Maurice insisted on taking their uneaten dinner with them. “We’ll be hungry later.”
“I have food in my refrigerator,” Amelie argued.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yogurt and salad?”
She grimaced. “Yeah, but it’s healthier than burgers and fries.”
“I’ll take the burger and fries. You can have the yogurt and salad.”
Mimi brought the container and their bill.
When Amelie reached for the check, Maurice snatched it away before she could get her fingers around it. “My treat.”
“But it’s your job to protect me, not to pay for my meals,” she said. “At least let me pay for half.”
“You can get the next one. Especially since you probably won’t be eating this hamburger anyway.”
“You have a point.” She nodded. “I’ll get the next one.”
He liked the idea of sharing another meal with the pretty baker. “By the way, having dinner with you doesn’t feel like part of the job.”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Is that a good thing?”
“Absolutely. At least for me.” He slid the burgers into the container and dumped all the fries in with them. “Ready?”
She nodded. “I could use a good night’s sleep. I’m sure you can, too. Are you sure you don’t want to go to your room in the boarding house tonight?”
Had she lost her mind?
“After Schulz’s warning, I’m sticking to you like gum on a hot sidewalk,” he said with a wink.
Amelie laughed out loud, then snorted. She slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, her eyes wide.
He touched his hand to her cheek. “Glad to see you can laugh. You should do it more often.”
“Minus the snort, maybe,” she agreed.
“No,” he said. “Keep the snort.”
“Gum on a hot sidewalk?” She chuckled and hooked her hand through the crook of his arm as they left the diner.
They’d walked to the diner before the sun had set. During the time they’d been inside, dark had since settled over Bayou Mambaloa. Cicadas and frogs had begun their nightly rivalry, battling to be the loudest creatures of the night.
Maurice shook his head. “Anyone who thinks they’re moving to the country for peace and quiet hasn’t lived in the bayou.”
“I like the sound. It’s like the steady hum of life after the town rolls up its sidewalks for the night.” She leaned into Maurice and let her hand slide down to grasp his.
For a moment, he stiffened, realizing she was on his right side and the hand she’d reached for was severely scarred and missing a finger. The one mutilated by phosphorus in a battle where he’d failed to save his fiancée and had subsequently ended his career.
Amelie didn’t flinch from the texture of his scars. She held his damaged hand as if it were the same as the undamaged one and continued walking alongside him.
When she didn’t react, he relaxed. Through all the work they’d done together to restore the bakery after the break-in, she’d never treated him as if he were disabled or incapable of doing anything a man with two normal hands could do.
Other women had recoiled at the ugly scars. Not Amelie.
With no pressing deadline, no reason to hurry, Maurice was content to take his time walking the few blocks. He walked slowly down Main Street toward the bakery, marveling at how different it was from all the other times he’d walked down the same street over the past two years. He felt a sense of belonging. Like this was his town. Bayou Mambaloa was becoming his home.
What had changed?
