Restoring Hope
Authors: C. P. Smith
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Humorous, #Thrillers, #Romantic Suspense
Glossary of Cajun French words and phrases
Restoring Hope
C.P Smith
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the Characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you of your support of the author’s rights.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-CP-Smith/739842239363610?ref_type=bookmark
Copyright © 2014 by C.P. Smith
First ebook edition: July 2014
Contact CP at [email protected]
Restoring Hope
—This link is for Spotify and the playlist I listened to while writing Nic and Hope’s story. The songs follow along with the story, and some are very significant to the chapters. If you press control and hold, then click on the link, it should open on your reading devices with internet access.
Cover Photo taken by Valentina Krochik
https://www.etsy.com/people/photoashes
Acknowledgements
This list is long, and I wouldn’t be here without the support of so many people. To my family who supports me in everything I do, I love you and appreciate the fact you didn't throw me out of the house with all my late night writing. To my Dream Team, some of the finest ladies I’ve met in my life, it’s an honor to call you friends. You've held my hand from the beginning and sparked my creativity, and I don't know where I would be without you ladies because “the struggle is real.” To my Bunco Babes, we’ve been together for seventeen years, and you’ve always made me feel like I could do anything. You ladies are my touchstone plain and simple, and I love you with all my heart. To Ellen Small, cheerleader and champion of Nic and Hope, it’s truly been a pleasure. Thank you for irises and book covers ideas. To Gina Black and Casey Braun Marcotte, a mother and daughter team of Cajuns who kept my story honest and respectful of the Louisiana Cajun’s I admire,
Laissez le bon temps rouler
ladies, you rock! Thank you to all who read and reached out after “A Reason To Breathe” published, your support and encouragement helped fuel Nic and Hope’s story, and they wouldn’t be here today without you...
Glossary of Cajun French words and phrases
Arrete sa petite fleur—Stop it little flower
Bebe—Baby
Bon Dieu, ma douce amour — Good God, my sweet love
Bon Dieu—Good God
C'est pas de ton affaire—that’s none of your business.
Cher—term of endearment
espesces de tete dure—You hardheaded thing
grand-mere and grand-pere—grandmother and grandfather
gris-gris—voodoo spell, charm
Laissez le bon temps rouler—let the good times roll.
ma ange—my angel
ma coeur —my heart
ma douce amour —my sweet love
Ma jolie fille, ma coeur—my pretty girl, my heart
Ma petite fille est gone—my little girl is gone
Ma ‘tite fille—My little girl
mon ami—my friend
Mon/ma coeur je t’ aime—My heart I love you
Mon Dieu—My God
Oui, mon/ma douce amour—Yes, my sweet love
Pas du tout—not at all
Pauve ti bete—Poor little thing
The th sound is dropped from words and replaced with d so the, there, this, that, becomes da, dere, dis, dat.
T-Hope—A “T” in front of anyone’s name indicates they are tiny or small.
‘tite ange—little angel
‘tite boule— little balls
Tu me manques, je t’aime—you are missing from me, I love you.
For Gina and Casey
“Where Y’at”
Chapter one
Rain pelted the cobblestone streets of the French Quarter, forming pools of water, like little ponds, as rainbows of oil danced across their surface. The day’s heat, trapped in those stones, rose like a steam bath as the rain cooled the hot streets, making an already humid night, more so. There was a feeling to the night, thick and hungry, like an unseen power wielded its influence over the city. But, it was of no concern to Nic Beuve as he lit another cigarette, the last one barely extinguished. He welcomed the night—day only brought pain. Raising a glass of whisky to his mouth, he listened to the sounds of cars as they drove past, splashing water on those still out walking. The French Quarter never slept. Like a miniature New York, businesses opened early and bars stayed open late.
Laissez le bon temps rouler—“
Let the good times roll” was the Crescent Cities motto.
Throwing back the rest of his drink, Nic scanned the back of the bar looking for Henri, the bartender. The night was still young, and he was still sober. The Bayou, a neighborhood bar, owned and operated by the same Cajun family for three generations, was Nic’s home away from home. Maman Rose, the current proprietor, took care of her customers and didn’t water down the drinks. Dark wood paneling hosted black and white photos of the swamps around Louisiana. Pictures of moss covered trees, a Heron standing in the shallows of a slow moving Acadian river, and Cypress trees, standing tall, surrounded by the black water like sentries of a forgotten time.
The musty smell of the river, drifted in through the door, when another local walked in and sat down at the bar. When Henri came from the back, Nic raised his empty glass indicating he needed another round. Henri, a local Cajun, with black hair and a devilish smile the ladies fought over, nodded once showing he’d seen the request. Just another night of solitude and whiskey, to take away the bitter taste of loss, Nic thought. He couldn’t seem to shake this feeling and if he weren't careful, he’d spend the rest of his miserable life drinking away his pain. But, at that moment, he didn’t seem to care.
Hope Delaney entered through the backdoor of The Bayou, her first day on the job as a cook. She’d looked for a position that kept her out of the public eye, somewhere to hide while earning a meager living. She’d come to New Orleans hoping to blend in, or preferably, vanish. Eyes down, as she entered the back, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone, just do the work she was hired to do, and then go back to the one room hole she called home.