“It’snota man-bun,” Linc growled, jerking out of range. “It’s just my hair.”
“I agree with Owen. I think this might be the Lord working. But maybe the insurance will come through, and it won’t be such a pressing decision for right now.” Cade opened his tackle box and rifled through the colorful assortment. “We can always hope, right?”
He’d been a little short on hope lately. But Cade was right. There wasn’t necessarily a decision to make today. Besides, Elisa might not even want to work with him after he’d charged out of Mr. Bowman’s office like a bat out of an exceptionally hot place.
“I’ll see what my insurance company says and go from there.” There. Decisionnotmade. And somehow that felt like enough for now. Noah took a deep breath of salt-laced air.
But blast if he didn’t still smell traces of vanilla and honey.
* * *
Elisa’s best friend and roommate, Zoey Lakewood, set a white bakery box of beignets on the vintage trunk-turned-coffee table between them before plopping onto the dark gray sofa. “I brought leftovers. You know what I always say—can’t dish without a dish.” She tossed back her long black hair and grinned.
Elisa leaned forward in the floral armchair she’d had since college—the one Zoey had kept for her while she was away at culinary school—and plucked a powdery treat from the pile. Zoey opened Bayou Beignets a little over a year ago and had already won local awards for best dessert on the island. “Thoughtful as always.”
She started to take a bite, but Zoey lunged forward, arms extended, nearly knocking over their water bottles. “Wait!”
Elisa froze, beignet halfway to her mouth.
Zoe’s bright blue eyes widened. “Remember the cardinal rule of beignets.”
Right. Don’t inhale or exhale. Elisa held her breath and shoved half the beignet into her mouth. Powdered sugar melted on her tongue and provided a delicious reprieve from her thoughts. Her mind kept churning up worry like the silt at the bottom of the bay.
“I’ve successfully sugared you up. Ready to talk now?” Zoey tugged a navy polka-dotted throw pillow into her lap and settled in.
They’d shared many a chat in this living room over their past two years of rooming together—an extra blessing for Elisa, since having a roommate meant she’d only had to stay with her dad for a brief time after leaving culinary school. If these walls—which were mostly covered in framed canvases of Zoey’s black and white photography prints—could talk, they’d have more than a few secrets to share.
Elisa finished chewing before speaking. “I know you heard about Delia falling at the diner.”
Zoey waved a dismissive hand. “The whole town heard.” She leaned in. “Did you really hit on Captain Sanders?”
“No.” Elisa reached for a second beignet, then thought better of it and sat back against the chair. “I…convinced him to give me information.”
“I bet.” Zoey plucked a pastry from the box and chomped into it, powdered sugar providing her with a temporary mustache. “So how is Delia? That I haven’t heard.”
“Physically, she’s going to be fine. Eventually.” Elisa had left Mr. Bowman’s office and gone straight to the hospital to check on Delia before visiting hours ended. The sweet woman had been a little groggy from pain meds but coherent enough to confirm Elisa’s worst fear.
“Great!” Zoey clapped her hands, sending another puff of sugar into the air. “Praise the Lord.”
“Amen.” Elisa licked leftover sugar from her finger, then hesitated. She wished the story ended with the praise.Because I am grateful, Lord.The silent prayer lingered in her heart.
But there was more to the story.
She inhaled a tight breath. “The surgery will be what Delia needs, but she’s going to have to sell the café to afford the operation.”
“What?” Zoey’s hands fell to her lap. “She can’t sell the Blossom. That place has your blood, sweat, and tears seeped into every surface.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe scratch that specific description, but you know what I mean.”
“My reaction was the same, trust me.” Elisa swallowed hard, dusting her hands on the plaid pajama pants she’d changed into upon arriving home. She needed all the comfort she could get tonight—especially considering the other blow Delia had delivered.
The one she hadn’t even had time to process for herself yet.
“Is there no other option?” Zoey clutched the pillow to her chest.
“She offered to sell it to me.” Elisa’s stomach twisted. “That’s the worst part. I can’t begin to afford it.”
Nor could her father, even if she found the courage to ask. He made a decent living now, but they’d never had extra growing up. The medical bills had piled up for her mother, along with the unexpected funeral costs. Elisa had worked her behind off to send herself to culinary school…just to throw it all away.
Not that Trey had given her a choice.
