He grins. “A butchering.”
My smile vanishes.
Beau chuckles. “Anyway,boudinwas the way to make sure nothing was wasted. Not the heart, or the liver, or intestines.” Still grinning, Beau pops the piece he’s still holding into his mouth.
My eyes go round, and I look at the remainingboudinand then back at him. “I just ate intestines?” I’d like to say I sound stalwart about it, but my words seem a bit hollowed out.
Beau shakes his head, a soft smile touching his mouth. “No. You can still find it like that in a lot of places, made in links with a traditional sausage casing—” he drops his voice to a stage whisper,“pig intestines—but most places sell it in synthetic casing, which is made of collagen.”
I’m relieved. Mostly.
He gestures to the tray. “But these areboudinballs. No casing. Just the filling.” Then he shrugs. “And that’s just pork, rice dressing, vegetables, and spices.”
Now I’m totally relieved. “That’s all?” I reach for anotherboudinball, and Ramon and Sally do the same. The three of us hum our appreciation.
“Mmm. I could get used to this,” Ramon mutters, reaching for another.
So could I, and that’s a dangerous thought.Boudinis definitely calorie dense. I reach for an okra pod instead. Five minutes later, I make myself step back from the table. I could keep eating—boy, could I—but I’m no longer crazed with hunger.
Beau notices. “You had enough?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod.
“Sure?” His focus on me is so intense, I feel caught in his gaze.
I have the sudden hunch he’s thinking about the dizzy spell I had during our first lesson, and I flush with embarrassment.
“I’m sure.”
He watches me for a second, his expression unchanging. “Okay.” Then he grabs the tray and heads to the front of the studio. “Just in case anyone gets hungry later.”
“I’m good,” I say, which is mostly the truth.
“I could have more,” Ramon is quick to say, eyes on the tray as Beau moves through the swinging door.
“Me too,” Sally adds, following them.
I bring up the rear, wondering how many calories Cajun dancing burns.
In the little parlor, Beau sets the tray down on one of the round-bottomed cafe chairs and takes out his phone.
“Let’s warm up,” he says.
I’m expecting the same breathing routine we’ve used every time, but instead of Bill Withers, Gnarls Barkley's “Crazy” fills the room. I almost choke on a laugh. Beau turns to face the three of us. “Follow my lead.”
The beat is faster, more in-your-face than our other warm-ups, and I watch Beau keep time with it just by using his hips. Ramon and Sally imitate him, but I stand still. No way am I going to shake my hips. I’ll do it wrong and look like an idiot.
“C’mon, Iris,” he prompts.
I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“We’re just warming up,” Beau says, stepping in front of me, shaking those sexy-as-sin hips. “No big deal.”
No big deal? Who is he kidding? Has he seen himself?
He’s just standing there, barely moving to the rhythm, but all the movement, all the rhythm makes it impossible to look away. He’s the sexiest damn thing on two legs, and I am beyond intimidated. Frozen solid.
That is, until Beau settles his hands on my hips. “Just let go, Iris.”
