A Case for Love (4 page)

Nikki grabbed her left wrist. “What did you just say? Forbes Guidry—
the
Forbes Guidry? The Bachelor of the Year? Asked you out?”

Flames ignited in Alaine’s face. “Why? Is it such a shock I should get asked out?” She forced herself to look at her sister-in-law—who’d known her since before her extreme makeover in college.

“No—just that you’d get asked out by Forbes Guidry and wouldn’t be crowing it to the world. He’s hot.”

“Excuse me?” Joe gaped at his wife.

“I’m married, not dead, Joe.” Nikki turned her back on her husband. “So, when are you going out with him?”

“I said no.” She cocked her head and tried to recreate Joe’s triumphant expression.

“You did
what?
Even if he was a complete jerk, just being seen out on a date with him would rate you a photo on the front of the ‘Style’ section of the paper.”

“And maybe even a mention on my show, huh? Or even take a camera crew along with us.” Her viewers would love that, actually. She could see the caption under the newspaper photo now: “Most Eligible Bachelor Has Pity on Number-One Old Maid and Takes Her Out for Dinner.”

She wasn’t too gentle putting her glass down.

“Why did you say no, Alaine?” Joe started slathering butter on a second roll.

“Because he wanted to go out last night.”

“And you couldn’t get up and go to church on a Sunday morning to accommodate going out on a date Saturday night with someone like him?” Nikki pressed her hand to her chest as if her heart were failing.

How desperate for a date did everyone think she was, anyway? “I’m not going to rearrange my life just because some guy I’ve only met once asks me out with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.”

“Who asked you out?” Tony flopped into the chair on Alaine’s right.

She glared at her younger brother—and resisted the urge to push his tousled hair back from his face. He’d had it highlighted again this week, but with blond this time instead of red or purple or green.

“Forbes Guidry,” Joe muttered around a mouthful of bread.

“Oh. Who’s that?” Tony followed his brother’s example and grabbed one of the two remaining rolls and an unused ramekin of butter. He tore off a chunk of the bread and dipped it into the butter before stuffing it into his mouth.

“He’s a successful lawyer—who happens to be the most eligible bachelor of the year, according to
Bonneterre Lifestyles.
” Nikki turned her head and closed her eyes at the display of macho bread eating surrounding them.

“Oh.” Tony shrugged. “Good catch if you can reel him in, Al.”

Alaine sighed. God would never have to teach her humility. Her brothers took care of that just fine.

“Wait ... Guidry—is he part of that family that owns everything in town?” Tony flicked crumbs from his navy polo shirt.

To keep from adjusting Tony’s askew collar, which he hated, Alaine picked up her utensil set, unrolled the napkin, and draped it across her lap. “He is.”

Joe and Nikki exchanged a look that made the hairs stand up on Alaine’s neck. Neither of them ever looked that serious about anything these days. When Nikki turned back toward Alaine, her smile seemed forced.

“You’re certain he’s part of
that
Guidry family? There are a lot of Guidrys in Bonneterre.”

Alaine looked from Nikki to Joe and back. “Yes, I’m sure. I worked with his sister Meredith when I covered the charity event for the hospital back in the spring. Why? What’s wrong with his being part of that family?”

Nikki and Joe exchanged another look.

“Nothing.” Joe stabbed at the remaining half of his roll with his butter knife.

“Hey, kids, sorry we’re late!”

Alaine tore her gaze away from her brother and sister-in-law to greet her parents. “Daddy, you shaved your beard.”

Already divested of the coat and tie she knew he’d worn to church, he rubbed his jaw. “A full face of fur is just too hot during the summer. Besides, don’t I look younger without it?”

With a full head of silver hair and wrinkles to mark his age? “Of course you do.”

Mother, whose dark Mediterranean features Alaine had inherited in abundance, muttered something under her breath—which sounded like Portuguese—as she lowered herself into her seat with the grace only a former beauty queen could possess.

Both of them looked tired. Maybe it was time to talk to Joe and Tony again and see if this was the year to try to convince them to retire. Working the nursery and flower shop in this kind of heat and humidity couldn’t be good for two people their ages.

After ordering lunch, each of them gave a short recap of the week and what each had coming up. Alaine couldn’t help noticing the looks that passed between Joe, Nikki, and their parents.

Finally, halfway through her quiche lorraine, Alaine shoved the plate back and slapped her fork down on the table. “What is going on?”

Five pairs of startled eyes turned toward her.

“Alaine Desideria Delacroix.” Mother rolled the names off her tongue the way only she could. “I raised you to have better table manners than this.”

