Midnight Bayou

desk, lifted his brows. She was wearing a skirt, a short one. His legs might’ve been longer, but they wouldn’t look half as good in sheer stockings. “But you could eat up some ground with those. How come you’re dressed up?”
    “I’m not dressed up. Church clothes. I’ve been to Mass.” Now she smiled. “Name like yours, I figure you for a Catholic boy.”
    “Guilty.”
    “You been to Mass today, Declan?”
    He could never explain why a question like that made him want to squirm. “I’m about half-lapsed.”
    “Oh.” She pursed her lips. “My grandmama’s going to be disappointed in you.”
    “I was an altar boy for three years. That ought to count.”
    “What’s your confirmation name?”
    “I’ll tell you if you come to lunch.” He reached over for the crawfish, made them dance over her desk. “Come on, Lena, come out and play with me. It’s turned into a nice day.”
    “All right.” Mistake, her practical mind said, but shegot to her feet, picked up her purse. “You can buy me lunch. But a quick one.” She leaned over, saved her file, and closed down her computer.
    “It’s Michael,” he said, holding out a hand. “Declan Sullivan Michael Fitzgerald. If I was any more Irish, I’d bleed green.”
    “It’s Louisa. Angelina Marie Louisa Simone.”
    “Very French.”
    “ Bien sûr . And I want Italian.” She put her hand in his. “Buy me some pasta.”
    F rom his previous visits Declan knew you had to work very hard to find a bad meal in New Orleans. When Lena led the way to a small, unpretentious restaurant, he didn’t worry. All he had to do was take one sniff of the air to know they were going to eat very well.
    She waved a hand at someone, pointed to an empty table, and apparently got the go-ahead.
    “This isn’t a date,” she said to him when he held her chair.
    He did his best to look absolutely innocent, and nearly succeeded. “It’s not?”
    “No.” She eased back, crossed her legs. “A date is when we have a time arranged and you pick me up at my house. This is a drop-on-by. So tomorrow, that’s our first date. Just in case you’re thinking of that three-date rule.”
    “We guys don’t like to think you women know about that.”
    Her lips curved. “There’s a lot y’all don’t like to think we know about.” She kept her eyes on his, but lifted up a hand to the dark-haired man who stopped at the table. “Hey there, Marco.”
    “Lena.” He kissed her fingers, then handed her a menu. “Good to see you.”
    “This is Remy’s college friend from Boston. Declan. I brought him by so he can see how we do Italian food here in the Vieux Carre.”
    “You won’t do better.” He shook Declan’s hand, gave him a menu. “My mama’s in the kitchen today.”
    “Then we’re in for a treat,” Lena said. “How’s your family, Marco?”
    Declan saw how it happened then. When she shifted in her chair, lifted her face, looked at Marco, it was as if the two of them were alone on a little island of intimacy. It was sexual, there was no question about it, but it was also . . . attentive, he decided.
    “Good as gold. My Sophie won a spelling bee on Friday.”
    “That’s some bright child you got.”
    They chatted for a few moments, but Declan entertained himself by watching her face. The way her eyebrows lifted, fell, drew together according to the sentiment. How her lips moved, punctuated by that tiny mole.
    When she turned her head, he shook his. “Sorry, did you say something to me? I was looking at you. I get lost.”
    “They got some smooth talkers up North,” Marco said.
    “Pretty, too, isn’t he?” Lena asked.
    “Very nice. Our Lena here’s having the seafood linguini. You know what you want, or you need some time to decide?”
    “You don’t get the same.” Lena tapped a finger on the menu Declan had yet to read. “Else it’s no fun for me picking off your plate. You try the stuffed shells, maybe. Mama makes them good.”
    “Stuffed shells, then.” He had a feeling he’d have tried crushed cardboard if she’d requested it. “Do you want wine?”
    “No, because you’re driving and I’m working.”
    “Strict. San Pellegrino?” He glanced at Marco.
    “I’ll bring you out a bottle.”
    “So . . .” She tucked her hair behind her ear as Marco left them. “What’re you up to today, cher ?”
    “I thought I’d hit some of the antique stores. I’m looking for a display cabinet for the kitchen, and stuff to stick in it.