Don't Tell the Wedding Planner (6 page)

Callie eyed Matt. His hair was adorably tousled and his lips looked ruddy from their kisses. And something about his manner always put her at ease, even while revving up her body...

Talk about distractions.

“Actually,” she said, “I have to head up to Clemence tomorrow. I was hoping you could ride along. I have to see my aunt Billie, and I think you should get out for an authentic taste of our cuisine and experience the bayou.”

“Sightseeing wasn’t really in my plans.”

“But there’s so much to see and this is your first trip to town. You can’t come to New Orleans without sampling a little of rural Louisiana.”

He tipped his head and looked down at her. Why was she holding her breath, hoping he’d say yes?

“Will there be mosquitos?” he asked.

“Big ones.”

“Gators?”

“Most definitely.”

“Dirt roads?”

“With potholes the size of Texas.”

His lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. “Sounds enticing,” he said dryly.

“On the bright side, my aunt makes the best shrimp étouffée in three counties. And she has a successful restaurant to show for it.”

“Now that sounds good.”

The response encouraging, Callie had to smile. “Hope you like it hot.”

“Ms. LaBeau,” Matt said, leaning close, his lips whispering across hers, “I like everything hot.”

FOUR

The two-hour
drive up to Clemence, located north of Baton Rouge, passed pleasantly enough. At least, as pleasant as possible given Callie remained distracted, both by Matt’s presence in her car and the destination.

As usual, the closer Callie drew to her old hometown the more her stomach filled with knots. Visiting Aunt Billie always managed to be fun and painful at the same time. Hopefully, with Matt along, Callie could avoid the painful part. From the first moment her family had learned of her mistake, her aunt had been her staunchest supporter, which always made Callie feel even worse for letting her down.

Once they’d finally left Baton Rouge behind, the roads grew narrower, quieter and lined with oaks. More important, now that they were getting close to Po Boy’s, her aunt’s restaurant, the roads were filled with the occasional pothole.

“Man,” Matt said as he steered around one. “You weren’t kidding about the condition of the roads.” He glanced into his rearview mirror. “That one should be named Grand Canyon, the junior.”

The conversation was as good a lead-in as she’d ever get. “So what’s it like where you’re from?” Callie asked. She twisted in the passenger seat of her car and leaned back against the door to better study Matt as he steered her car down the road. “Where do you live again?”

“Manford, Michigan.”

Which hardly answered the question burning in her brain. She hiked a brow, encouraging him to go on.

Two beats passed before he answered. “Midsize town. We have a mall, a couple of movie theatres and the hospital is decent enough. Though the emergency room isn’t as big as I’d like.”

Something in his tone told her that last statement represented a massive understatement.

“I thought you worked as a traveling doc,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I have a part-time job at Manford Memorial. That allows me enough free time to travel as a locums, picking up shifts in bigger cities.”

“If you prefer living in a larger city, why are you living there?”

Several seconds ticked by. “It’s home.” He gave a shrug, the act as vague as his words.

But his voice gave him away, the lack of excitement almost palpable. Callie loved New Orleans, loved everything about the town that managed to merge quirky and a unique cultural heritage with its own brand of Southern charm, all at the same time. The city merged the concepts with a kind of easy grace that amazed her, every single time, and provided the perfect backdrop for her business. Despite the strained relationships, her family was here, too. She’d grown up in the area and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Matt, apparently, had little affection for his own town.

“Promise me something,” she said, and he looked at her curiously. “No matter what happens, don’t go to work for the Manford Chamber of Commerce doing tourist promotion, because you would really suck at the job.”

Matt laughed, and she admired the strong throat, the even, white teeth. His sandy, tousled hair that begged to be ruffled, and Callie flexed her fingers against the urge to reach over and run her fingers through his hair.

In an attempt to dodge a pothole on the left, Matt steered the Toyota to the right, and the front tire hit a second pothole. He shot her a look, and Callie lifted a shoulder. “You get used to it.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You grew up out here?”

“Yep,” she said. “Born right here in Clemence Parish. Spent my childhood playing in the water, fishing and catching crawfish.”

“A tomboy?”

“And proud of it.”

She pointed out the turns, the roads growing narrower, until finally they hit the dirt road that dead-ended into Po Boy’s. There were a half dozen or so cars in the gravel parking lot, shaded by huge oaks, and Matt pulled into a spot in the front.

They exited and rounded the car. Matt came to a stop to stare up at the wooden building.

