Sweetheart Bride. Lenora Worth
helping out so my sister can enjoy her honeymoon.”
“I see.” He took his time glancing over her Fleur Bakery T-shirt and jeans. “Cute. Especially the ‘slap-your-mama’ part.”
“Cute?” Brenna wanted to die. “I’m hot and tired and so not a morning person. I really do want to slap someone. But not because of good cooking, even though we do offer that.” She hissed a sigh. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Hmm.” He kept his eyes on her. “How about one egg, scrambled, dry toast and fruit.”
“You call that breakfast?”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “What would you suggest, then?”
“Eggs, country cured ham, biscuits that will make you weep for butter and some of Alma’s mayhaw jelly with a big cup of our famous strong coffee.”
“I’ll take it.”
She gave him a long stare, then grinned. “I thought so.” Putting her pen over her ear, she shot him a mock-sweet smile. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Nick enjoyed watching her work the room. She seemed to know enough to make a passable waitress, but he could tell this definitely wasn’t her thing. He imagined her in a conservative suit with sensible but attractive high heels, her briefcase and designer purse on her arm. He imagined her dancing with him again and wondered why he couldn’t forget the scent of her floral perfume.
Dangerous territory, this. He’d come here to do a job. And it was a big job. Probably one of the biggest renovations of his career. His client paid top dollar for discretion and design.
Nick intended to provide both.
But he did need someone to help with the art and decor.
Could he help it if the only woman in town he was actually attracted to also happened to be an art expert who was out of a job and waiting tables?
Coincidence? Or divine intervention?
His mother had been praying for him to settle down with a pretty woman so she could have grandchildren.
But wait, he’d come close only once or twice to having that perfect domestic life his family expected. Hadn’t worked out so great. Maybe he should just focus on business. And try to forget the past, as his mother and aunt suggested every time he went home.
Brenna brought his breakfast and yes, the biscuits did look good. But so did the bearer of the biscuits. Although she looked completely different today from the way she’d looked at the wedding a few days ago, Brenna Blanchard was still a pretty woman. Her hair, caught in a big clamp, was falling in damp wisps around her face. He couldn’t decide if she wore makeup or not, but that didn’t matter. Her skin shimmered with a glowing sheen that made her appear young and carefree.
He quite preferred this look, actually.
Okay, strike that.
He liked her both ways.
Still dangerous. So he told himself to stop obsessing about Brenna and get on with his meal. The food was great, the service wonderful. He’d eaten here several times and he was sure he’d be back a lot before he was done with this job.
And he’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know Brenna Blanchard. He’d just need to remember it was all about the art for the house, all about pleasing his wealthy boss.
And not at all about remembering Brenna’s silky hair and shimmering skin.
* * *
Brenna checked on her tables one last time.
Saving Nicholas Santiago for last, of course.
“How was your breakfast?” she asked, noting he sat reading over some papers.
“Very good.” His smile told the tale.
“Most people leave here with a smile,” she said, glad she hadn’t spilled anything in the man’s lap. “Want some more coffee?”
“Only if you sit and have a cup with me?”
“I’m working here,” she said, exaggerating the term.
“Don’t you get breaks? I’d like to discuss what we talked about at the wedding. I really do need some advice on how to decorate this house.”
She glanced around. “We’re not too busy. Let me get a cup and I’ll talk to you for a few minutes.”
She hurried to the back of the counter and found Winnie. “Can I take a short break? I need to talk to Nick. He might have a job for me.”
“Oh, it’s Nick now?” Winnie giggled. “What? Tired of this cushy job already?”
“Never,” Brenna said with a mock-smile. “But I need cold, hard cash. And he needs an art expert.”
“A match made in heaven,” Winnie replied. “Go. Who wouldn’t want to take a break with that hunk?”
Brenna swallowed her trepidations and told herself she could be professional and businesslike. She would not mix any pleasure with this business. She needed work to keep her mind off her many failures.
“Okay,” she said as she slid into the seat and poured herself some coffee from the pot she’d left on the table. “Fifteen minutes.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “Let’s pretend this is a real job interview. Tell me about yourself.”
Okay, now she was nervous. Sitting here in a T-shirt and jeans didn’t feel professional. And she didn’t have her résumé in front of her. “Well, I went to LSU in Baton Rouge, majored in Art History and minored in Business. For the past three years, I’ve worked in the Hutton Gallery as a curator and director of operations. But budget cuts caused me to be laid off indefinitely.” She sat back against the booth. “As you’ve probably noticed, there isn’t much in the way of art here in Fleur.”
He nodded. “You don’t appreciate the Fleur Bayou Museum?”
“Of course.” She grinned. “I helped create that museum when I was still in high school. But I never could find anyone willing to keep it open on a daily basis. It’s only open when Mrs. LaBorde’s gout isn’t acting up—which is a whole lot these days. So the museum is more neglected than noticed.”
He burst out laughing, his dark eyes sparkling. “I think I met Mrs. LaBorde at the wedding. Charming woman.”
“You’re just being polite,” she said, touched that he’d enjoyed her joke. “She loves working at the museum, but she does have a life, after all.”
“And it is a small place,” he added. “I checked it out the first day I arrived. I wanted to get a sense of the place. And now that I know you had a hand in the content of that one-room history trove, I’m doubly impressed.”
“So did it help you to understand the history of this area?”
“It did.”
He started asking her questions about the Cajun and Creole history of Fleur and the Spanish influence of the area. Before Brenna knew it, thirty minutes had passed.
“Oh, I have to get back to work! Sorry we didn’t get to discuss Fleur House and what you might need from me.”
He stood when she did, then reached out for her hand. “You’re hired.”
Surprised, Brenna took his hand and shook it. Or rather let him shake her hand. “But you don’t even know if I’m right for this job.”
“Oh, you’re perfect.”
Relieved and pleased but a bit wary, Brenna pulled her hand away. “And how do you know that?”
He gave her one of those simmering looks again. “By the way your eyes lit up when you were talking about that little