All That Charm: (A Morning Glory Novel Book 3) Read online

  Took Eden forever to decide, but she settled on buttered rum. If she was going to eat a summer treat in winter, she should at least be appropriate about it . . . even if the sunshine on her shoulders made it feel more like springtime.

  She made sure Sophie’s chair was secure before sinking onto the bench. Handing Sophie her snoball, which was in a Chinese take-out bucket, she fastened a plastic bib around the child’s neck and placed a small towel in her lap.

  Then Eden took a bite of the cold treat. And sighed.

  Nick walked up just as she made an mmm noise and crooked an eyebrow at her. “That good?”

  “Oh, wow. And with this condensed milk on top . . .” Eden took another bite and tried not to make another sound that sounded like sex. Not that she would know. Well, she kinda knew. But not in an official capacity.

  Nick dug into his strawberry snoball. “Sometimes you can’t wait until summertime to enjoy life’s good stuff.”

  What would it be like to lose her V card with Nick? Maybe she shouldn’t wait anymore. Not that he was necessarily into her, but she’d caught him looking a few times, and there was that “diddle” remark. Wasn’t like Sophie even knew what that meant, so she had to have overheard it.

  Eden snuck a peek at the gorgeous man who tilted his face to the sunshine.

  But how did a girl go about seducing her boss? Strike that. How did a virgin go about seducing an obviously—if judging by the condoms in his bedside table—experienced, hot guy? And she’d only looked in there to find the extra remote control he said was in his bedroom. She wasn’t that nosy.

  She was being ridiculous.

  Seducing her boss or surrendering her not-so-cherished virginity was the plot of a Lifetime movie.

  Be content. Enjoy the snoball. Savor the afternoon.

  After five minutes of slurping, Nick said, “I like how you don’t fill the silence with conversation.”

  “Are you saying I’m a boring conversationalist?” Eden grinned, making a swipe at the grape syrup running down Sophie’s chin.

  “On the contrary. The woman my sister set me up with talked my ear off.”

  “She was probably nervous.”

  Nick made a face. “Maybe so, though I didn’t do anything to make her feel uncomfortable.”

  “You have that way about you. Not unpleasant, but intense. It can be off-putting.” Eden said the words before she could think about them. It was an intimate observation by someone who truly didn’t know him well enough to make one.

  “Really?” he asked, his gray eyes narrowing in concern. “I try hard to hide my temper or irritation. My father was quick to anger or speak before he thought. I fight against that.”

  “I don’t mean it as insulting. It’s how you are.”

  “Hmm,” Nick said, taking another bite.

  His mouth was nice. Very nice. His lower lip wasn’t plump, but she still longed to fit her lower lip against it, feel the prickle of the small patch of whiskers centered just below. What would he taste like? Syrupy strawberry? She bit her own lip and tried to think about something not so delicious.

  Lord, she had to be ovulating or something.

  Refocus on the conversation.

  She took another bite. “Sometimes people mistake my quietness for disinterest. I don’t talk a lot, but that’s who I am.”

  Nick nodded. “And Sophie Bug is a sunshiny chatty Cathy sometimes. That’s who she is,” he said, this time using his napkin to swipe at Sophie’s chin. The intimacy of the action—each of them seeing to the child’s needs—struck Eden. This was how it would be if Nick . . .

  She slammed a roadblock in front of her thoughts.

  Her mind sucked at following directions. It seemed determined to dream about being a family with Sophie and Nick. Probably the loneliness. She could admit she’d been homesick for Morning Glory lately. She missed Aunt Ruby Jean’s afternoon lemonade and soda crackers. She missed Rosemary and Sal bringing her pizzas to sample. Eden even missed her mama. They’d watched Law and Order together, trying to outguess each other on the murderer. She didn’t miss Gary, but who would miss a dweeb like him? So this obsession with her boss had to be about homesickness.

  Or maybe the itch everyone had to be taken care of. Nick would do that so well. He was the kind of guy to take care of a woman.

  “Tell me about Morning Glory, is it?” Nick asked, stretching out, crossing his feet. He wore khaki pants and a sport shirt featuring a tiny crawfish emblem on the pocket. The bright blue of the shirt did wonders for his eyes.