“Aunt Billie’s restaurant looks...interesting.”

Callie grinned at the expression on his face. The paint on the siding was peeling and cracked, the wood beneath faded to gray where exposed to the sun. The front porch held several tables and chairs, but Callie knew the customers preferred the back and the view of the river.

“Authentic,” she said.

He hiked a brow. “Safe?”

She bit back a smile. “Absolutely.”

They made their way up the wooden front steps. Matt’s hand settled into the dip in her spine, and the heat seeped through her shirt and warmed her skin. Unfortunately, the temperature change didn’t stop there. The feeling settled deeper, curling low in her stomach and spreading between her legs. Good Lord. Yesterday’s dressing-room incident had clearly left an indelible impression.

They stepped into the restaurant filled with wooden tables and chairs and a few customers. As usual, Aunt Billie sensed her arrival before Callie had taken ten steps inside.

Her aunt appeared from the doorway leading into the kitchen. “Callie, hon. It’s been way too long.” She enveloped her in a hug before gripping Callie’s arms and pulling back to give her the once-over.

Billie LaBeau loved to cook, loved to eat and she had the well-padded frame of one who did. But her generous nature dwarfed everything else in comparison. Despite the distance in the lineage, Aunt Billie took her Creole roots to heart. More important, she’d been the only relative to accept Callie’s choices, without treating her life as if she’d settled for a seriously lower second best.

Not once had she looked at Callie with disappointment or thrown out little asides that alluded to how much Callie had screwed up. And while she constantly harped at Callie to visit more often, there was never any judgment in her tone.

“This is Matt Paulson,” Callie said.

“’Bout time you brought a man around here again.” Billie shot her a grin. “Haven’t done so since Colin. And you were eighteen years old then.”

The implied
ten years ago
went unsaid and Callie fought the urge to close her eyes. Perhaps Matt’s presence wouldn’t be quite the protection that she’d hoped.

“Matt is a
client,
” Callie said.

Hopefully the emphasis on the word would clear up any misconceptions. Aunt Billie’s only response was a raised eyebrow at Matt’s hand on Callie’s back, sending heat shooting up Callie’s neck and flaring across her cheeks. Who needed to say anything with a facial expression like her aunt’s? Matt was studying Callie, clearly amused by the conversation and the nonverbal communication.

“Welcome, Matt,” Aunt Billie said. “I hope you brought your appetite.”

“I never leave home without it.”

Aunt Billie let out an amused snort. “That’s good to hear. And Callie?” Aunt Billie returned her focus to Callie. “The family reunion is in two weeks. It’s not too late to change your mind and attend.”

Crap, the reunion. She’d forgotten about the annual event that she had no intention of attending,
ever.
She couldn’t imagine anything worse than all the family members—those who’d been so proud she’d been accepted to Wimbly—talking about her behind her back. Mentioning her mistake again to her face. Callie had lost count of how many times she’d been told how lucky she was to be afforded the opportunity.

Many of whom now never missed an opportunity to remind her of how much she’d lost when she’d mucked it all up.

Her aunt propped a hand on her ample hip. “I’d love to have all of my family back in the same place again.”

“Maybe,” Callie said vaguely. “My schedule is pretty busy. I’ll have to check the dates.”

The look her aunt sent made her message clear. She didn’t believe Callie would show up, and Billie sure as heck wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hound her more. Her suspicions about her aunt’s recent call to sort through her stuff from the dock house suddenly didn’t seem so paranoid. Billie hadn’t suddenly been bitten by a late-summer spring-cleaning urge to clean out an old building that seldom got used anymore. She’d planned on slowly eroding away Callie’s excuses.

But the thought of all her relatives looking at her as if she’d failed...

Damn it.

“Well, check them dates and try a little harder to squeeze your family into that busy schedule of yours, ya’ hear?” Billie said.

“Work has been busy.”

“All the more reason you need to come back for a visit,” Billie said. “Let your people know how you’re doing.”

Callie murmured something polite and vague. Billie shot her a sharp look and then seemed to give up, letting the subject go. They spent some time catching up as Billie gave Matt a tour of the kitchen, showing him around and dolling out her blunt brand of humor as they went. Callie liked the laid-back way Matt dodged her aunt’s repeated attempts to nail down the details about their relationship. Finally, her aunt seemed to realize that there would be nothing more forthcoming.

