Page 14 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

Hustling? Hustling? “I hear plenty of no’s,” he contended, even though he hadn’t done a whole lot of asking, or hustling, the last few years. Too busy with studies, and no money. But inside, he was patting himself on the back. She thinks I’m a dreamboat. I’m practically “in like Flynn.”

“Listen. My mama allus said, beware of Cajun men. They have a twinkle in their naughty eyes. Sweet words flow lak honey from their fool tongues. And mischief simmers in their blood, sure as rain on laundry day.”

He grinned. “As I recall, you accused me of turning Yankee last time we met.”

“Oh, you Cajun, all right.”

He loved the way she reverted to the language of their mutual roots on occasion. In fact, he suspected that she alternated between what Northerners considered an almost illiterate Southern language with words and sentences that clearly bespoke some education and intelligence. Did she do it deliberately? Probably. And it would fool outsiders. Not him. He could do Cajun with the best of them.

“Sugah, Ahm thinkin’ y’all need a little joie de vivre.”

“And you’re the one to put that joy in my life?”

Her sarcasm was a little bit offensive. But he was undaunted. “I could try. What say we go out on a date Saturday night?”

She arched her brows in question. “Go where?”

She probably thought he was inviting himself to her house, to spend the evening on her porch swing, necking…or even petting.

Which was highly appealing. But even a dreamboat like himself knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. “There’s a little club on Bourbon Street where we could dance and listen to music.”

“You dance?”

He put a palm over his heart, as if wounded. “I’m Cajun,” he said as if that said it all. It did. Cajun men were taught to dance from the time they were toddlers prancing around the living room, diapers drooping, in rowdy two-step dance moves to loud zydeco music on the family record player. He’d learned the words to “Jolie Blon” before he’d lost his baby teeth.

“I don’t date,” she said finally, and moved a few steps away from him, giving her attention back to the children’s games.

He moved as well, closing the distance between them, so that they were almost elbow to elbow, hip to hip. Almost, but not quite. “Really? Dressed lak that? Thass a shame!” He was laying the Cajun patois on thick as bayou mud.

And she replied in kind with, “Mebbe I dress lak this for mahself, not to attract menfolks.”

“Or mebbe you felt lak that in the past, but now you’ve turned over a new leaf. Mebbe you’re ready to dip yer pretty toes in the dating waters again. Mebbe I would be a good experiment, to see if yer ready.”

He thought she laughed, but she wasn’t looking at him; so, he wasn’t sure.

“Listen, Mister Almost-Doctor, I been dealing with men who look like you my entire life. Men so full of their own handsomeness they think the sun comes up to hear them crow. Frankly, a peacock is just a glorified turkey, in my opinion.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d made the turkey/peacock analogy in reference to him. “Wow!” he said. “That was brutal, but you’ve given me a bum rap, chère. Without really knowing me, you put me in a box, smacked a label on it, and set it on a shelf marked ‘Toxic’.”

She blushed, seeming to realize she might have gone a bit too far. “Maybe you’re right. I do tend to jump to conclusions sometimes.”

He was no fool. He took an opening any way he could get it. Besides, now this opinionated woman was a challenge. And, don’t forget, she thought he was handsome as a peacock. He barely suppressed a smile as he said, “Okay, apology accepted,” though she hadn’t really apologized, “but how about me coming out to your place and you teach me about herbal medicines? You wouldn’t deny a doctor his learning, would you?”

She turned to look at him then.

He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

She smiled and shook her head at his persistence. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” he said, and he meant it, though getting to know Louise better would be an obvious lagniappe. Never let it be said there weren’t two ways to skin a rabbit.

Any further discussion on the subject was halted by a sharp scream.

Both Justin and Louise’s heads jerked forward toward the playing field where the games had ended abruptly.

Still screaming was Louise’s niece Adèle who was bending over another little girl who was lying on the ground, unmoving. “She’s dead! She’s dead!”

Without hesitation, Justin leaped over the fence and ran as fast as he could. Louise wasn’t far behind.