She refused to be cowed. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I know something is going on. I can tell by the way the four of you are acting.”

Daddy’s shoulders drooped in a defeated way. “I suppose there’s no sense in keeping it from you two any longer.” He looked at Tony, then back at Alaine. “There’s a possibility we could lose the business.”

“What?” Tony sputtered around a mouthful.

“How?” Cold clamminess slithered over Alaine’s skin.

“Well, you know that a lot of the people who bought up properties in our area to try to flip them have gone into foreclosure. And a bunch of home businesses, like ours, are really struggling and wanting to get out if they can.” Daddy took a deep breath, and Mother laid her hand atop his. “At the Moreaux Mills Business Owners’ Association meeting Thursday evening, we were informed that a local corporation has been quietly buying up all of those foreclosed properties, and now they’re offering a buyout package to about two dozen homeowners and businesses in our section of the Mills so they can tear down all of the old houses and businesses and build luxury condos and apartment buildings and bring in national, retail chain stores to replace us. It’s all part of the Warehouse Row development project we’ve been hearing rumors about.” Daddy’s whole face drooped.

“Without our knowledge,” Joe added, “the president—well, former president now—of the association met with the city council and agreed on what they call ‘fair market value’ for all of our properties. If the figures weren’t so insulting, they’d be laughable. But so many people want to take the money and run it’s going to be hard for the rest of us to stand our ground.”

“We did not say anything to you, Alaine, because we believed you might try to do something with the information that might jeopardize your job.” Mother suddenly looked much older than her sixty-five years.

“Wait—you said a
local
corporation. You don’t mean—” She looked at Nikki and Joe. “It’s not Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises, is it?”

The four exchanged another look.

Nikki pushed a long lock of fiery hair behind her ear. “It is.”

The weight of the revelation pressed against Alaine’s chest until she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t let this happen. If Mother and Daddy lost the business, they lost everything—because it wasn’t just a nursery and florist shop, it was their home ... her home. And Joe’s business—and house—just a block away would be gone, too.

With a shaking hand, she raised her iced tea to take a sip, then returned the glass to the table with cool deliberation. “Well, I guess it is a good thing I told Forbes Guidry I wouldn’t go out on a date with him, after all.”

Alaine trudged up the steps from the garage, the heaviness of her parents’ and brother’s situation dragging at her feet. She dropped her purse and keys on the dryer in the combination laundry room and pantry, then entered the kitchen to stow her box of leftover quiche in the fridge.

She grabbed a bottle of sparkling water before the door swung shut and took a swig as she turned around. A package wrapped in brown paper on the dining table caught her eye. She swallowed hard and walked over to open it.

While the frame she’d chosen wasn’t overly expensive, it was attractive. What it contained, though, brought instant tears to Alaine’s eyes. It had taken her weeks to track down the artist whose art deco– inspired work she’d heard Meredith exclaim over. Alaine had been pleasantly surprised that the man hadn’t charged her more than she wanted to pay for the commissioned piece—a piece that looked like it was original to Meredith’s favorite art era, a chef superimposed over a structure that resembled the Chrysler Building in New York, with era-appropriate lettering across the top and bottom announcing CAFÉ O’HARA. Her wedding present for Meredith and Major.

When it had arrived last week, she couldn’t wait to get it framed and figure out a time to present it to her friend. Now she wasn’t sure if she could face the daughter of the people trying to force her own parents out of their home and business.

Turning the frame facedown and heading for the stairs, she tried not to think about losing her friend. She was halfway up to her bedroom when her phone started playing the Portuguese national anthem. She ran back to the pantry and dug it out of her purse.

“Mother?”

“Are you about ready?”

Alaine frowned. “Ready for what?”

“The grocery shopping. I told you last week I’d have to do it today because it’s going to be a busy week at the shop.”

“Right. I forgot. I’ll be ready to go when you get here.”

“Good. Because I’m turning onto Spring Street now.”

Alaine stifled a groan. “Okay. See you in a few minutes.” She tossed the cell phone back into her bag, pulled off her sandals, and sprinted upstairs, where she peeled herself out of her capris and slipped into walking shorts and canvas sneakers. Since her hair had decided to completely bush out, she sprayed it with some antifrizz stuff and tried to get it into some semblance of curls with her fingers.

When her mother let herself in through the garage entrance a few minutes later, Alaine was in the pantry pretending she knew what she was doing in making a grocery list.

Mother looked over her shoulder and sighed. “How did I raise such a daughter? Give that to me.” She snatched the steno pad and pen from Alaine’s hands. “You should get that handsome cook from your program to come over and give you cooking lessons, since you won’t learn from me.”

