Amelie frowned. “What good times? Someone broke into my bakery. I had to trash all the ingredients I’ve collected all these years, close my shop and conduct a massive cleaning effort as well as restocking shelves.”
Chrissy grimaced.
Amelie snorted softly. “That’s no reason to celebrate.”
“No, but I recognize the glow of a woman well loved.” She picked up a box of condoms and added them to Amelie’s basket. “Celebrate, sweetie. Maurice is one of the good guys.”
“We’re just friends,” Amelie blurted and added in a whisper, “with benefits. While it lasts.”
“Whatever melts your butter, sweetie. At the beginning of a relationship, you don’t know how long it’ll last. But if the sex ain’t good, it’ll be over after the first night.” She nodded toward the box. “Based on your priorities, I’d say this one has a chance.” She winked and grinned. The baby on her breast pulled free of the nipple with a loud popping sound.” Without missing a beat, Chrissy adjusted her blouse, kissed the fuzz on the baby’s head and headed for the counter where her husband and Maurice were still talking.
Amelie had hoped that by the time she finished her shopping, the men would have moved on, leaving her to check out with Chrissy. It was one thing to get advice from another woman, but she didn’t want to pull out the box of condoms in front of the two men.
As she approached, Chrissy’s eyes narrowed. “Alan, have you shown Maurice the new fishing poles that arrived yesterday?”
Alan turned to Maurice. “I understand you like fishing in the bayou.”
Maurice nodded. “I do. Mitch has taken me out on occasion to show me some of the good spots to drop a line.”
“Then you might be interested in the shipment of rigs we received yesterday.” Alan led Maurice to a display on the far side of the store.
Amelie gave Chrissy a grateful mile. “Thanks.”
“Women like to take care of business, but we don’t always want to advertise.”
Chrissy laid her baby in a bouncy seat behind the counter and rang up Amelie’s purchases. She had placed the last of her items in a bag when Alan and Maurice rejoined them.
“Ready?” Maurice asked.
Before Amelie could answer, the bell over the entrance door rang, announcing the arrival of customers.
LaShawnda Jones, Bayou Mambaloa’s most successful real estate agent, made an entrance, as was usual for her. Dressed in a bright orange fitted skirt suit that complemented her smooth, cocoa-colored skin, she strode through the door, her matching orange stilettos clicking against the tile.
Amelie envied the realtor’s daring style, color choices and absolute confidence.
Along with her eye-popping orange attire, she wore shiny gold, chunky jewelry around her wrists and neck, and huge gold hoops dangled from her ears. She paused just inside the doorway and turned to the man entering behind her.
Because she owned the bakery, Amelie was familiar with all the locals who called Bayou Mambaloa home. She didn’t recognize this guy and assumed he was new to town. He wore what appeared to be a tailor-made suit that fit him to perfection and shiny black, patent-leather shoes.
“Good morning,” LaShawnda called out as she approached the counter. “I was just showing Monsieur Peltier around Bayou Mambaloa and wanted him to see for himself how well-stocked the Broussards keep the shelves.” She turned to her client. “Monsieur Eugene Peltier, I’m pleased to introduce you to Alan and Chrissy Broussard.”
Alan held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Peltier’s head dipped as he grasped Alan’s hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said with a rich French accent.
Amelie’s ears perked. After three years in Louisiana, with the Cajun accent so prevalent in the bayou, hearing a man speak with a true French accent brought back memories of living in Paris.
Chrissy held out her hand.
Peltier had already turned his attention to Maurice.
Chrissy dropped her arm to her side, her lips forming a thin line.
LaShawnda waved a hand toward Maurice. “And this is Maurice Boucher.”
Maurice held out his hand.
The man started to take it, but hesitated when his gaze took in the scarring and missing finger.
