“Still stands,” Maurice said. “Do I need to punch someone in the face?”
“I was remembering the loss of a very dear man,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, holding her closer. “It’s hard to lose someone you love.”
She nodded, sinking back into the memories.
At Armand’s funeral, she’d stood beside his son, Luis, mourning the loss of a father, mentor and friend. The emotion had cut so deep it had hurt physically.
Her world, her trajectory, everything had changed from that moment. Her mentor. Gone. Her career as a sous chef in France. Over. The restaurant closed and was sold.
Heartbroken at the loss of Armand, Amelie couldn’t stay in the city that reminded her of the man who’d taught her so much about the kitchen, life and a different kind of passion.
She’d left Paris and returned to Louisiana, where she’d searched for work in New Orleans, thinking it was as close to her home in the bayou as she could get and still practice her skills as a chef.
With her resume, she was hired within a couple of weeks, landing a job as sous chef at one of the most exclusive French restaurants.
Learning the ways of her chef and the restaurant had kept her busy, kept her moving through her grief. But working and living in New Orleans hadn’t filled the hole in her heart. Amelie had trudged through her days, wanting more, needing connection, but hadn’t found it in the city.
When her apartment had been vandalized while she’d been working one evening, she’d been shocked and frightened. What if she’d been in the apartment when the criminals had broken down her door and torn through her belongings? The destruction added to Amelie’s grief and longing for a safe haven.
“Hey,” Maurice spoke softly. “Are you all right?”
Amelie blinked up at him, coming back to the present—to the arms wrapped around her and the silence following what must have been the end of the song and the set.
“The band is taking a break.” Maurice’s arms lowered. He took her hand. “Let me buy you a drink. I think you need one. You were back in that dark place.”
She grimaced. “I try hard not to get lost in my memories. They sneak in on me when I’m tired.”
“You should go home and get some rest,” Maurice said.
“That’s my plan,” Amelie said. “Thank you for the dance. I’m sorry I wasn’t very lively.”
“I wasn’t looking for lively,” Maurice said.
Amelie tilted her head as she met his gaze. “What were you looking for?”
He gave her a twisted smile. “I wasn’t actually looking for anything. But when I saw you at the edge of the dance floor, I felt like I’d found what I was looking for.” Maurice shrugged. “Sounds weird when I say it like that. I guess I felt like you needed to be rescued from your own thoughts.”
“And you rescued me.” She squeezed the hand holding hers. “At least you helped me by reminding me I wasn’t alone. Thank you. Now,” she glanced toward the table where her girl squad had gone, “I’ll say goodnight to my friends and go get that rest I’m sure I need.”
Instead of dropping her hand, Maurice held onto it and walked her back to where Gisele, Bernie, Felina, Camille and Shelby laughed as their friend and waitress, Holly, unloaded a round of drinks onto their table.
As Amelie approached, they all looked up, their gazes zeroing in on her hand in Maurice’s.
Shelby was first to comment. “Ah, Maurice, so glad you managed to keep Amelie out on the floor for another song. She works entirely too hard and deserves a break.”
Maurice grinned. “It was entirely my pleasure.”
Amelie smiled at him and pulled her hand free. “No, it was mine.” She faced her friends. “I have to leave now, or I won’t be functional at three in the morning to make fresh donuts, beignets and cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh, and don’t forget the petit fours,” Camille said. “My favorites are the pistachios.”
“Ladies, goodnight,” Amelie said. “It’s been fun. Let’s not wait so long to do it again.”
“Agreed.” Camille rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around Amelie. “We love you so much.”
“And we love your baking even more,” Gisele said with a wink.
