“I think I get in late in the afternoon, so I should be there for dinner.” He blew her a kiss then hugged Meredith.
“Fly carefully.”
“I always do.” Rafe clasped hands with Forbes then trotted off to his classic red Corvette in the driveway.
Forbes closed Jenn’s door then walked around the SUV to stand with Meredith. “What’re you thinking about?”
She couldn’t bring herself to admit to her emotional turmoil over tonight’s events, not even to Forbes. “Just stuff.”
“Marci-related stuff?”
“Yeah—sort of.” She leaned against the door—then regretted it when the beaded raindrops soaked through her jacket.
“You want to share?”
Tell Major’s best friend in the world that she’d had a crush on Major for eight years? “I don’t think so.”
He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I think it would be good for you—you know how you get when you keep things bottled up too long.”
“I’ll take it out on the house.” She sighed. “Are you coming to dinner Thursday night?”
“Of course. I have to be there to orchestrate my siblings’ and cousins’ lives, control freak that I am.” He opened her door and waited until she was in with her seat belt fastened before closing her door, then waved as she drove away.
Jenn stayed quiet on the fifteen-minute drive home, staring out the window and slowly stroking the sleeping puppy in her lap. Approaching the large Victorian—one of the largest on the block of turn-of-the-twentieth-century houses in Bonneterre’s garden district—Meredith could see lights on in the second-floor windows. Once in the driveway, she recognized the dark Buick parked behind Anne’s convertible.
George was over—probably for dinner and a movie ... with a little work mixed in, now that he was officially Anne’s business partner as well as her fiancé.
Melancholy caught in Meredith’s throat. She was tired of praying the same prayer Jenn had lamented earlier:
At least Jenn dated—a lot. Meredith didn’t even have that opportunity. Even if she weren’t in love with Major, she never seemed to meet eligible men anymore. None of the single guys at church had ever shown the least interest in her; they’d always vied for Jenn’s attention. Meredith had even tried the online dating thing. But whenever she started getting close with someone, a feeling of dread—of wrongness—overwhelmed her, and she withdrew.
“Can I keep the puppy with me tonight?” Jenn asked as she trudged across the back deck.
“Sure. You’ll need to let him run around the yard before you take him inside, though, since he hasn’t been out for a while.”
“I know how to take care of a puppy.”
Meredith forgave her sister’s snappish tone and bade Jenn good night. Meredith didn’t bother turning on the lights but felt her way through the dark apartment to her bedroom. She changed into her favorite pajamas—an old Bonneterre High School T-shirt and stretchy cotton-knit shorts—and climbed into bed.
The tears she’d been fighting all evening welled up and overflowed onto her pillow. She couldn’t deny it anymore—Major would never return her feelings. She had to move on, find someone new.
Meredith turned on her back and stared at the shadowy ceiling. Though she’d told her family her goals about the house, a new, more important goal begged to be made, to be spoken aloud.
“Lord, my real New Year’s resolution is that I won’t still be single by this time next year.”
Chapter 6
“Great spread this morning, Major. I meant to tell you earlier.”
Major accepted Lawson Guidry’s proffered hand, his stomach twisting. “Thank you, sir.” He hadn’t slept much this week, visions of and plans for the restaurant running constantly through his mind. This morning he’d given up on sleep around three o’clock and been at work at four, half an hour early, to prepare breakfast for Mr. Guidry’s weekly prayer breakfast.
“What brings you down here at this time of the afternoon?” the older man asked.
Major looked beyond Mr. Guidry toward the offices at the end of the hallway. “I came down to bring Meredith’s takeaway box for her dinner, but she’s not in her office. I need to talk to her.” At her father’s raised- brow look, Major quickly added, “About my part of the financial report on the New Year’s event.” Which was sort of true, though what he needed to ask her about could be done over the phone.
Maybe he read too much into Mr. Guidry’s expression, but he was pretty sure Meredith’s dad didn’t believe him. “She had to go out to meet clients at Lafitte’s Landing—probably won’t be back for a while.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll catch her later, then.”
“Don’t you have an interview scheduled for this afternoon anyway?”
Major checked his watch. “Yes, sir. I guess I’d better get back up to the kitchen, since that’s where I told them to meet me.”
“You’ll have to let us know how it goes.” Lawson raised his hand palm forward, his own unique good-bye wave. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Major nodded his farewell, then booked it back to the elevator and returned to the twenty- third floor.
Several kitchen and service staff stood facing him when the doors opened.
“Bye, Chef.”
“Have a great afternoon, Mr. O’Hara.”
“See ya tomorrow, Chef.”
He tossed a good-bye over his shoulder as he exchanged places with them, then headed across the expanse of Vue de Ceil to the kitchen on the opposite side. Vacuums’ whines filled the cavernous space, run by two of the waiters, both of whom had changed from their black pants and white button-downs into droopy jeans and sweatshirts.
In the kitchen, only Steven and the sauté chef and two dishwashers remained. Steven and his second-in-command hovered over the whiteboard, which they’d taken down and laid on the long prep table in the middle of the room, discussing tomorrow’s lunch menu and assigning components to the various staff who would be here.
Major stepped into his office and closed the door. He opened the wardrobe behind his desk, planning to wear his white chef ’s jacket for the interview—but it wasn’t there. He smacked his forehead. He’d dropped it off at the dry cleaner Tuesday and had meant to pick it up after the prayer breakfast this morning.
He swapped his navy polo for the burgundy tunic and watched himself in the mirror on the back of the armoire’s door as he buttoned the double-breasted placket. Hmm. Must have shrunk when he had it cleaned. At least, he didn’t remember the buttons around his gut pulling like that last time he’d worn it.
He sat down at the desk to write a note reminding himself to go to the cleaners tomorrow. The computer dinged, indicating a new e-mail received. Meredith usually checked her e-mail regularly when offsite, so maybe she’d finally decided to respond to him.
But the message was from Anne Hawthorne to set up a time to discuss the menu for her rehearsal dinner and wedding reception. He flagged it for follow-up later, then scanned the rest of the unread messages in his inbox. None from Guidry, Meredith.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him.
The five-minute warning of the time scheduled for the interview popped up on the screen. He quickly straightened up his desk, though that consisted of making sure the stapler and tape dispenser were at a perfect right-angle to the desk blotter and that the blotter lay exactly one inch—as measured by the tip of his thumb—from the edge of the desk.
