Page 25 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

All in all, it had been a good day. That thought kept running through her head. She wasn’t ready to examine why, but for now, she felt as if she’d made a turning point in her grieving process for Phillipe. Was it due to her newfound Cajun Sass, or Justin Boudreaux, or just that old cliché about time healing? She wasn’t sure. Maybe all three.

By nine p.m. that night, Louise was about ready to call it a day. She had the kitchen radio on low volume, playing some soft Cajun ballads from a new band, The Swamp Kickers, headlined by Kate Benoit. Most of the Cajun bands were male only because the dance halls where they often performed weren’t considered suitable places for decent women. Pfff! Things like that were beginning to change since the war, but the process was slow. In any case, it was a refreshing change, hearing the traditional songs from a female viewpoint.

She was in her herb pantry, off the kitchen, putting away all the plants and seeds she’d gathered that day. Some were hung from the ceiling to dry out. Others were put in labeled jars. A few were put in hot water to steep, like a tea. Instead of warring with each other, the various scents melded together into one delicious aroma that said home and ancestry and bayou. The fragrance of comfort. Too bad she couldn’t bottle it like a fine perfume or an air freshener.

She also wrote down what she’d found that day, and where, in one of the dozen black-and-white marbled notebooks she’d purchased at the Woolworth’s five and dime after her mother died last year and she took over the business. She’d already filled four of the notebooks. It was important that she complete this recording of data as soon as possible, lest she forget the details if she waited too long. Which happened way too often.

Adèle had been asleep for the past hour, having been worn out from her day with her friend, even though their activities had been limited to indoor playing. After putting Adèle down, Louise had taken a leisurely bath with her favorite rose-scented bubble bath, also a Woolworth purchase. Despite the long day, some of it strenuous and outdoors under the hot sun, she wasn’t tired. Her mind kept dwelling on her companion of the day…that blasted Justin Boudreaux.

Had she misread him totally? She could have sworn that his goal for the day had been to put the make on her. Instead, he hadn’t even kissed her good-bye. Or made a specific date for the future. So much for his sexy banter through the day about her owing him kisses. Maybe his interest had been in learning about the healing arts, after all. Maybe her Cajun Sass wasn’t as strong as she’d thought. Maybe the fact that she hadn’t sassed herself up for the day had turned him off, like their first meeting.

Just then, there was a knock on her door, which caused her to jump. “What? Who would come calling at this time of night?” Must be it was an emergency with one of her customers…someone who needed a particular remedy real bad. That happened sometimes.

But it wasn’t a needy patient.

It was a needy Justin.

Who was leaning against the doorjamb, obviously having recently bathed, if wet, slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven face was any indication. He wore a short-sleeved white T-shirt over khaki walking shorts and loafers with no socks. He had hairy legs which were oddly attractive.

Suddenly, a voice in her head…St. Jude, no doubt…said, Beware, fair maiden, betimes the devil comes knocking on thy door.

With all due respect…shut up, she replied.

“Who are you talking to?” Justin asked.

“St. Jude.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken her thought aloud.

He smiled.

“Justin, what are you doing here?”

At first, he said nothing, just grinned lazily as he perused her body. Slowly. Head to bare toes. She wore a knee-length, sleeveless, pink cotton nightgown, her hair piled on top of her head into a loose knot. Her attire wasn’t sheer, but still she folded her arms over her chest.

“Would you believe I happened to be driving by and saw your light on? No? Actually, I’m here because I owe you an explanation.”

“For what?”

“The way I left.”

She tilted her head in question, but she knew what he meant. How abruptly he’d left, with no kiss, and only a weak promise of another date. The very bone she’d been gnawing on.

“I was going to play hard to get…” he started.

“And…?”

“I decided that was ridiculous when I’m clearly easy to get. By you, anyhow.”

“That is such a line.”

“Nope. True.” He made a cross over his chest. “Are you hard to get, Lou-ise?” he drawled.

“For you?” She made a scoffing sound at his outrageous banter. “Hard as a brick wall.”

He ran a fingertip down her arm, from shoulder to wrist, raising the fine hairs in its wake. “Feels soft to me.”

She slapped his hand away.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”