“It wouldn’t help. Besides, he got married a couple of days ago, so you can quit hinting.”
And he works for the enemy.

The good thing about Major O’Hara’s segments for her program: She didn’t have to deal with them. They were handled by a production assistant. So she didn’t have to worry about what to say or do around him in the foreseeable future.

“Too bad. You need to marry a man who can cook.”

The image of Forbes Guidry clattering around her kitchen bloomed unbidden. She forced it aside. As long as this thing with his parents hung over them, she couldn’t allow herself to entertain any kind of daydreams about the gorgeous lawyer.

“Maybe you should try some of those Internet dating sites.” The end of her mother’s statement was muffled as her head disappeared behind the refrigerator door.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Try an online dating service? Only dorks, dweebs, geeks, and losers who couldn’t meet people to date in real life used those.

Wait.
She
couldn’t meet anyone to date in real life. Guess that made her a dork, dweeb, geek, and loser all rolled into one.

“Or a matchmaker service.” Mother continued rummaging in the fridge and writing things on the list. “I had been married ten years by the time I was your age.”

How many times a month would Alaine have to hear that? “Yes. And you and Daddy only knew each other a week before you got married. If I followed your example there, you’d disown me.”

Her mother straightened and closed the fridge. “Not so long as he’s as wonderful as your father.”

Alaine leaned against one of the chairs across the large island from her. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll make more of an effort to meet someone—and I won’t take twenty years to get around to marrying him, like Joe and Nikki—if you promise to ease up on the pressure. Deal?”

Mother smiled. “Deal.”

Forbes tried to think of an excuse to run past Alaine’s town house one more time. He’d made the circuit of the neighborhood five times already—almost three miles—and the heat and humidity were getting unbearable. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it all the way around again.

Half an hour ago when he’d rounded the corner onto the street he knew she lived on, her black Mazda coupe had pulled into the garage of the town house in the middle with the sand-colored brick facade and the bay window. He’d never taken the time to notice just how much smaller and less-expensive looking the structures in this part of the neighborhood were until now, even though he knew they went for less than half the price of the all-brick duplex-style town houses in his section.

The next two times he passed her place, an older model, burgundy Lincoln Town Car had been parked in her driveway; but the fourth time he made it around, the visitor was gone. It was the kind of car a parent would drive—maybe her mother?—not a boyfriend. He hoped so, anyway. But she
had
turned him down for a date.

He was pretty sure one of the requirements of eligibility for the magazine’s lists was that the person nominated wasn’t involved in a committed relationship. That thought helped to quicken his step back home.

When he reached the entrance to the cul-de-sac, he slowed to a walk to start cooling down. He mustered the energy to wave when a blue Porsche Cayman rolled past him and pulled into the garage of the house attached to his. His chest twinged with envy, the way it did every time he saw the luxury sports car. If only he didn’t have to occasionally drive clients around, he could have gotten the two-door Jaguar instead of the more stodgy sedan.

A tall, slender African American man came out of the garage, shading his eyes against the glaring sun even though he wore designer sunglasses. “Man, do you have a death wish? What are you thinking, running in this heat?”

Forbes powered off his iPod and used the hem of his soaked T-shirt to swipe at the sweat streaming down his face. “I know. I just had some excess energy I needed to burn off since we didn’t run this morning.”

“You found out where that chick lives, didn’t you?” Shon loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

“What ‘chick’?” Forbes started stretching before his muscles froze up—and to have an excuse not to look his neighbor—and client—in the eye.

“The girl from that talk show on Channel Six.”

“It’s not a talk show—no studio audience. It’s a news magazine.” At least that’s how the on-screen digital cable guide classified it, which he’d seen when he set his DVR to record it every day.

Shon snorted. “Whatever. Look, I’ve been telling you for years that I can set you up with some of the most attractive women in this city. You’d be amazed at the quality of our clientele.”

Even though Forbes had represented LeShon Murphy’s business for almost five years, the idea of personally making use of Let’s Do Coffee’s matchmaking services never entered his mind. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with the old-fashioned way of doing things.”

“That’s right—she was at the dinner Friday night, wasn’t she? So did you ask her out?”

Sometimes, living next door to someone who’d made his first million by age twenty-five from setting people up on blind dates wasn’t ideal. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I did ask her out.”

Forbes stopped midstretch when Shon didn’t respond immediately.

A huge grin broke over Shon’s dark face. “She said no.”

Since the man was an important client and someone he considered a friend, Forbes bit back a sharp retort. “She already had plans for the night I wanted to go out. She didn’t close the door for good, though.”

