way to New Orleans’s wedding of the century.
Before he could say “maybe this isn’t a good idea,” wedding rings were ordered. Looking at the excitement on Marcie’s face and checking out the emerging crow’s-feet around his eyes, he’d decided marrying the daughter of old New Orleans money wasn’t a bad way to spend the rest of his life. She was good in the sack and pretty as a buttercup. So while Marcie spent the next few months booking reception halls, ordering invitations and analyzing bridesmaids’ dresses, Leif tried to envision a life of...chains.
Because eventually that’s what his impending marriage started to feel like. Prison. His casual proposal spoken in the heat of the moment had turned into a nightmare.
And then his mother passed away, leaving him a cryptic piece of the puzzle to her past, to a life he’d never known existed.
He’d returned to New Orleans a week after the funeral, telling himself that finding out the truth about his past wouldn’t change his future with Marcie. But he’d awoken the next morning beside his future wife and couldn’t breathe. Not literally, but almost. His heart galloped, a crushing weight sat on his chest and his clammy palms curved around the edge of the bed, holding on for dear life.
He just couldn’t do it.
Marcie was a nice girl, but not his soul mate, not the woman he wanted to wake up next to each morning, not the woman he wanted to sit beside in a rocking chair, watching the sun sink over the marshlands of Louisiana. He had never wanted to live in Louisiana. He craved the mountains, thin air and people who appreciated good tofu.
So Leif had broken the engagement three weeks before the first wedding shower. This time he’d not written a Dear John letter and bolted. He’d learned his lesson at the hands of his second former fiancée’s brother and found the balls to pull Marcie out of a gown fitting to tell her he wasn’t going to marry her.
She’d thrown a trash can at him.
That particular action had scared the hell out of the coffee-shop patrons sitting outside enjoying a sweltering day on Magazine Street. The trash can had spilled nasty old coffee on his new trainers, but he hadn’t had time to worry about that. Marcie picked up the nearest plate and hurled it at him, screaming “asshole” over and over. The poor man who didn’t get to finish the bagel that rolled into the street didn’t shout in outrage—he just slunk in the opposite direction.
Leif couldn’t blame him.
He also couldn’t make Marcie listen to reason. She was like a wounded rhino—nothing but a tranquilizer dart would calm her down. She had to burn herself out, and Leif didn’t intend to stick around for the show. Eventually, Marcie would figure out that his ending their relationship would save her greater heartache down the road.
Guess she hadn’t internalized the last words he’d spoken—someday you’ll thank me.
Unless the cake was a belated thank-you gift.
Immediately after the trash-can throwing, Leif had resigned from the art department at Delgado Community College and packed up the small garage apartment he’d rented in the Garden District. Then he’d left New Orleans much the same way he’d entered it—running from a woman.
Yeah, he’d made a bad habit of getting engaged to girls who, on the surface, seemed perfect but underneath weren’t what he needed. The broken engagement prior to Marcie had occurred three weeks before the wedding. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Jenna—she was as sweet as the buttercream frosting he’d just washed off. Her father and brother, however, weren’t as nice. Leif felt lucky to still be walking after they’d caught up with him in Beaumont.
So Leif had regrets...lots of them. He’d escaped the wedding noose three times and regretted hurting the bystanders. But most of all, he hated that his fear of commitment had dragged three innocent women through the mire with him. Hadn’t been fair to them, but he comforted himself with the thought he’d done the right thing.
Leif’s feet couldn’t be nailed down. He wasn’t the kind of guy who stuck...and stayed. Even though he wanted to be someone who belonged somewhere...and to someone.
Arriving in Magnolia Bend had been an accident of fate, but even if he hadn’t gotten lucky with the position as art teacher at St. George’s, he would have come to the town that held the answer to the biggest mystery in his life.
So the time to uncover his past was here. This place held the secrets about why his mother had run...and it held the secret of who Leif’s father was.
Here he began, and here he would hopefully find the answer to the questions that had pricked at him for years. Then maybe he could stop avoiding the ties that bound and find a good spot to settle down.
The doorbell sounded and he grabbed a linen drying towel and hurriedly scrubbed the remaining moisture from his body. Sliding on the hatachigi pants he’d abandoned on the bathroom floor, Leif hurried toward the foyer. The darkening sky had thrown his living area into gloom. Flicking the porch light switch, he opened the door to find Birdie standing on the stoop. Cool air swooshed in, so he grabbed the Patagonia pullover from the nearby hook and tugged it on.
“Birdie,” he said, peering out to see Abigail standing once again at the mailbox. Obviously the two had given him some recovery time before resuming whatever mission they were on. Something about drawing. Maybe Abigail wanted her daughter to have private lessons.
“Hey,” the girl said, shifting nervously in her Converse high-tops. “Mom made me come back to apologize.”
“For...?”
“Uh, two things. First...” She glanced at her mother. Abigail gave her an encouraging nod. “I shouldn’t have said that woman smushing cake in your face was awesome.”
Leif couldn’t stop the laugh. Right after Birdie had declared the awesomeness of Marcie’s actions, Abigail had hustled her daughter away with a quick farewell. She’d nearly dragged Birdie toward the adjacent access walk to the Laurel Woods Bed-and-Breakfast. “Well, it wasn’t awesome for me, but I can understand from your vantage point.”
“Yeah. She was pretty mad at you.”
Leif lifted a shoulder. “Eh, I deserved it.”
“You did?”
From her post Abigail cleared her throat. Loudly.
Annoyance shadowed Birdie’s eyes. “And the second thing I’m sorry for is spying on you.”
“Huh?”
Birdie turned and called to her mother. “There. I told him. Are you happy?”
Abigail gave her daughter the “watch it, missy” look mothers had been giving from the beginning of time.
Leif braced his hands on the door frame, drawing Birdie’s attention. “You’ve been spying on me? Why?”
Birdie swallowed, shifting restlessly before tilting herself closer to him. “It was last month. I accidently spied on you when I climbed a tree...for, uh, some sketching.” She inclined her head toward her mother and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That’s how I get away from her. She stresses me out.”
He could see that. His observation of the buttoned-up Abigail had given him the impression