  “It is. It’s near Jackson.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s a typical small town. Sits on a square. We have an old courthouse on the historical register and businesses clustered around the square, including my friend Rosemary’s fabric shop and her husband’s new restaurant. Um, that’s about it.”

  “Sophie told me she likes your stories about home.”

  “Tell the parade,” Sophie said, her eyes lighting up.

  Eden smiled. “About the clown?”

  Sophie nodded her body.

  “Well, Old Man Tatum had this ugly dog named Goober, and he always took Goober to the parades because he was too cheap to buy the poor boy some treats. Morning Glory National Bank throws dog treats during the parade,” she explained before winking at Sophie. “So this particular time was the fair parade, and my friend Lacy was the fair princess that year. She decided it would be hilarious to dress up like a clown and wear her tiara. She painted circles on her cheeks and wore a big red nose and a silver sparkly pageant gown.”

  “She wore a clown nose with her gown?” Nick asked.

  “That was Lacy. She liked themes,” Eden said, smiling at the memory. Lacy had felt the county fair theme needed full support. Thus the nose and clown shoes.

  “Well, long story short, no one had a clue that Goober got nervous around clowns. And when he’s nervous, he makes a puddle. So when Lacy stopped to pet Goober, he wet all over her clown shoes. The urine ran into her shoes, and Lacy had to rinse her feet off in the church parking lot. Her car left without her, and she had to run down Main Street with her dress hiked up to catch up with the parade.”

  Warmth bloomed inside Eden as Sophie giggled throughout the tale.

  “Sounds like something to see.”

  “If you think that’s funny, you should have seen the goose that humped my friend Jess. Uh, I mean . . . wanted to dance with Jess. Very badly.”

  Nick laughed. “Sounds like you miss your friends.”

  A statement, not a question.

  “I do. Lacy passed away last spring. She had cancer.” Just saying the words hurt her. Lacy had been so alive and vibrant.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nick said, sobering.

  Sophie stopped laughing and looked concerned. “Lacy died?”

  “Yeah, baby, she did. But she’s alive in my memories and in my stories. That’s the cool thing. She’s not here, but she is.” Eden swallowed the sudden rasp in the back of her throat. “Guess we should get going. Sophie has sight words, and I want to fix dinner before I leave. I have to be somewhere by seven fifteen tonight. That shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

  “I told you I’d be home around six every night and that stands. If I run late, I’ll take care of it. Did you get another job? That seems rather late.”

  Eden felt the familiar doors inside herself slam shut. She turned the lock with “Don’t worry. Nothing will interfere with my care of Sophie. I can stay late on Mondays and Tuesdays if you need me to.”

  “Good to know,” he said, standing.

  The happy moment was over, dissipated by the reality of who they both were, much like the bubbles from Sister Regina Marie’s wand. Reality was a ginger cat with swift paws popping the bubbles of yearning hidden deep inside herself. Even though she longed to spread her wings, tread the boards, and bask in the limelight, she still carried a natural longing for a faceless man in her future. Someone to cradle her in the bad times, hold her hand, dance wi
th her to old standards while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. After all, everyone needed someone.

  “Later, gals,” Nick said, dropping a kiss on Sophie’s head and pausing before giving Eden a smile. “See ya tonight.”

  “Okay.” Eden gave a more businesslike nod. She was the nanny. That was all.

  As she struggled to navigate Sophie over the uneven pavement, she broached what Sister Regina Marie had told her earlier.

  “Soph?”

  The child looked up as Eden nearly ran her chair over a knotty root.

  “Whoops,” Eden said managing to steer the child toward more secure ground. “You know I’m just your nanny, don’t you? Like, your dad is my boss.”

  “I know,” Sophie said, not looking up. “You’re pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Eden said.

  “And nice. My dad likes you.”

  “Sure he does. He hired me, didn’t he?” Eden tried to keep the conversation light.

  “He told Aunt Caro he’s going to find a wife. You don’t have a husband.”

