The Pepper in the Gumbo (Men of Cane River #1)(75)

“Your mama is a good woman. I like her,” Alice said as they reached her door.

He nodded. “She’s worked hard and she expects a lot from me. But she also… it’s hard to explain. She’s got a generous spirit.”

“Real giving, like you? I know Bix sure appreciates his e-reader.” Her eyes were greener than he remembered, probably from the golden light of the hallway fixtures.

“No, she reminds me of a Gerard Manley Hopkins line: ‘I say that we are wound with mercy round and round as if with air.’ He paused, unsure if he should have brought up poetry at all. “She’s merciful. When someone disappoints her, she wraps them in mercy. I know everybody loves their own mother, but to me, she embodies grace when it seems the world only values revenge.” His need for revenge had brought him all the way back to Natchitoches.

Alice’s lips turned up in a soft smile “She’s wonderful. And my friend Mr. Perrault loved that Manley Hopkins. He liked his line about ‘a man living with a few strong instincts and a few plain rules, that he seemed of cheerful yesterdays and confident tomorrows’.” Her smile faded. “It sounds nice, doesn’t it? So simple. A recipe for the perfect life.”

“But it’s hard to tell which rules to make your ‘few’, right?” He understood. Some people said it was just the Golden Rule, or just some little catchphrase, but there were always more. You start asking questions and the rules added up until you couldn’t keep track of them all.

“And which instincts do we follow?” she said, her eyes fixed on his. “Is it the instinct to stand up for what’s right? Or the instinct to protect what’s been passed down?” She bit her lip. “Or the instinct to love a man who seems to be in opposition to both of those?”

Paul felt her words slip under his rib cage and lodge somewhere near his heart. “Maybe that man isn’t really in opposition at all,” he said. He couldn’t convince her that he wasn’t trying to destroy the historic district. He couldn’t even prove that he cared about her building.

She stepped toward him. “I want to believe that. I really do,” she whispered.

Paul slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Their first kiss had been slow and hesitant. This one was the almost the opposite, with both of them rushing together, as if afraid they would be interrupted at any moment. If Paul had ever wondered if Alice thought about him when he wasn’t around, he knew the answer now. This wasn’t a casual kiss, the kind that happened as a matter of fact at the end of a date. It was the kind of kiss that built for days and finally came to fruition almost like a miracle.

When she drew back from him, her eyes were bright with some unnamed emotion. For a woman who described herself as flint, she was warm and soft, yielding to his touch. She let out a shaky breath, her sigh feathering against his jaw. “I should go,” she said, her words barely more than air. Her arms were around his neck and one hand slid down, tenderly cupping his face, then dropped to her side.

He nodded, trying to focus on something other than her lips. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but the words just wouldn’t arrange themselves in his brain and come out his mouth.

She gently untangled herself from him and stepped back, searching her pocket for her key. He stood there while she put it in the lock, smiling a little at how long it took her to get the door open. He would have offered to help except he wouldn’t have been any better. He felt completely undone.

She slipped inside and started to close the door, smiling at him through the crack until it met the door jam and he heard a click. Paul stood there for another minute, still feeling his heart pound in his chest, seeing Alice’s bright green eyes, feeling her touch.

He walked back down the hallway, barely noticing his surroundings. Andy had said this was a bad idea. He said Paul and Alice were like Romeo and Juliet. Paul had never liked that play, thinking of it as beautiful words for an ugly story and a horror movie ending. But for the first time, Paul understood Romeo. Even if they really were doomed to be in eternal opposition, he didn’t really care. He wanted to be with Alice, no matter the cost. And he had never felt that way about any woman, ever before.





Chapter Twenty-Two

A satellite has no conscience. ―Edward R. Murrow





For Alice, Friday morning was starting off all wrong. Last night’s kiss was still humming through her veins and it was hard to concentrate long enough to make breakfast. The second time she burned her toast, she gave up and headed downstairs. As she walked through the back door, she accidentally set off the alarm and it took her what seemed like hours to remember the code. Completely rattled, she turned and tripped over a cat dish, showering Darcy with water. He let out a hiss of anger and retreated somewhere in the store to sulk and repair his pride.

She really just needed some coffee. Her dreams had been fractured with vivid flashes of city hall, her lost necklace, and Paul’s kiss. Alice set the pot and stood there, trying to center herself. The coffee machine burbled quietly and she felt herself gradually relax. A smile touched her lips at the memory of how she’d been so nervous about Paul in her store, only to find him sound asleep. He’d looked much younger there, passed out in the overstuffed red chair. She turned, smiling at the memory, reliving that moment. The coffee machine finished its cycle and Alice reached for the pot… only to see she’d forgotten to add the grounds and had brewed a piping hot pot of water. She groaned in frustration and quickly started over.