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"Sorry about that. I genuinely didn't think we'd run into anyone here," he apologized.
"Your grandmothers gave a totally different vibe today."
Chad started to laugh. "Don't tell me you were actually afraid of them. You handled them perfectly that first day."
"Not afraid... but they did seem a bit intimidating."
"Yeah, they do have that intimidation tactic down pat."
“Your grandmothers are quite young, aren’t they? I didn’t realize that until now.”
“Yes, very. They had kids early. I think Celine was nineteen and Isabeau twenty. And my parents also had kids at a young age. Mom was nineteen.”
“Ah, now I understand why your grandparents weren’t thrilled about your parents getting married.”
“Exactly. So, this is the jambalaya table," he said, pointing at a long table with several bowls on it. There was a stack of cutlery on one end. I liked the simple yet elegant setup.
"Chad," I said as I grabbed a plate, "what did Isabeau mean when she said this isn’t your usual behavior?”
He didn't reply right away, and I looked up, wondering if he’d heard me. His gaze was fixed on me.
"After my divorce, I sort of... stopped enjoying things. And they noticed. But ever since I met you, something’s changed. I'm enjoying every second when I’m with you."
My heart soared. "So am I," I confessed.
His gaze turned, if possible, even more intense, and his lips curled up in a smile. This was more than just a panty-melting smile. It was panty exploding.
"Do you need a plate, or...?" an elderly man interrupted, and I realized we were in everyone’s way.
Chad held a hand in front of me and said, “After you.”
We moved forward, and I selected six different types of jambalaya. I frowned at Chad's plate. He only had one. "You're not tasting more?"
He shrugged. "I already know my favorite."
Once we'd finished, I looked into the distance at his family.
"Did you always know that you wanted to be part of The Orleans Conglomerate?" I blurted.
"Yeah. I don't think any of us ever thought we'd be doing anything else," he answered without hesitation. "As kids we all worked at the restaurants since we were twelve or something."
"That's young," I remarked as I tasted the fourth jambalaya. I was going to try Chad’s favorite last.
"It was our parents' way of making sure we grew up with a good head on our shoulders. To get pocket money, we had to do chores or work at the restaurants. Or the bakeries. Then when we were of age, we worked in the bars too. It’s all I ever wanted to do. Same goes for my brothers. We were happy carrying on with the Broussard and LeBlanc companies."
"Speaking of the devils," I said. Xander and Zachary were coming our way.
They looked at our plates. "Don't tell me you only got your favorite, Chad," Xander teased his brother.
"Why not?"
"You haven't been here in years. It never occurred to you that they might have changed some of the other recipes?" Xander asked. “Why don’t you try to be more relaxed about things?”
Chad zeroed in on him. "Youare telling me to be more relaxed? You’re the one who always wants to control every detail.”
"I accept that as a fault of mine. Or a quality, depending on how you look at it." He glanced at me. "Between the two of us, I think I'd rather consider it a quality.”
I nodded and answered as seriously as I could. “I'm a chef, so I’m all about being precise and exacting.”
