Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
He sits down beside me on the ground, wrapping his arm around my back as he hugs me to his side. “That’s good to hear, chère. I don’t want to lose you. Or Mimi. You’re…” He trails off, pressing a kiss to the side of my bowed head before adding in a softer voice, “You’re important to me. And you make me happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
I lift my head, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes as my gaze locks with his. I’m on the verge of telling him, of letting it all spill out and the chips fall where they may, when he adds, “I’m falling hard for you, chère. Hope that’s okay.”
Every ounce of breath wheezes out of my lungs. By the time it wheezes back in, I’m fighting happy tears and everything but the miracle of this moment is forgotten. “I’m falling hard for you, too,” I say, my throat tight. “Last night was one of the best nights of my life.”
His smile is so beautiful, so pure and open and fearless, I suddenly think this might work out all right, after all. I mean, if anyone can handle being internet famous, it’s two people with their feet firmly on the ground, who care more about each other than what a bunch of strangers have to say.
And these days, people have the attention spans of fruit flies with ADHD. If we can just get through the first forty-eight hours or so of fallout, the world will forget, and we can go back to being us again.
Us…
That isn’t pretend anymore. We are a team, a fact we prove by talking through our strategy, promising to have each other’s backs, and kissing for a long, sweet minute before heading back to the party.
There, Grammercy effortlessly charms Chelsea and Miranda, makes the kids giggle when he pretends to be scared of alligators, and wins a new fan by posing for a picture with the owner on the way out. Turns out Barb of Barb’s Gator Sanctuary is psyched about Grammercy getting traded to New Orleans.
Same, Barb, I think as I buckle Mimi into her car seat and tell Grammercy we’ll meet him at home. Same.
And hopefully that will be enough to get us through whatever comes next.
Chapter
Twenty
GRAMMERCY
The smell hits me the second we step out of the elevator—garlic and onions and a hint of spicy cinnamon that takes me back to dinners as a kid and the way my mama’s cooking made even the shittiest days better.
Maybe it still can…
At the very least, a cooking ambush means she isn’t as angry as she was earlier.
Or, it could mean she’s so pissed that she decided the only way to purge her demons was to invade my kitchen and dirty every pot and pan until I get home as punishment for making her wait so long for a text…
“Is that smell coming from our house?” Elly asks.
Mimi squirms around her, her nose up in the air and sniffing. “That smells so good. I’m hungry, Mama. Cake doesn’t fill up your tummy as good as gumbo. That smells like gumbo.”
“That’s Beanie’s world-famous red beans and rice,” I say, my stomach flipping with equal parts hunger and dread. “Looks like she used that key I gave her.”
“Beanie’s here?” Mimi’s face lights up. “Yay! I want to tell her about the baby alligators!”
“I’m sure she’ll love that,” I murmur, fitting the key in the lock.
Elly and I share a look that says exactly what we’re both thinking: what are we about to walk into?
But there’s no sense dragging it out. I push open the door, and sure enough, my mother’s voice comes sailing from the kitchen, belting BeauSoleil at a volume that means she and Adelaide killed that champagne. The music isn’t quite loud enough to get the neighbors curious, but it’s plenty loud to confirm one thing:
Bernadette Graves has officially taken over my kitchen.
“Mama?” I call out as I set Mimi’s gift bag from the party on the entry table. “We’re back.” I raise my voice to be heard over the accordion solo, “What you up to in here?”
“Making meals and solving problems,” she calls back. “At least the problem of keeping myself out of prison for strangling a certain boy who has kept his mama waiting four hours for a text.”
Elly winces as we step around the small partition separating the entry from the rest of the open space.
We find Beanie at the stove, hip-swaying to the rhythm while she stirs a bubbling concoction in my cast iron pot. There’s another pot on the back burner, the rice cooker is full of fresh sticky rice, the kind we both like better than traditional long grain, and every inch of counter space is covered in Cajun dishes in various stages of preparation.