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I crossed one of the drawbridges over Bayou Teche; glad the bridge wasn’t up since I was running a little late. The afternoon light reflected orange on the sleepy bayou that twisted and turned throughout Beauville like the snake that gave it its name. It was a small town, but one with a long history. My family goes back many generations here.
Pop used to tell me stories about the French trappers and the Native Americans who lived here first, long before the Acadians settled here from Nova Scotia. My favorite story was the one about the Chitimacha warriors who were plagued by a giant serpent, killing their people. So they banded together and slayed the behemoth snake. In its death thrall, the snake writhed and sank into the mud, leaving behind a pathway that filled with rainwater and became our bayou.
It’s one of the many folktales I grew up with living in the heart of Cajun country. And though lots of my friends graduated and went off to live in larger cities, I never wanted to leave. That’s why I came up with my plan for my store, to find a viable way to start my own business here in Beauville, apart from my father.
Pulling into the small parking lot behind the BPAL theater, I could hear the bar across the street kicking it on a Thursday night. As usual. The Drunk Pelican was one of the local favorites, customers pouring out onto the tables outside. Even on a weekday.
Combing a hand through my hair, I walked at a quick clip up the narrow alleyway from the back parking lot to the front of the building. Once inside, voices beyond the reception area curtain pumped my heart a little faster. As I swept inside the theater, I heard her voice before I saw her. And the resulting shot of adrenaline firing through my blood nearly made me laugh.
What was it about this woman that had me sniffing around her like a dog on the hunt?
Was it that she didn’t like me? I didn’t think I was that vain. Maybe I was.
Then she laughed at something Trish was telling her, and my whole body jerked to full alert.
There was something about her that drew me beyond reason.
Fire-red hair, sarcastic mouth, unwavering confidence, and gut-punching blue eyes that could cut a guy to his knees or incinerate him with a glance.
I fuckingwantedher.
“Hey, Bennett,” called Frank in his friendly way.
Frank was a bit of an eccentric. He’d spent the majority of his adulthood as a successful local attorney then retired to work at the town museum, whose main source of business was elementary students on field trips. Now, he was a member of the BPAL Board, enjoying retirement as a patron and performer of the theatrical arts.
“Hey!” I replied, my voice a little overloud and excited.
A few heads turned my way, including Betty’s. She simply arched an accusing eyebrow at me rather than greet me with a polite smile like most women did.
Hell, while most women shot fuck-me eyes my way, Betty only gave me fuck-youeyes.
Yep. My cock was hard now.
“Looks like we’re all here,” called Peter from the stage where he had a circle of chairs set up for us. “Let’s get going,Barefoot.”
This was typical of Peter. He always shortened the cast’s name to one central word of the play. As everyone headed up the steps, I walked over and brushed Betty’s forearm, noting the silky softness of her fair skin.
It always shocked me how petite she was, too. Her personality could beat the shit out of an NFL football team. But the woman herself was pint-sized next to me, the top of her head barely coming to my chin.
“What?” she asked.
Not rudely, but definitely not politely.
“I brought this for you.” I handed over the paper-wrapped bottle, trying to be subtle while the others were chatting onstage.
When she gripped the neck of the bottle, my brain went sideways, imagining those slender fingers wrapping around other long, cylindrical things.
“What is this?” she asked, frowning at the French wine.
“An apology.”
“For what?”
“You said I made you late for work the other day.”
“So you swiped a free bottle of your fancy wine off the shelf and thought that would be a good apology?”
Laughing at her complete disdain, I shook my head. “What makes you think it was free?”