  “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean you can hook me together with your father like you do your Barbies. Grown-up stuff is more difficult than, well, playing Barbies.” The conversation wasn’t going like she planned. To a seven-year-old, dating was simple. Marriage was simple—it was cake, a pretty dress, and driving a pink convertible into a pretend world where everything was happy. Unfortunately, an abnormally tiny waist and permanent blue eyeshadow didn’t ensure a happily-ever-after. “What I’m saying is your father isn’t interested in me. I’m his employee.”

  “Oh.” Sophie rocked in her chair. “You’d be a good mom though.”

  “Thanks, kid,” Eden said, ruffling her hair.

  “Don’t.” She jerked her head. Sophie liked a pretty ponytail.

  Mission accomplished. Eden congratulated herself on her childcare skills. She had mad ones. She was born to handle even the most difficult of—

  “Maybe he’ll fire you,” Sophie said.

  Or not.

  Nick sprawled on the uncomfortable couch his ex-wife had picked out years ago. He really should buy something he liked. After all, a designer sofa that “friends would envy” did him no good when friends rarely stopped by. Plus it was crap to watch basketball on.

  His sister snagged the last pretzel from his plate.

  “Hey,” he complained.

  “Stuff it. I need carbs. And chocolate. And liquor. All things comforting and numbing,” Caro said, snapping the pretzel in two and propping her socked feet on the coffee table. On the TV, the Pelicans zipped up and down the court. “Mom saw Stephen with another woman at the Carousel bar.”

  “Damn.”

  “He’s moving fast, huh?” Caro brushed back her highlighted hair and popped the pretzel in her mouth. “I thought he loved me. I mean, I know I’m difficult. I can be a total bitch, but he loved me. And now he’s just . . .” She sighed and shook her head, fastening her brown eyes on the TV screen. They were enormously sad, those eyes.

  “I’m sorry, sis.”

  “His loss. I was good in bed. Seriously good.”

  “Aaaaand I can never unhear that,” Nick said. His sister needed support. She needed to talk to someone. But he had never been good at relationships, something quite evident since he’d not had a real relationship since his wife left five years ago. Which, come to think of it, was pathetic. He should do something about that. Rhoda had said he’d gotten too comfortable, and perhaps he had. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dated or tried. There had been a few women he’d seen for a month or two, but those relationships had never grown into anything serious. Instead they’d sputtered, mostly because he hadn’t been attentive enough. Women liked attention. They liked to be important. What had one said? Yes, intentional. He hadn’t been intentional toward her.

  In his defense, he seemed to be attracted to the same kind of woman—ambitious, competent, and busy. Women who were like him. He’d always admired a woman who had purpose and took pride in her career. He liked a woman who wouldn’t make him the focus of her world . . . which was ironic, because those very attributes had led to the failure of his marriage.

  Caro nodded. “I guess you didn’t need to know what a hellcat your sister is between the sheets.”

  “Right. I don’t,” he said dryly, pouring some more pretzels onto his plate. He tossed the nearly empty bag onto the coffee table. Caro dropped her feet and grabbed the bag. His sister had come by right as Eden had given him a silent wave, departing quick as an alley cat. He’d stifled his disappointment. Not over his sister coming by. He was happy Caro felt she could turn to him. For many years they’d not been as close as they now were. Failed relationships and their parents’ rocky split and reconciliation had united them over the past few years. No, he was disappointed that after the pleasant afternoon they’d passed at Plum Street Snoballs that Eden had reverted to being just an employee.

  But, of course, that’s what she was.

  “So how did the date with Montana go? You liked her, right?” Caro asked, propping her feet back on the coffee table.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “You’re such a liar.” Caro slid her gaze to him.

  “Okay, so she wasn’t my cup of tea.” Or glass of scotch. Or bottle of beer. Or—

  “But she puts out. Or that’s what people at the office used to say. Figured that was just what you needed—a girl that gives it up on the first date.”

  “You’re trying to get me laid?”

  “How long has it been? Come on, you’re good-looking and still young. Why aren’t you out there?” Caro dropped her feet and turned toward him. No more teasing. His sister was getting down to brass tacks.

  “I went on the date, didn’t I? I’m out there.”

  “Bullshit. You hide behind business. Behind Sophie.”

  “So you’d rather me be an asshole who takes out girls so I can nail them? Or is sex going to fulfill me? Make me magically happy?”

