lavender in her hair, stood, and started walking toward her brother—then stopped, turned, and extended her hand to Forbes.

His heart bounced like the kids in the inflatable castle fifty feet away. He twined his fingers through hers and joined her and her brother, not caring where they went, wanting only to know everyone around them understood he’d won her heart—and she’d won his.

Though Alaine tried to convince him to try Ethiopian, Thai, Egyptian, and Mongolian food, he wanted nothing but Greek food—which was to be found in one of the largest pavilions he’d seen so far. From all appearances, he guessed that the entire Pappas clan was there helping out—and every single one of them greeted him by name.

Voula loaded them up with food—and wouldn’t let Forbes pay for any of it. Before she let them leave, she whispered something in Alaine’s ear, then kissed her on both cheeks.

They each needed both hands—both arms—to carry all the food.

“What was that all about?” Forbes asked once they cleared the Pappases’ marquee.

“What?”

“What she whispered in your ear.” His stomach rumbled at the rich, meaty, spicy aromas wafting around them from the bags and boxes they carried.

“I have no idea. Whatever she said was in Greek. But I think she was telling me how lucky she thinks you are.”

“Lucky?”

Alaine wrinkled her nose at him. “To be with me, of course.”

He wanted to kiss her, but the armload of food made it impossible. “She’s wrong.”

Alaine’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”

“Really. Because it’s not luck. God knew I needed you in my life, and I firmly believe He brought us together.” Okay, forget the bags. He moved around in front of her and leaned over their respective burdens. His lips almost touched hers—

“Hey, Alaine Delacroix! Forbes Guidry!”

With a groan of frustration, he straightened. Alaine’s frustrated look wasn’t quite as cute as the disgruntled one.

He turned to see someone he’d never met before in his life coming toward them, followed by ... he groaned and moved back to Alaine’s side. He’d managed to avoid both Major and Meredith earlier, and he’d hoped to avoid any attention from reporters who might recognize him and want to ask him about Mom and Dad and the case. Obviously, he’d hoped in vain.

“Forbes Guidry, what can you tell us about the Moreaux Mills case?”

“I have nothing to tell you about it.” The box tucked under his left arm started dripping something down his elbow.

“Is it true that you’re going to be suing your parents’ company for the residents of Moreaux Mills against the wishes of your own law firm?”

Ah, so he hadn’t been wrong in figuring the reason he’d received three phone calls from Sandra Landreneau this morning—which he hadn’t answered—had something to do with this case. “I still have no comment.”