“Right.” Shon unknotted his tie and pulled it off. “Do me a favor and just remember what the Bible says: ‘It is not good for man to be alone.’”

First his mother, sisters, aunts, and cousins, now his client. “Will do. We back on schedule tomorrow?”

“I’ll be out here at 5:00a.m., ready to go, old man.”

“We’ll see about that.” He raised his hand in a dismissive wave as his friend disappeared into his garage.

Forbes dragged himself up the front steps and was met with a blast of chilled air when he opened the door. He stood in the entry hall, leaning over a floor vent for a few minutes until the drying perspiration on his face, neck, and chest began to itch.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, he sat down to check his e-mail at the desk in the bedroom he’d converted to an office. He replied to a couple of notes from high school friends about their upcoming twenty-year reunion, then turned off the computer.

He wandered downstairs, looking for something to do. In the study, he ran his fingers across the spines of the leather-bound editions of the complete works of Charles Dickens. He stopped at
Bleak House.
He’d read the massive tome at least once a year since he’d been assigned to read it in college. It had been only six months since he’d last cracked the covers. But beginning it would be a good way to fill a long, empty evening.

From a drawer in the cabinet below the bookshelves, he pulled out a small bottle of leather conditioner and the cloth he kept with it. Having paid quite a bit for his collection, he wanted to keep them as pristine as the day he received each one.

Settling into the Queen Anne–style wing chair, he opened the cover, breathing deeply to take in the aroma of the leather, the paper and ink, and the faint scent of dust that accompanied reading his favorite author’s books. But today, instead of being transported to the foggy, muddy, raw November day in early Victorian England, Forbes’s mind wandered.

A year ago when he’d met the man who would become his cousin Anne’s husband, Forbes had known a thrill of excitement at the possibility of discussing Dickens’s work with an actual Englishman ... until he found out that George had never been able to make it all the way through
A Christmas Carol
and had never attempted any of the longer works.

He shook his head and tried once again to focus on the words: the beautiful, magical prose that never failed to carry him away to cold, dreary London.

Had Alaine ever read any of Dickens’s work?

An image of her curled up in the chair beside him with one of the other leather-bound books in her lap, twirling an ebony curl around one finger while she read was so palpable, he almost reached over to touch her hand.

Okay. He was losing it. He shifted position and once again turned his attention to the first page of his favorite book. The “ten-thousand stages of endless causes.” The “slippery precedents.” The Chancery Court of 1840s England. The case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce. The legal system and the fictional court case on which he’d written his senior thesis as an undergraduate student.

As points from his thesis emerged from the mists of memory, Forbes finally cleared his mind of all distractions and lost himself in the familiar imagery and language.

Only when his stomach started growling did he emerge again. He needed to eat dinner. He leaned his head back against the chair’s high back and stared at the ceiling. This was the first Sunday evening in a long time he didn’t have anything to do: no evening church activities during the summer, no out-of-town clients to entertain, no family get-together, no homeowners’ association events ... nothing.

He picked up his Blackberry from the end table. Scrolling through his contacts, he dismissed Meredith—no way only three-days married she’d be interested in getting together; Jenn would be busy down at her restaurant; Rafe was piloting a late charter back from New York; and the four remaining younger siblings most likely all had plans tonight as well, none of which included hanging out with their decrepit oldest brother.

He tossed the phone on the table and rubbed his eyes. He could always go down to Riverwalk, get dinner, and listen to music over at the new jazz club. He almost always ran into someone he knew when he was out.

Anything would be better than sitting here alone all night.

Shoving himself out of the chair, he started upstairs to change into something more appropriate than shorts and a T-shirt.

Halfway up, his cell phone trilled. He jogged back to the study. Meredith’s picture flashed on the PDA’s touch screen. “Hey, Sis. What’s up?”

“Hey. Major’s cooking, which means there’s about to be a lot more food here than either of us can eat. I thought if you don’t already have plans you might like to come over.”

“Yeah—that sounds great. Casual, I assume?”

“Did you hear me say this is at
my
house?”

He laughed. “Right. Fancy food. Ultracasual dress.”

“So you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Can I bring anything?”

“Just a hearty appetite. Oh, wait—bring that classic-movie trivia game you have. I’m calling Anne and George, too.”

“Will do. See you in a few minutes.”

“Bye.”

He tucked the phone in his pocket, then ran upstairs to put some shoes on. He could wear the new leather loafers—but this was Meredith. He grabbed his oldest, most comfortable pair of Top-Siders and slipped them on.

It was nice to know that some things would never change.