  “Maybe. Look, you don’t have to see every woman you date as a potential wife. Believe it or not, there are plenty of girls who are looking for a good time. Not a ring,” Caro said, looking as if he were crazy for not jumping on the “I gotta hit that” train. “Maybe if I’d had done that with Stephen . . .”

  “You did.”

  She chuckled. “I only wore white to appease mother, good Catholic girl that I am.”

  “Caro, I’m not twenty years old. I’ve been there and done that. College was a parade of girls. I’m nearly forty,” he said, feeling the old guilt creep in when he thought about his college days of random hookups. He had a daughter and, yeah, she wasn’t going to have a typical college experience, but he got the whole protective-daddy thing. Which meant he saw young girls, keggers, and frat boys ready to give coeds a tour of their bedrooms in a way different light.

  “You’re in your mid-thirties, Nick,” Caro drawled, sounding disgusted. “Stop being such a paw-paw. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the single life until you find someone you want to have a relationship with. You live like a monk, and I feel—”

  “Sorry for me?”

  “No, that you’re punishing yourself for a failed marriage when it was totally that selfish bitch’s fault. You shouldn’t have pulled me back that afternoon at Mom and Dad’s house. She needed her ass kicked.”

  “Let’s not rehash, Caro.” He didn’t like to remember that day over five years ago. Susan had emerged from trying to change Sophie, had thrown down her napkin and declared herself done with being a wife and mother. Her blue eyes had been so cold. So finite. She was leaving New Orleans. She was leaving him. Leaving the baby girl she’d never wanted in the first place.

  “What?” Caro barked, anger crackling in her eyes.

  “I’m over Susan, and some of it was my fault too. There’s always blame to share.” And he was over her even if the hurt lingered like a skinny dog looking for handouts.

  Because Nick had been wholly in love with Susan Shamwell Zeringue
, and when she bailed on him and Sophie, he hit the pavement hard, his heart splattering onto the bystanders in his life. Of course he’d seen it coming. Susan hadn’t wanted children, and he’d talked her into it. Susan had tried. When Sophie had been born with the cord around her neck, Susan had taken a year off from the restaurant to care for their daughter, but she’d hated being a stay-at-home mom. She’d gotten depressed, combative with him, and angry at their helpless daughter. Eventually he’d encouraged her to go back to the kitchen. To pursue the dream she’d always had.

  Oddly enough, that’s what first drew him to her. They’d met at a bar.

  Nick had been out with friends, a little wasted after celebrating the opening of Reynard’s Oyster Bar, the first restaurant his father had entrusted to his care. She’d been alone, test-tasting the cocktails, scouting for a new barkeep for Pat-Ago, the upscale bistro on Magazine where she served as sous chef. Nick bought her a drink, danced with her to “Moby Dick,” and traded a hot kiss with her before he learned they were soul mates, both foodies, obsessed with lychee sorbetto, and determined to stomp their way into culinary greatness—him knocking over conventions while she cut all other chefs off at the knee. Susan had been a dynamic, inventive chef with dreams of being the puppet master at top restaurants in New Orleans, New York, Paris, or wherever she could receive stellar reviews, big money, and international acclaim. She never apologized for being ambitious. And Nick had loved that about her. The woman had been intoxicating, the ultimate aphrodisiac.

  And she wanted him.

  Until she didn’t.

  “Who gives a shit? Susi effed you over and left her little girl. Who does that? I hope her ovaries shrivel and she never finds a man who can love her.”

  “Harsh.”

  “She deserves it.” Caro sniffed. “Sorry. Just the thought of her makes me itch to punch something.”

  “She’s coming for Sophie’s birthday in April.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Caro didn’t believe it and neither did Nick. Not really. Susan lived in San Francisco and worked at Tarte, the top restaurant in the Bay City area, also listed as a top ten in the US. She’d been named Chef of the Year by Zagat last year and regularly did guest spots on nationally syndicated cooking shows. Her gorgeous body and enthusiasm for the food she prepared made her a natural for TV. And she’d been dating the tight end of the San Francisco 49ers for the past six months. That she couldn’t find room to see her daughter stuck in Nick’s craw.