Lenora Worth - Sweetheart Reunion

He was about to volunteer to serve on the Fleur Seafood Festival Committee.

He loved a good festival and he loved seafood.

And he wanted to kiss Alma again. Soon.

If he had to sit around in boring meetings to make that happen, it would be a small sacrifice.

* * *

Alma stifled a yawn and looked at her watch. She was cranky today and it didn’t help that she’d missed part of her eight hours of sleep. But the breakfast shift would be changing over to lunch and she needed to get back to the café.

Tebow’s formidable mama, Frances LaBorde, was chattering away about what they could do to bring new and exciting ideas to the annual seafood festival scheduled for next month.

“We have all the usual sponsors lined up and we’re right on schedule as far as food booths and entertainment,” Mrs. LaBorde said. “Alma, you got the seafood wagons all ready?”

Alma sat up straight and picked up her pen. “Yes, ma’am. The Fleur Bakery and Café will have booths stationed at both entries to the festival. And of course, we’ll have a booth and cooker set up right in front of the café, too. Crawfish, shrimp and oysters, fried and boiled, and just about any type of fresh fish you could ask for. Not to mention boudin, gumbo, dirty rice and red beans and rice. No one will go hungry.”

Alma’s robust daddy, Ramon, winked at her then turned to the woman who’d asked Alma the question. “Now, Frances, you know my girl’s gonna do it up right, just as she always does. Alma hires extra help for the festival.”

Frances, a plump widow who had an extreme crush on Alma’s papa, beamed a smile at Ramon. “Oui, our Alma always does a fine job with the food.” Then Frances gave Ramon another smile. “And I imagine you’ll have your boat ready for tours and fishing trips?”

“Same as always,” Ramon said, lifting his dark eyebrows. Ramon Blanchard’s jolly expression changed to one of insult and injury. “Do you doubt me, Frances?”

“No, never, Ramon. You’re as dependable as the tide. I know you’ll entertain the tourists with your boat tours.”

Alma had to hide her grin. Her papa looked about as aggravated as she felt. Usually, she got all excited about the seafood festival, but today…she had other things on her mind.

The door to the fellowship hall swung open and the very main thing she had on her mind walked in.

Julien LeBlanc in the flesh.

And looking too good in that flesh.

Everyone looked at Julien then at Alma.

Alma looked at Julien then looked at her daddy.

Her daddy glowered at her then glowered at Julien.

This was awkward. She thought of that kiss and felt a flush moving up her neck.

“Can we help you, Julien?” Mrs. LaBorde asked with a sweet smile plastered on her pink lips.

Julien walked up with his hands held together. “I came to help you, Miss Frances. I want to volunteer—for the committee. To help in any way I can.”

Alma slid low in her chair. Why, oh, why was he here? Julien didn’t like being stuck inside four walls. He liked being outside with the wind in his face and some sort of pole or trap in his hand. He liked the swamp, loved water more than land, trees more than paper.

And he surely didn’t like committee work.

Frances LaBorde seemed at a loss for words, a first for her.

Papa grunted and went into a long statement, all in Cajun French. Alma heard enough of it to know her daddy wasn’t pleased with Julien’s antics. He’d already read her the riot act over that public display of affection, telling her he’d had to hear it from the mailman and the preacher. News always traveled with lightning speed in Fleur.

He’d told her, “I don’t trust him, Alma. Not one little bit.”

Her papa had never trusted Julien. Maybe she should remember that.

Both the mayor and the minister chimed in on Julien’s sudden civic responsibility.

“That’s wonderful, Julien,” Mayor Daigle said, his almost bald head bobbing like a cork. “We need some fresh ideas in this discussion.”

He got a frown from Frances and a smile from Julien.

Reverend Guidry offered Julien a seat.

Right by Alma.

“C’mon in and sit down,” he said to Julien, obviously oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “New members are always needed.”

“Thank you, Reverend,” Julien said, winking over at Alma. He dropped like a catfish right into his chair. “Hello, Alma.”

“Hi,” she said, her voice just below a squeak. Then she shot him a look that could fry fish. Especially catfish.

Julien just kept on smiling. “Now, don’t let me interrupt. Alma can bring me up-to-date later.”

The way he said that made Alma want to spit nails, even while his smooth voice poured over her like warm butter. But her papa’s frowning face made her sit up and look stern. So she went over her notes to hide her mortification.

Frances finally closed her mouth and started talking again. “Well, uh, where were we? Oh, yes. Cotton candy. Who’s in charge of cotton candy?”

Julien leaned close to Alma. “You are as sweet as cotton candy.”

“Shh,” she said in a hiss of breath.

“Would you like to be in charge, Julien?” Frances asked, clearly upset that he was making mischief while she had the floor. “We need someone to organize cotton candy, popcorn and funnel cakes.”

Julien gave Alma another breathtaking smile. “I’d be glad to handle that, Miss Frances. What do I need to do?”

Reverend Guidry raised a hand. “We have all the equipment at the church. Just line up your volunteers and we can order the needed supplies. All the proceeds from those endeavors go back to the church for the youth fund.”

Alma finally found her voice. “You can get some of the youth to help you with manning the booths. But remind them the festival starts early and lasts until well into the night. They can’t leave their booths during their assigned times to work.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Julien said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Youths to work. Long hours. Order supplies. Got it.”

“You might want to take notes,” Frances suggested.

Papa frowned. “Are you sure you can handle this, Julien? You know how young people can be so wishy-washy.”

“Got it,” Julien replied, holding a finger to his temple, his confidence overwhelming in the face of Ramon Blanchard’s scorn and doubt. “I have a very good memory.” He gave Alma a long, appraising glance when he said that.

Alma heard her papa’s huff of disgust then endured another warm blush. She was going to strangle Julien LeBlanc. She didn’t know why he’d suddenly decided to become her shadow. But she did know she needed to stop him right now.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, Frances called the meeting adjourned. Alma got up and grabbed her papers and her purse to make a beeline for the door.

“Hey, wait up,” Julien called, catching up with her, his hand on the door so she could pass. Or not pass.

“I have to get back to the café,” she said, not daring to stop and let him have it right here with such a captivated audience hanging on their every word.

“I’ll walk you, then.”

“I know the way.”

“Of course you know the way. But I’d still like to escort you, as a courtesy.”

Alma waited until they’d made it past the church parking lot, then she stopped and turned to him. “What do you think you’re doing, Julien?”

He looked around then pointed a finger to his chest. “Me? I’m walking you to work. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I was, before the sun came up. I stopped in to have a late breakfast and you…were missing.”

“So you tracked me down and embarrassed me yet again?”