Kaye Dacus - Menu for Romance

The movie ended, The Fighting Seabees started, and his mother napped on. Major rubbed his eyes hard enough to see stars. Truth be told, if he were going into business with Meredith as his sole partner, he would have signed the papers the day the offer had been made. He’d watched her become MacGyver and fix a broken table with rubber bands, paper clips, and chewing gum; solve any audio-visual problem their equipment could throw at them; make fifty tablecloths work in a room with a hundred tables; and never let on to the client or the rest of the staff that there’d been a problem to begin with.

“She’s perfect for me.” When he realized he’d spoken aloud, he glanced at Ma, but she hadn’t budged. He’d become too accustomed to talking to himself from living alone for so long.

He collected the popcorn bowls and coffee mugs and took them to the kitchenette—one counter along the far wall of the sitting room—to wash. He wished he could find a way to let Meredith know he cared for her, that he’d like nothing better than to be with her forever, but that right now he couldn’t.

“Why can’t I just bring myself to be honest with her?” He looked over his shoulder to make sure neither the sound of the water nor his voice had awakened his mother. He was starting to get a little concerned—she wasn’t usually a deep sleeper like this.

Because if Meredith got wind of the truth—the truth that Major had been concealing his mother and her condition from everyone in his life ever since he returned to Bonneterre eight years ago—she’d never want to talk to him again. And who’d blame her? He deserved to be censured for the shame and resentment he’d allowed to fester in his heart. How would Meredith ever be able to trust him fully?

His watch beeped. Football playoff game started in forty-five minutes. He tidied up the rest of the small apartment. His gut wrenched with what he was about to do. Because his mother had been asleep so long, and because a different movie had come on, he could take his leave without having to make up an excuse—she wouldn’t know how long he’d been here.

He almost made up his mind to stay, to salve his conscience. But he had laundry to do tonight, and he had to be at work at five tomorrow morning to cook breakfast for a meeting for some company or another located in Boudreaux Tower.

Promising himself he’d make it up to Ma another Sunday, he leaned over her chair and shook her shoulder.

Her eyes popped open immediately. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a bunch of stuff I need to do at home tonight, and then it’s an early day tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead. “You be good, and when they come in here and tell you to turn off John Wayne, don’t make a fuss, okay? You have all these movies on DVD and can watch them anytime.”

“I know. I promise, I’ll be a good little crazy person.”

“I’m counting on you. I don’t want to get a call in the middle of the night saying you’ve whacked out on them again. Even if it is fun to scare ‘that Nick kid.’”

She laughed, a rusty, rattling sound he didn’t hear often enough. “Okay. I tell you what. I’ll turn it off at the end of this movie. And I won’t raise a fuss.”

“Thank you. Love you.”

“I know.”

He kissed her forehead again. “Good night.”

Ma patted the top of his head. “G’night, yourself.”

Major’s smile faded as soon as he turned his back. How could he just walk out on his mother like this?

“Oh, son?”

He turned around, the fake smile straining every muscle in his face. “Yes, Ma?”

“So who’s this Meredith you’ve been muttering about, and when do I get to meet her?”

“Is she in?” Major paused at Corie’s desk Thursday afternoon and nodded toward Meredith’s partially closed door.

“Her client meeting ran late, so she isn’t back yet. You can go in and put that in the fridge if you want.”

“Thanks.” Major carried the takeaway box into the office. She’d obviously straightened up yesterday for her meeting with Mrs. Warner after the tasting—making the room feel oddly devoid of any indication it belonged to Meredith ... with the exception of the soft jazz music permeating the space. The ornate decor bespoke Mairee’s taste, not Meredith’s.

He stowed the Styrofoam box in the mini-fridge hidden in the credenza, then sat at her desk to leave a note. He went through four green sticky notes before he finally had something he didn’t feel embarrassed for her to read:

Mere—

Sorry I missed you. Dinner is in your fridge. Enjoy.

M.

Looking around the office once more, he tried to imagine what it would look like if Meredith had been responsible for decorating it. When arranging events—from the table layout to centerpieces to color schemes—her design skills never failed to impress him. He was curious to see her house once she finished; it was bound to practically ooze with her personality.

He shook himself out of his reverie. If he was going to make it to Forbes’s office on time, he needed to get out of here. He waved at Meredith’s assistant on the way past.

When he got to the end of the hall, he paused. Leaning casually on the high counter of the reception desk stood Ward Breaux.

The receptionist hung up her phone. “I’m sorry. Apparently Miss Guidry is out of the office right now. Did you have an appointment?”

“Not today, no. I was in the building for another meeting and thought I’d stop by.”

“Is there any message—?”

The front door swung open, and Meredith breezed in, drawing everyone’s attention. She stopped when she spotted the dark-haired man. “Ward. What are you doing here?”

Molten heat roiled in Major’s stomach at the way the contractor’s face lit up when he looked at Meredith. Major forced the jealousy aside.

The giant enveloped Meredith’s right hand in both of his. He gave the same song and dance about being in the building for another meeting, which Meredith bought hook, line, and sinker.

The flush that bloomed in her cheeks filled Major with dread. She glanced away and looked right at Major. He tried to smile at her, unsure if he succeeded by the slight crease that formed between her brows. She pulled her hand free and motioned Major over.

