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I was both disappointed and relieved. We’d gotten to second or third or third and a half base; whatever the hell going down on me in a movie theater was on the baseball metaphor scale. And I didn’t want to take it too fast, even if my body wanted to.
He seemed to be of the same mind, leaving me with a happy smile as he swaggered back to his truck.
I laughed as I closed and locked my front door at how worried I’d been, trying to figure out how to tell him that I liked him. Then he’d charmed the panties right off of me—literally.
“I guess he’s aware now,” I mumbled to myself, basking in my post-orgasmic bliss and the anticipation of date number two.
Chapter Fourteen
~BENNETT~
“Why don’tyou pace a little harder?” mocked my brother, stirring the giant pot of gumbo over the butane burner. They were set up underneath the Broussard Fresh Market tent, where Hale was using his crawfish boil pot, the only thing big enough to cook this massive amount of gumbo.
“Shut up, Hale.”
I hadn’t seen Betty since rehearsal on Thursday. I’d walked her to her car, where we’d made out in the parking lot for forty-five minutes like horny teenagers, then told her I’d meet her here at the Beauville Gumbo Cookoff on Saturday.
It was her idea for our second date when I told her I was busy Saturday manning our annual booth. I wasn’t the actual cook for our tent. That was Hale’s department. But we had a booth at the Gumbo Cookoff every year since its origin two decades earlier when my grandfather used to enter with his specialty meat shop.
When Pop had told me to take over the family tradition with my own store as the sponsor rather than his shop, I nearly cried. It was like passing the torch. I’d tried to tell him no. That I could have my own tent right next to his.
“Nonsense,” he’d said. “Who’d cook your gumbo then? You?”
It wasn’t an insult. I wasn’t the great cook of the family. Hale was. And my mother. Mom retired from being the Gumbo Cookoff chef when Hale was old enough to take over.
And as harsh as Pop was when he’d told me to stop being obstinate and arguing with him, he meant it with love. I could see the proud glint in his wrinkled eyes that he wanted this for me. Wanted the store to be a success, too. Being a sponsor at this event was fantastic advertising with the community. People from all over, including the surrounding towns of Acadiana, ventured to Beauville for the Gumbo Cookoff.
“You just worry about your gumbo,” I told Hale behind me. “I don’t want my first cookoff event to be a disaster because my brother’s gumbo sucked.”
I knew damn well it wouldn’t. But I wanted Hale off my back and to get him talking about something else besides the obvious nerves wracking my body.
Betty had texted this morning to tell me her mom and her mom’s boyfriend would be here today at the Tractor Supply booth, so I was officially meeting the parents. Or parent. I clenched my teeth, thinking about her asshole of a father. Who could abandon their own daughters? It boggled my mind.
I imagined little Betty with her bright eyes and brighter hair, how precious she must’ve been. I rubbed my chest, a tenderness aching beneath my rib cage. Especially when my thoughts wandered to a daughter she might have one day who would look just like her with a spray of freckles across her nose.
Then my thoughts jumped to whether or not her mom would like me. What if she didn’t? And what if I was taking this too seriously too fast? What if Betty was just along for a bit of fun, and I was headed for major, gutting heartbreak?
Blowing out a breath, I tried to slow my mind down before I had a full-on panic attack but hell, I couldn’t. This woman had me thinking about white dresses and churches.
These straying thoughts weren’t exactly healthy because we’d been on one goddamn date. One that wasn’t even supposed to be a real date.
Was I alone in these intense feelings?
At least my parents wouldn’t be here today. They were on one of their weekend excursions to New Orleans. It wasn’t Mom I was worried about. Just my father. He’d ruin my day by talking business, interrogating me about my new store, and putting me in a piss-poor mood. I didn’t want Betty to see that side of me yet. I didn’t want to scare her off before I’d even gotten her.
“Hey. You okay?”
I glanced back at Hale. “Fine, why?”
“I’ve never seen you this worked up over a girl.” He went back to stirring the pot. “You know, I remember Betty Mouton from high school.” He now wore one of his signature smirky smiles, leaving his post to lean on the table right behind me.
Serving didn’t start for another thirty minutes. The other hundred gumbo booths sprawled in rows in Belle Teche Plaza down the center of town were prepping for the crowds. People were already milling around, checking out what each booth was offering.
Belle Teche Plaza was a giant square parking lot set between Main Street on one side and Bayou Teche on the other, which wound all the way through town. The plaza served as parking for offices and the Main Street boutiques, as well as the venue for all local festivals. The Gumbo Cookoff was one of many. When the weather was nice—or at least breathable— Louisianians liked any excuse for day drinking and eating good food outdoors.
Hale had made a duck and andouille sausage gumbo this year. My favorite. All ingredients were provided from Pop’s shop and my store.
But my attention wasn’t on the locals walking the aisles or the competition of the other booths. It was on Hale’s fiendish grin when he said he remembered Betty. My Betty.