“I finally decided to send someone out to do the repairs on the dock house. The stuff inside needs to be sorted, too,” Aunt Billie said. “And since you’re the only one that goes out there anymore, I need to know what you want me to keep and what I can toss.”

A wave of affection hit Callie, and she reached out to gently squeeze her aunt’s hand. “Thanks.”

She knew her aunt would have torn the thing down by now if not for her. And losing the dock house would be like losing a piece of herself.

“But first, y’all take a seat out on the deck and I’ll bring you some lunch,” Billie said.

Callie couldn’t resist and she sent her aunt a smile. “Make sure you make Matt’s shrimp étouffée extra special.”

* * *

They settled at a table out back, the edge of the deck lined by the Mississippi River. Despite the rustic surroundings, Matt appeared totally at ease. She liked that he seemed comfortable no matter where he was, whether at a classy ice bar or a backwoods restaurant. They settled into easy conversation, which ended when Aunt Billie brought sweet tea and two bowls of shrimp étouffée. Callie watched with satisfaction as Matt took his first bite, eyelids stretching wide. To his credit he swallowed and appeared completely unflustered as he reached for his iced tea before taking a sip.

For some reason, she couldn’t resist. Matt Paulson brought out the flirt in her.

“I thought you liked it hot,” she said.

The deep, throaty chuckle sent a shocking shiver up her spine. When was the last time a man’s laugh made her this...
aware?
Because that was the only word to describe the feeling vibrating just beneath the surface of her skin. Like a potential lightning bolt loomed close and the hairs on her arms lifted in anticipation, expecting the strike at any moment.

To cover, she pulled out her notebook. She still liked to handwrite her initial to-do list before entering information into her laptop later. There was something about the physical act of writing that always got her creative side going. While they ate, Callie went over where things stood for the LARP weekend.

Matt never said a word outside of answering her questions, finishing his bowl of étouffée without a complaint. By the end, sweat dotted his temple, and he reached for his iced tea regularly, but, after that first look of shock...nothing.

When he shoved his bowl back, he sent her a smile.

“Did I pass the LaBeau initiation right?”

Callie propped her elbows on the table. “You did,” she said. “With flying colors, too.”

A waitress refilled their iced-tea glasses and cleared their lunch dishes away. Matt took a sip of his tea, eyeing her over his glass, and an uncomfortable feeling prickled the back of her neck.

He set his glass down. “How come you refuse to come back to your family reunion?”

“I didn’t refuse. I...” She pressed her lips together and slid her gaze out over the river. “I just don’t have time.”

“Bull,” he said softly.

She ticked her gaze back to his. “It is always easy to question the judgment of others in matters of which we may be imperfectly informed.’”

Matt lifted a brow. “Mr. Darcy again?”

“No. His love interest, Elizabeth Bennet. You should read the book.”

“Maybe someday,” he said with a chuckle. But clearly he wasn’t about to be derailed from the topic at hand. “Some people aren’t lucky enough to have any family, Callie,” he said, and guilt stabbed her in the gut. “Seems a waste for you to avoid yours.”

She opened her mouth to defend herself, feeling uncomfortable. She couldn’t formulate an intelligent response so she tried another diversionary tactic instead.

“You ready to go for a ride in my boat?” she said.

The raise of his eyebrow let her know he was on to her, but then his grin turned positively sinful. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

The suggestion slid through her and stirred her blood, but she remained outwardly calm as she played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was hoping there was a hidden meaning in that question,” he asked.

He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the tiny table, his face mere inches from her face. A jolt of awareness shot through her body. The proximity sent a skitter of nerves just beneath her skin.

Hazel. His eyes were hazel.

For a moment, intrigued by the discovery, she couldn’t respond.

She’d thought his eyes were brown. Of course their first meeting had taken place outside at dusk, with the only lights offered those of fake kerosene lamps. At the park she hadn’t gotten close enough to tell, and during the brain-meltingly hot moment in the dim fitting room she’d been distracted by that hard chest on display. But now, in the full light of day, and with them so close, she could make out the yellow and green specks mixed in with the brown.

“Nope. No hidden messages,” she said. “I thought I’d show you where I used to go fishing as a kid. But I
really
want to see how the guy who prefers the city deals with a boat ride in backcountry Louisiana.”

“Is this another initiation rite?”

A grin slid up her face. “Maybe,” she said. “Think you can handle it?”

“I can handle anything you’ve got.”

Fighting words if she’d ever heard them.

Her brow hiked higher. “Cocky, aren’t you?”