“Major, you remember Ward Breaux.”

Major grudgingly shook hands with the guy.

“The chef, right?” Breaux asked. “Good to see you again.”

“Same here.”

Meredith glanced at the contractor. “I wasn’t really expecting to see you again before tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow ... night? Jealousy returned full force. Meredith’s going out with this guy once was one thing. But was she seriously considering dating him? A guy who’d picked her up at the hardware store?

“I thought maybe, if you have time this evening, you might let me follow you over to your house so that I can get a better idea of what you’re wanting to do with it.” Ward grinned at Meredith as if Major weren’t standing right there. “And then maybe we could bump up our date to tonight.”

“I ... uh...” Meredith, looking more embarrassed than ever, cut her gaze toward Major—then turned and really looked at him. “Major, I thought you were meeting with Forbes this afternoon to talk about ... that business thing.”

The duty of keeping his appointment warred with the desire to stay right here and demand to know what Ward Breaux’s intentions toward Meredith were. Duty won. “I put your dinner in the fridge in your office.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze on the way past. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

Major paused at the front doors, tempted to turn around and look, but a quick glance at his watch spurred him into motion. Wouldn’t look good to show up late to the business meeting that could be the first step toward deciding his future. He took the stairs down to the parking garage instead of waiting for the elevator.

He slammed Kirby’s door a little harder than he meant to. Okay, he really couldn’t walk into the meeting with Forbes to go over all of the legalities of the restaurant deal still upset about Meredith’s choice to have a life.

Easing the Jeep out into traffic, Major tried to switch his mind into gear for the upcoming meeting—but the blush on Meredith’s cheeks when receiving the compliment from Ward proved too distracting.

Ever since the first time he’d seen Meredith getting ready to go out with Breaux, Meredith had hardly spoken to him about anything other than work stuff.

What kind of name was Ward anyway? The only real-life Ward he’d ever heard of was Ward Bond, a character actor who’d been in several of John Wayne’s movies.

He slammed on the brakes to keep from running a red light that sneaked up on him. He couldn’t compete with someone like Ward Breaux, with his perfect teeth, professional athlete’s physique, and a business of his very own. Unlike Ward, Major had always been too cowardly to step out and start a business.

No, not cowardly, just afraid of what might happen to his mother if he gambled everything and lost. Every week he watched a television program in which a celebrity chef went around to failing restaurants and tried to get them back on their feet. No one would come in and do that for Major. He’d always known that if it came to sink or swim, with the added weight of responsibility for his mother, he’d sink. Straight to the bottom.

He pulled into the parking lot of the three-story, red-brick building just as his radio clock flickered over to four o’clock. He grabbed his paperwork, and entered the office of Folse, Landreneau, Maier & Guidry, Attorneys at Law.

Feeling extremely underdressed in his khakis and a denim shirt with the B-G Enterprises logo, Major followed a dark-suited assistant up to the second floor. Everyone they passed wore expensive suits and shoes that looked like they’d just come out of the box, unlike Major’s scuffed Top-Siders.

“Mr. O’Hara to see Mr. Guidry,” the receptionist told the secretary seated at the desk outside of Forbes’s office.

The secretary stood. “Of course. Mr. Guidry is expecting you, Mr. O’Hara.”

Major cringed at their formality. It was one thing for his staff to call him Chef—it had become more like a nickname. He was so glad he didn’t work at a place where everyone had to go by “Mr.” or “Ms.”

Forbes stood when Major entered the richly appointed office.

“Come in, Major. Samantha, please hold calls,” Forbes said by way of greeting as he shook Major’s hand.

“Yes, Mr. Guidry.”

“Have a seat, Major.” Forbes motioned to a small table on the other side of the large room. Even though he’d been friends with Forbes Guidry since junior high school, Major found himself intimidated by his friend in this setting. He pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs and sank into it.

Forbes carried a stack of folders over and set them down before sitting. “Now that you’ve had a couple of weeks to think about my parents’ proposal, I’d be interested in knowing your thoughts.”

Major quickly recapped the conversation he’d had with Meredith two weeks ago. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in prayer. And I believe the Lord is telling me this is an opportunity I can’t pass up—if all the financial stuff works out.”

“I told Mom and Dad that would probably be a concern, since they want you to start off as an investing partner and not just an employee. I believe we’ve come up with a plan that will work for all parties involved.”

From the stack in front of him, Forbes pulled a legal-sized folder with what looked like at least fifty pieces of paper in it. Major swallowed hard. He’d done well in his business law classes in college and culinary school, but that had been so many years ago. This was the part of starting a restaurant that turned him into a blithering idiot.

“According to the start-up plan you gave me to help you with a few months ago”—Forbes pulled it out of the folder—“you proposed to start a restaurant based on an initial investment of $150,000 cash and $600,000 in venture capital. I’ve presented this to my parents, and they like this plan.”

Major’s skin tingled, anticipation rising.

“That will make you a 20 percent co-owner in the restaurant. I believe they discussed with you that you will continue to have responsibilities in the catering division of B-G while the restaurant is in start-up phase?”

Major nodded. “Yes, and that I would continue to draw a salary—for a while, at least. I wasn’t too sure on that part.”