Maurice lowered his arm, his lips twisting slightly. “Welcome to Bayou Mambaloa.”
“Merci,” the stranger said and turned to Amelie. “And who is this?”
LaShawnda waved her hand with a flourish. “None other than the owner of Baked with Love, the best bakery in all of Louisiana, Amelie Aubert.”
When he took Amelie’s hand, he didn’t shake it but lifted it and pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “Enchanté.”
Amelie fought the urge to yank back her hand. The man had ignored Chrissy and now felt he could take liberties with her hand.
Who the hell did this freak think he was?
Chapter 10
Maurice moved closer, his hand going to the small of her back.
When Peltier didn’t release her hand immediately, Amelie pulled it free and moved it behind her back.
Maurice placed his hand over hers, not holding it down but letting her know he was there.
“What brings you to Bayou Mambaloa, Eugene?” Maurice asked, his tone a bit more abrupt than usual. “You don’t mind if I call you Eugene, do you?” He didn’t really care if Peltier liked it or not.
Peltier dipped his head stiffly. “S'il vous plaît. I am what you would call a cultural preservationist interested in learning more about the French influence in New Orleans and the Cajun culture.”
“Monsieur Peltier is considering Bayou Mambaloa as his base of operations during his research,” LaShawnda said, smiling brightly at the Frenchman. “Since I’ve served the real estate needs of the community for so long, he asked me to show him around the area. He might decide to set up an office here to work out of.”
“How long have you been a cultural preservationist, Monsieur Peltier?” Chrissy asked.
“For over thirty years,” he said. “I have traveled many places, researching cultures practically lost through the years. I have followed clues left by those who came before us to relics hidden away in the past to protect them from being destroyed by new regimes.”
“How long do you think you’ll be in this area?” Alan asked. “We’re a relatively young country. You might get bored with a lack of centuries-old history to dig through.”
“I never know how long it will take me to complete my research. A day, a week...” He shrugged. “I spent two years following clues I had found hidden among the pages of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. They led me to a cave in Portugal.”
“Did you find what you were looking for there?” Alan asked.
Peltier’s eyes narrowed. “I did not, but it gave me more clues to use in my search.”
“I’m sure your life must be very interesting,” Amelie said, “compared to life in Bayou Mambaloa.”
“Speaking of interesting…” LaShawnda said. “We were going to stop at the bakery for a pastry, but I forgot that you’re closed on Monday.”
Amelie shot a smile at LaShawnda.
“You can purchase some of her bread and pastries here on Monday, if you like,” Alan offered.
“And you’re right, LaShawnda,” Amelie said with an apologetic grimace. “The bakery is closed on Monday.”
“Ms. Jones informed me that you studied the culinary arts in Paris.” Peltier cocked an eyebrow. “I am familiar with many of the schools and master chefs in Paris. Where did you study?”
“My initial studies were with Le Cordon Bleu Culinary School, and I interned at Maison Belle Époque for a year.”
“And after that, you returned to the US to work here?”
Amelie shook her head. “I apprenticed at the Chez Benoît for four years before I came home.”
Peltier’s eyebrows rose. “Chez Benoît? I am familiar with the restaurant and the master chef, Armand Benoît. Did it not close after Monsieur Benoît’s unfortunate death?”
Amelie nodded, her mouth tightening.
