Finding Focus (7 page)

She looks up at me with one eye open, the other squinted, and her keys dangling from her finger.

“I’m just driving you to the motel, Chuck. No funny business.”

“Okay.” She huffs and turns to her car. “Lemme grab my camera bag.” She fumbles with key and I struggle with wanting to help her and wanting to watch her. Eventually, she gets the door open and leans into the car. I can’t help but notice her stellar ass on display—one I haven’t witnessed until now. I clear my throat as she stands back up and closes the door with her hip, knocking herself off balance.

“Since you know exactly where it is, I guess I don’t need to give you directions to the motel,” she says sarcastically. I was kinda hoping she wouldn’t bring that up.

I shake my head and let out a hard laugh. “Yeah, I’ll get you where you’re goin’.”

“This is a nice truck.” She pats the leather on the dash as I help her in and close the door behind her.

I hop in the driver’s side and glance over to see her leaning her cheek against the glass. She’s so damned cute, even tipsy.

“Thanks. Try not to throw up in it.” We both laugh, but I roll the window down just a little, allowing fresh air to cool her flushed cheeks. Thankfully, she makes it the mile down to the motel, and I try not to laugh as she digs around in her bag again. “Looking for something?”

“Yeah, my big ass room key. Who the fuck has keys? I mean, I didn’t even know they made motels like this anymore.”

“They don’t. This one was made a long time ago.” I laugh, using her lingo and fighting the urge to tuck her loose hair behind her ear. “Need me to help?”

“Found it!” she practically screams in triumph, coming up with the gold key, a proud smile on her face.

“That’s good. I’d hate to have to wake old man Boudreaux up to let you in.”

“Boudreaux,” she repeats, like she’s mulling the name over. “Valerie Boudreaux. That’s the girl you were making bowlegged yesterday.”

I can’t control the laugh that erupts from inside me. I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. “You heard that, huh?” I scratch my head, not sure how I feel about that. Usually, I couldn’t care less who knows what about me, but this weird part deep down inside wishes I could rewind to yesterday and not take Val up on her offer.

“I bet someone in Baton Rouge heard that.”

We sit there for an awkward second while she fiddles with the key in her hand. “So, are you two a thing?”

“Oh, uh . . .” I toy with how to answer her question. Honestly, Val and I are exactly what she heard. We fuck sometimes. We’ve known each other forever, and she’d probably like it to be more, but that’s not me. “We’re good friends.”

“Right.” Her tone is clipped, final. “Okay . . . well, I better get to bed.”

“Hey, Dani, I had fun tonight.”

“Me, too. Thanks for the pockets and beers.” She smiles and waves. I cringe when I see her almost bite it on the curb, but she saves herself and makes it to her door, turning around and waving one more time before she closes it behind her. When the light in her room comes on, I turn around in the gravel drive, thinking of Dani and her Chucks the whole way home.

Sheridan

CHURCH WITH THE LANDRYS IS
not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, it’s quite nice, considering I’m fighting a bit of a hangover, but I don’t have any regrets. It’s been too long since I’ve had that much fun.

There’s a great quality, I’ve noticed, not only in the Landrys, but in Tucker and other people I’ve observed so far here in French Settlement. They don’t let things bother them for very long. They simply enjoy life—laugh things off, let it roll off their backs. What do they say here?
Joie de vivre.
I think that’s what Micah called it last night when I mentioned life seems like one big party down here.

Micah . . .

I’m not sure what it is, but something about him draws me in. It’s not that damn nickname he has for me, that’s for sure, but there’s something.

I quietly laugh at myself for thinking there’s only
one
thing I’m drawn to. Okay, so there are at least three things: that messy head of dark hair, those bright blue eyes, and that jaw that’s begging to be licked. And those are just the things found above the neck. Once I let my mind wander to what’s below . . . well, it’s hard to think straight.

In the few hours I spent with him last night, it became obvious that he’s smart and has great business sense. It’s also obvious other women find him attractive; they’d be idiots not to. The other thing I couldn’t miss was the fact that he seems to
like
the attention.

I shouldn’t waste my time thinking about Micah Landry. I’m sure he’s the playboy of all playboys—out for a good time and not making any commitments along the way. Of course, I could think about Graham, but who the hell knows what he’s doing . . . or
whom
he’s doing. I mentally scold myself and try to clear my mind. I shouldn't be sitting here thinking about any of this. I’m on a job, and I need to remain professional. To do that, I have to keep a clear mind, which means no Graham . . . and definitely no Micah.

I glance down the church pew at all of the Landrys and my eyes land on the one in question. He’s sitting with his arm around his mom, paying close attention to the message being spoken. The definition of his perfect jaw is on display as the fantastic lighting from the large windows pours in over him. I wonder if he’s ever considered modeling.

Focus, Dani.

Definitely no Micah.

He’s just a man, Sheridan. Get over it.

I feel like I’m channeling my granny with those words. It sounds like a piece of advice she would’ve given me, and I silently thank her and ask her to help me through this, because I have to focus on this job and doing my very best. Then, I need to focus on getting back to New York and figuring my life out. She’d probably have some wise words about that as well. These are times I miss her the most.

“You gonna go to confession after mass?” Deacon whispers in my ear, effectively breaking me from my thoughts. “You look like you’ve been countin’ up all your sins while we’ve been sittin’ here.”

