a long pause, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Does your mom still live there?”
“No.”
He hadn’t meant for the word to come out so harshly, but he didn’t want to discuss his mother.
“Where do you think you’d be had Katrina not happened and you’d stayed here in New Orleans?”
“That’s a good question,” he replied. One that Pierre had never asked himself. When the answer floated into his mind it surprised him, but he looked at Roz and answered truthfully. “Probably dead.”
Instinctively, she reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. “The streets can be dangerous. I’m glad you escaped them.”
“Me, too. I plan to pay it forward by doing for others here what Marc did for me in Houston. By teaching some of this city’s young men the joy of cooking, a lesson that teaches many other skills, as well.”
“What are you going to call it?”
“I don’t know yet. The idea is just a dream right now. I have my hands full getting this new business up and running.”
“Well, whenever it happens, the program sounds wonderful. Tell me more about it.”
Pierre did, becoming more talkative and animated as he expounded on his passion for cooking and for mentoring young men. Aside from Marc and Lisette, he hadn’t mentioned his dream to anyone, not even his sous chef, Riviera, who he planned to recruit to be a part of his mentoring team. It also helped that talking about the program took them away from speaking about floods and family.
They talked for two hours, leaving only when Ma threatened to make them help her clean up. Once outside, the two became quiet. Surprising, but Pierre knew what was on his mind. He wanted more conversations with this probing reporter, ones when she was not on the clock. Did she feel the same way?
“So, Mr. LeBlanc, was that as painful as you thought it would be?”
“Not at all. For a supposedly socially awkward sister, you’re not so bad.”
Roz gave him a look. “You’re not what I expected either.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone more shallow and self-absorbed. I mean, you may very well possess those traits, but I thank you that tonight at least you’ve kept them to yourself.”
“Ha!”
Roz held out her hand. “Seriously, it was a good interview. When it’s up online, I’ll send you a link.”
“You can do me one better,” Pierre replied, returning Roz’s handshake and once again noticing her soft skin. “You can bring a copy over to the restaurant and then stay for lunch or dinner, whichever works, on the house.”
“I thought you were sold out.”
“We are. But I’m the boss. I can make exceptions.”
“Thank you, but...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What, eating?”
“Accepting your invitation for a free meal. There may be strings attached.”
“Will you feel better paying for it? Seems rather disingenuous to write about a restaurant you’ve not even visited.”
“I thought that was settled. The article will be about you, not the food. But put that way, I guess it would be advantageous to come to your establishment and find out what all the hype is about, a visit that could lead to a follow-up story.”
“What about Wednesday evening, around nine?”
“This Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t nine o’clock rather late?”
“Yes, but the kitchen isn’t as slammed at that hour. I could put all my focus on tantalizing your taste buds.”
Pierre watched Roz nibble the side of her lip as she thought. “Okay, Wednesday at Easy Creole Cuisine.”
“Cool. See you then.”
She reached her car, opened the door and then turned around. “Oh, and Pierre?”
“Yes.”
“I won, so thanks for my parent’s reservation, as well.”
Roz’s smile was mischievous, smug even. Pierre started toward her but she slid behind the wheel, started the car and sped away. Clearly, she wanted to have the last word.
Pulling away from the curb, he played back those last few minutes. The devilish glint in Roz’s eye as she boldly proclaimed victory regarding the bet. How her brow scrunched each time she nibbled her lip. How before saying yes to his invitation she’d darted her tongue out to moisten those tempting, cushy lips. He wondered how soft they were, and how long he’d have to wait to find out. A kiss was definitely in their future. That and much more. Roz may have won the food bet but after tonight Pierre was clear about the next thing he wanted to win. Her.
There was more to Pierre’s story. Roz saw it in his eyes, could feel it in her gut. What he’d shared was interesting and would make a great piece. She had a feeling that what he didn’t say would make an even better one. Avoiding questions about his mom. Reluctance to talk about his family at all. Vague answers when asked about his early life in New Orleans... Those gorgeous green-flecked copper eyes tinged with a type of sadness that made her want to wipe it away. That fleeting look of vulnerability that, dammit, slipped past the armor around her heart and touched her soul. That made her want to tell him everything was going to turn out fine. Hadn’t that happened already?
It was as though she could still see that teenager inside him. The one uprooted by a storm, forced to navigate a new city and move in with a stranger. What had happened in his home life to cause that drastic action? Roz realized she’d ended the evening with more questions than answers. She wanted the rest of the story, had an opportunity to get it on Wednesday night. Dinner at Easy Creole Cuisine. He said there were no strings, but was there more to that, too? Another question popped up as Roz stopped for a red light. Did she want there to be?
Her phone rang. As the light turned green and she eased through the intersection, Roz tapped the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, Biff!”
“What’s happening, Biff?”
It’s what Roz and childhood pal Stefanie Powell had called each other since their preteen years, after hearing the term “BFF” in an episode of Friends
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