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"Yeah. Thanks for catching me."
"No problem."
He stood behind me, keeping a hand on my waist for a few seconds longer. There was absolutely no need for him to linger,but I loved that he did. When he finally stepped to one side, I felt very cold and empty of his touch.
"Ready to go?" Chad asked.
"Definitely."
He held out his arm. I laughed, as he obviously wanted to make sure I didn’t take another tumble on our way. "I didn’t realize there were so many potholes.”
I took his arm gladly, and we walked leisurely down the street.
"So, want to spill the beans now?" I asked.
"Yes. We’re going to the 35th Annual Jazz & Jambalaya Garden Party."
"It's a private event, isn't it? I don't remember reading about it online."
"You're right. It's an invitation-only event."
"Oh, and you got one? You’re important around here, huh?" I teased.
He bestowed one of those dazzling panty-melting smiles upon me before saying, "The Broussard part of the family actually started it. I don't think I've been for almost six years. Usually, I don't go to these types of events at all."
"So how come you're attending this year?"
"I wasn't going to, but I thought you would enjoy it."
"Chad," I whispered, "we don’t have to go if you don't enjoy this type of thing."
"I like spending time with you.”
I wasn't sure what to say. His words touched me deeply. "Oh, I can't wait. Who else is going to be there? Will I know anyone?"
"I don't think so. No one from the family attends, or at least I don't think they will." He frowned. "I should’ve checked."
"So there’s a lot of jambalaya and a lot of jazz, right?"
"There’s other food as well, but I’m sure there will be at least ten different types of jambalaya.”
"That's a chef's heaven. I can't wait to taste them. I do want to sharpen my skills at local cuisine anyway. How far is the house?"
"Just a few minutes," he said.
As we continued walking, I kept wondering which mansion it was. Five minutes later, we stopped in front of one of the most beautiful ones I’d seen to this point. It was huge—white facade, grandiose columns, and dark blue shutters.
"Is this...? Does your family own this?"
"No, this is a museum. They rent out the garden for parties.”
We walked through the front gate, which was wide open. The gravel path snaked through the perfectly manicured greenery, and we passed magnificent dark red roses in full bloom. As we walked around the house, the voices started growing louder.
"How many people are attending?"
"Probably a hundred," he said.
A young man came up to us, holding an iPad. I realized he was in charge of welcoming the guests.
