one
Noah Hebert needed to get back home—he didn’t have time to watch paint dry.
“You got the wrong blue.” Peter, Noah’s apprentice at the Blue Pirogue Inn, clearly felt confident enough to point out the obvious as he stood beside Noah, his scrawny arms crossed.
“I can see that.” Noah pushed one hand through his hair as he stared at his mistake—one of many over the past several months he’d been fixing up the inn since his grandfather’s funeral—and sent a scattering of sawdust onto the taped off floor. The humidity of his coastal Louisiana hometown wet Noah’s flannel shirt and stuck it to his back, despite the spring breeze rustling through the pine trees outside. Not that the humidity was much better in north Louisiana.
Figured. They were finally at the finish line of these endless renovations, meaning his return to Shreveport and his real job as a land man in the oil and gas industry was in sight…but now he was being mocked by slate blue and?—
“Sky blue. How did you even do that?” Peter squinted up at him beneath his side-swept dark hair. The kid had chosen to work a trade instead of going to college, and had proven to be a hard worker and fast learner. Noah could trust him to notice details.
Especially this one glaring at them in matte finish.
“Lot on my plate, kid.” Noah checked his watch with a grimace. “And now I’m late for an appointment with the one man in Magnolia Bay who probably hates me the most.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Must be a Bergeron.”
“Isaac Bergeron, and if you’re a praying kind of person, you might start working on that now.”
“That bad, huh?” Peter made atskwith his tongue.
Worse than the kid knew. But some parts were public. “As county inspector, Isaac’s the one holding the keys to this kingdom.” Noah gestured around them, at the multitude of mostly-finished projects, at abandoned tools lying on heaps of folded tarp that hadn’t been put away yet. And now even more projects would be delayed, all because of the stupid paint. “I’m hoping I get the inspection certificate from this meeting so we can reopen and call this a wrap.” And never have to see the wretched man—or his daughter—again.
Not that Elisa Bergeron would be at the Magnolia Blossom Café today. Just the ghost of her memory.
Peter clasped his hands in front of him in a posture of prayer. “On it.”
Noah headed for the front door, stepping over a discarded roll of painter’s tape. “I’ll grab the right blue on my way home.”
“Slate blue!” Peter called after him.
Noah shot him a thumbs-up over his shoulder as he hurried outside. He steered around a crew member perched halfway up a ladder on the porch, measuring for the decorative trim left to hang. Better him than Noah—he’d never been a fan of heights.
He breathed a gulp of air not thick with sawdust as he hurried down the porch stairs, careful to avoid the rotten spot on the second step. No, wait. That had been fixed, along with the shingles that begged for attention the past year. Everything was finally coming together, just in time for tourist season.
Assuming Isaac Bergeron didn’t hold a grudge and did his job fairly.
There’s more where this one came from. Noah might not ever get Isaac’s last words to him—or the sight of the bitter man cleaning a shotgun on his porch, out of his mind. And now he had to sit down with him for coffee.
He started toward his grandfather’s Chevy truck that had become his along with the inn during the reading of his will. For the first time in a long time, Noah’s chest didn’t tighten at the sight of the tired but sturdy three-story structure he’d inherited—the lingering symbol of a family feud multi-generations thick. That’d be one way to market for the upcoming tourist season.Come see where the infamous Bergeron/Hebert battle first began…
His cell vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it free before hauling himself into the truck cab. Hopefully his backorder of tile hadn’t been delayed again. He snorted at the display indicating a string of missed messages. Thankfully, none from the tile guy.
Noah opened the group text labeled “Gone Fishing.”
CADE
Fishing tonight at 7, right?
LINC
Aye. I’ll bring the cold ones.
OWEN
You always bring the beer, Linc.
LINC