“What? Oh, um, no . . . no confessions for me today, thanks. You go ahead, though, if you need to,” I whisper back.

Deacon chuckles, and asks, “Are you even Catholic?”

“Yes, I am. Well, I used to be . . . was. I don’t know. It’s been years since I’ve been in a church,” I confess.
There, that’s my confession. I mean, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?

“Now, that’s just a cryin’ shame. Don’t y’all have family time on Sundays up in the big city?”

I look around the church to make sure our conversation isn’t bothering anyone before answering. “No, I don’t really do family time on Sundays . . . or any other day, for that matter,” I whisper, leaving it at that. If I say too much, it’ll sound like a sob story, and I hate when people feel sorry for me.

Deacon pulls back from me a bit and his face falls. “Well, Ms. Dani, I’m real sorry to hear that, but don’t you worry. The Landrys will make sure you get plenty of family time while you’re here with us.” He squeezes my shoulder and faces the front of the sanctuary where the priest seems to be finishing up. I glance up and see Micah smiling at me, as if he heard my conversation with Deacon. His blue eyes show kindness and concern. I quickly return his smile and look away, feeling a bit uncomfortable and exposed.

When the main part of the service is over, Deacon excuses himself. “I got some confessin’ to do. It’s good for the soul, ya know.” He slides past me and heads toward the back of the church while everyone else files out of the pews.

Not only is Sunday Mass a requirement when you’re with the Landry family, apparently so is Sunday lunch. Annie mentioned either she or Micah usually cook a big family-style spread on Sundays, but since I’m here, they’d like to take me out and show me a little more of the area, which I appreciate. With each glimpse of this place, I grow increasingly excited to share what I find with the readers of
Southern Style
. I don’t want to ruin this quiet, quaint town, but people should know how beautiful it is down here.

As I step out of the car at the restaurant, I notice we’re at another locally owned establishment. There are two things French Settlement doesn’t have: stop lights and restaurant chains. I had forgotten what that was like. After living in New York City for as long as I have, where there’s a deli on every corner and a new place to eat for every meal, it seems strange to be so limited, but in the same breath, it’s relaxing. Everything about this place makes me feel calm.

When we walk in, we’re greeted by not only the owner and the wait staff, but the other patrons as well. The patrons say hello as we pass the tables; a couple people stop Sam or Annie, asking about this or that. Of course, in a town this size, everyone is going to know you. But what I also notice are the glances in my direction. I’m sure they’re trying to figure out who I am and where I belong within the family. It’s a funny feeling, but I like it. I don’t mind being associated with the Landrys. They’re good people.

After we’re seated at a long table, everyone quickly looks over their menus. I order seafood gumbo
and iced tea, making it my own personal mission to eat as much authentic Cajun food as I can possibly stand while I’m here.

Once our meals are served and the casual chatter dies down, Annie asks, “So, what’s your work schedule gonna be like this week, Dani?”

“Well, since I knocked out a lot of the exterior shots yesterday, I’d like to start on the interior tomorrow. But I’d also like to come back at different intervals throughout the day to capture the variances in the natural lighting, if that’s okay?” I ask, hoping I’m not being too much of an inconvenience.

“Oh, honey, of course that’s okay. Whatever you need, Dani, just ask. It’ll be our pleasure, and don’t feel like you’re intruding. Consider yourself one of the family.” She smiles, and it’s so sincere. “Oh, and these boys will be at your beck and call. If you need an escort to go further out on the property, you just snag one of them. It’s not safe to be out too far by yourself, especially since you’re not familiar with the land.” She smiles down the table at Micah and Deacon, giving them an altogether different smile. One that says,
you’ll do as I say or else
. It makes me laugh, but they both smile back and say, “Yes, ma’am,” like the good boys they are.

Yeah, right.

Once again, I’m reminded of what Travis told me the first day.
If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!

As we’re all walking out of the restaurant, deciding who’s riding with whom, Deacon groans. “Ugh, my body is exhausted from all this digestin’. It’s workin’ overtime. I’ve gotta go take a nap.” He rubs his stomach and yawns. “Dani, will I see you again?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be here a few more days.”

“Okay, cool. Maybe you could stick around for Micah’s big birthday shindig. Now that’d be somethin’ to put in your article.” He winks at me as he gets into his Jeep.

That’s actually not a bad idea. “I might take you up on that,” I tell him, waving as I follow Micah to his truck.

“A big birthday shindig, huh?” I ask Micah.

“Yeah, my mama is always makin’ a big deal outta birthdays. You can’t tame her. She’s a beast when it comes to throwin’ parties.” He laughs, shaking his head. “But it
would
be pretty cool if you could stick around for the party.” His eyes meet mine.

I nod and smile, trying to tamp down my excitement. “We’ll see.”

Micah and I climb into his truck and he starts it up, but we just sit in the parking lot for a few moments in comfortable silence.

“You’re not what I was expecting, Chuck.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh yeah? What were you expecting?”

He shrugs before giving me a shy smile. “I don’t know . . . someone snooty and prissy, I guess. But that’s not you. At least, not that I can see.”

“You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

Barking out a laugh, he replies, “No, not at all. Just makin’ an observation.”

His eyes are a little too focused on me and the air inside his truck is a little too thin. I clear my throat and face forward, causing Micah to take the hint to put the truck in drive.