stopped just above her knees.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She held the dress up in front of her. “And I have the perfect accessories.” She shoved the dress at her sister and darted out of the room.
Moments later, she returned with Desiree in tow.
“You’re going on a date with Preston Graham?” Desiree said as if he were a rock star. “That is so awesome. He’s yummy. I didn’t know you knew him like that.”
“I don’t,” Lee Ann said. “It’s just lunch.”
“It’s a date,” Dominique said. “Don’t listen to her.”
For the next hour, her twin sisters fussed over her as if she was getting ready for her senior prom. By the time she was ready to leave, she was exhausted from their chatter and advice. You’d think she’d never been out with a man before in her life. She knew how to handle herself. After all, she was the oldest sister—although Dominique had all three women beaten in the men department.
The afternoon was hot and muggy. The umbrella of trees only gave the illusion of cool. She was thankful for her short hairdo that held up against the onslaught of Louisiana weather. She turned on the air conditioner full blast in her gunmetal-gray, two-seater Mercedes-Benz convertible. The color was custom-mixed for her, and it drove like a cloud. It was a gift to herself on her thirtieth birthday, three years earlier. She checked her GPS built into the dash and made the right turn then navigated her way along the narrow streets. She spotted Treme up ahead and drove into the parking lot behind the restaurant.
Nerves overtook her, racing her heart and making her legs feel weak as she drew closer to the entrance. She pulled in a long breath of calm, tugged the door open and stepped into the cool dimness.
“Good afternoon,” the hostess greeted. “A table for one or are you meeting someone?”
“I am meeting someone, actually,” she said, peering into the restaurant space and the tables dotted with afternoon diners. “I’m a bit early. I can wait at the bar.”
“If you leave the name of your party, I can direct them to you when they arrive.”
“Graham is his last name.”
The hostess jotted it down. “I’ll let him know as soon as he gets here.”
“Thank you.” She walked over to the bar and slid onto the stool.
“What can I get for you?” the female bartender asked.
“White wine spritzer,” came the deep voice from behind her left shoulder.
Lee Ann slowly turned on the stool and looked up into his smiling face. Her heart banged in her chest, momentarily stunting her breath.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He leaned down and placed a featherlight kiss on her cheek.
“Not at all. I just sat down.”
“Next time we’ll arrive together.”
Next time, she thought. A happy bubble tumbled in her stomach.
“You want to sit here with your drink, or should we get a table now?”
“Let’s get settled.”
The bartender returned with the drink.
“Thanks. You can add this to our tab,” Preston said, taking the drink and helping Lee Ann to her feet. “I got a table by the window just in case we get tired of talking to and looking at each other. We can then pretend to watch street traffic.”
Lee Ann laughed, feeling the knots of anxiousness begin to loosen. “Very funny. But definitely an idea worth having.”
“Although I can’t imagine not wanting to look at and talk to you,” he said. His voice drifted to her over her shoulder, the heat of his words warming her cheek and fanning out to her limbs. She glanced behind her for an instant to measure the sincerity of his voice with his eyes, but he was looking ahead and not at her.
Preston guided her to their table, and several heads turned in their direction as they crossed the restaurant, his face recognizable from the local papers and the news. He offered a casual nod but didn’t stop. Lee Ann was thankful for that. She wanted this first time to be for them and not turn into a circus.
They came to their table, and Preston pulled out Lee Ann’s chair for her then sat down. Once they were settled, he asked, “So…how have you been since the last time I saw you?”
Lee Ann chuckled. “I’ve been just fine, and you?”
“You have a great laugh, you know. Rich and honest.”
She lowered her gaze for an instant. “Thank you.”
Preston reached for his glass of water and took a slow sip, staring at her from above the rim, amazed with the way the golden flecks in her eyes picked up the daylight from outside—something he hadn’t noticed last night—and the way the pulse in her throat beat and how her skin looked like honey, perfect and sweet to the taste.
“Is something wrong?” she asked breaking his trance.
He blinked and gave a slight shake of his head. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I was staring.”
Lee Ann shifted in her seat.
He put down his glass and released a tight breath then leaned forward. His voice was low when he spoke. “Listen, I’m going to be honest because I like to be clear and up-front right from the beginning.”
She nodded and waited for the shoe to fall.
“I rarely date. I don’t have time. Because of my choice of careers, it’s hard to have a lot of downtime or privacy. And coming from the family that you do, I’m sure you can understand that.” He paused, started to speak then stopped and started again. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t know what’s going on in my head, and I know we’ve only met and you don’t know any more about me than a stranger on the street. But I want to get to know you—Lee Ann the woman, not Branford Lawson’s daughter. And I want you to get to know me, Preston Graham—the guy with student loans, dishes in the sink and a Lab retriever named Rocky.”
The tension that she felt burst into effervescent bubbles of laughter. “So, besides dirty dishes, student loans and a dog named Rocky, what else do I need to know about you?”
The afternoon went by much too fast, but over a light lunch of grilled chicken salad, several glasses of wine and raspberry sorbet for dessert, they talked and laughed and talked. Lee Ann discovered that they were both avid joggers. Preston was delighted to learn that Lee Ann was captain of her debate team in college and had also majored in political science. He was devoted to his mother, she to her father. His favorite book was James Baldwin’s Another Country; hers was Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. They both loved New Orleans jazz and boasted about their collections. They were angered, appalled and frightened by the devastation along the Gulf Coast resulting from the catastrophic BP oil spill and the still unresolved devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina.
Preston
