A Forever Kind of Love, page 13
Mya reached over and captured Phil’s hand. “You didn’t have the easiest time when it came to dating. But, from what I hear, now the opposite is true. Aunt Mo said you’re the queen of playing hard to get.”
A smile curled up the side of Phil’s mouth. “I do get evil pleasure at turning them down. Do you know Roddy Palmer had the nerve to ask me to dinner a few weeks ago, as if he doesn’t remember standing me up for the senior prom? I waited until he made reservations and everything before turning him down.”
“Phylicia Phillips. When did you become such a tease?”
“It’s something I’ve perfected over the years,” Phil said. They both looked at each other and burst out laughing. Phil squeezed her hand. “I’ve missed you. It’s been too long since we’ve done this.”
A lump of guilt formed in Mya’s throat at the longing she heard in her friend’s voice.
“The phone calls and emails are nice and all, but it doesn’t compare to having my best friend here with me,” Phil continued. “Promise you won’t stay away this long again.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
They spent the next hour catching up. Phil pressed Mya for behind-the-scenes drama on the Broadway productions she had worked on for the past year, but Mya was more interested in learning about some of the houses Phil had helped to restore. Her friend’s work was starting to gain national attention in the world of home restoration.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve expanded your dad’s business,” Mya said.
Phil grimaced. “He’s probably turning in his grave,” she said as she reached for the bottle of rum and poured a measure into her shot glass.
“Why would you say that?”
“Dad was not on board with my expansion ideas. He was content with working on the little fixer-uppers here in Gauthier. We had a huge fight about it just before he died.”
Mya reached over and put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. One of her biggest regrets was not coming back to Gauthier to attend Phil Sr.’s funeral.
“I’ve never seen a man who doted on his daughter as much as your dad doted on you. Don’t worry about some silly little fight. I know he’s proud of what you’ve accomplished these past couple of years.”
Phil sent her a strained, sad smile, and Mya’s heart constricted even more. There was a pain in her friend’s eyes that worried her.
“Well,” Phil said, pushing up from the sofa, “now that we’ve officially turned this fun girls’ night into a crying-fest, I say we go all the way.” She walked over to a beautiful mahogany cabinet that Mya had no doubt was once a resident of a junkyard before Phil got her hands on it. She opened it to reveal shelves lined with Blu-rays.
“I didn’t know anyone still watched movies on Blu-rays anymore,” Mya said.
“I don’t trust streaming when it comes to my favorites. I want to own them.” Phil pulled out two slim cases and held them up. “Beaches or Steel Magnolias?”
Mya expelled a wistful sigh as she pointed to the disc in Phil’s left hand. “Let’s start with Bette Midler. I’ll get the tissues.”
“And I’ll get more liquor,” Phil said.
Mya carried the bushel of green beans up the steps and set it on the folding table she’d set up on the back porch. She dragged the trash can from the kitchen and positioned it at the edge of the table.
As if they had sensed that she was ready, Aunt Mo’s car pulled into the yard and her aunt and grandmother both exited the car. Grandma’s hair bore the perfectly coiffed evidence of her weekly visit to Claudette’s.
Mya started to help her up the steps, but the look Grandma shot her had Mya snatching her hand back.
“I’ll be out to help you with these beans in a minute,” Grandma said.
Maureen carried a brown grocery bag from the car.
“Is there more?” Mya asked.
“Nope, this is it,” Maureen said as she ascended the back porch steps. Moments later she was walking down the steps, sans bag. “I need to get back to work. I’m already twenty minutes past the end of my lunch break.”
Grandma walked out onto the porch carrying two glasses of iced tea. “Did she say that I made her late?” she asked, gesturing toward Maureen’s car as it backed out of the yard.
“Not specifically,” Mya said.
“Good, because I didn’t make her late. She was the one who couldn’t stop running her mouth in Claudette’s shop. She and Claudette are like oil and water.”
Mya grinned at the mental picture. She sat at the table, and together she and her grandmother started snapping the edges off the beans. They put the stalks in a huge, dented stainless-steel bowl that Mya remembered from her childhood.
“It’s been a long time since I did this,” she remarked.
“To tell you the truth, it’s been a while since I did it, too. Once your grandfather retired, he took over all the canning and preserving. I used to call him Martha Stewart the Second.”
“I can’t even fathom it,” Mya said, laughing.
“Oh, yes, honey. He would tie my apron around his waist and spend all day in front of the stove, heating the mason jars, filling them with brine, soaking them.”
“Sorry I missed seeing that,” Mya said.
“So am I,” her grandmother replied.
The sad smile on her face caused Mya’s heart to twist with guilt. She dropped the beans and reached for her grandmother’s hand.
“I’m so sorry I stayed away for so long.” Her voice broke, riddled with shame and remorse. “I honestly thought it was okay since I would fly you guys up to New York, but now I realize it wasn’t the same.”
“No, it was not,” Grandma said. “For a long time, I thought we had done something wrong. I know Elizabeth was always ashamed of us.”
“No. Never,” Mya said, shaking her head with such vehemence that the clip holding up her curls sprang free and dropped to the porch floor. “I have never been ashamed. You and Granddad gave me everything I could ever ask for, and I love you both so much for that. I am so sorry that you ever felt that way.
“I didn’t leave Gauthier because of anything either of you did. I just… I wanted more,” she continued. “I love my life in New York, but I am sorry for not coming home more often.”
Her grandmother placed a palm against Mya’s cheek. “It’s good to have you home now.”
Mya covered her hand and pressed her cheek more firmly against it. She couldn’t stanch the flow of tears that started down her face. When she saw the telltale glistening in her grandmother’s eyes, it just made her tears fall harder.
“Just look at us,” Grandma said. “Your grandfather is probably having a good laugh at the way we’re carrying on.”
“Knowing Granddad, he’s shaking his head and muttering something about ‘women’ and ‘emotional crap’ under his breath.” Mya sniffed.
“Well, he would be right this time.”
They wiped their faces with a dishcloth and resumed snapping. Before long, the bowl was overflowing with fresh green beans.
“Did Aunt Mo remember to buy the brining salt?” Mya asked.
“I hope she did,” Grandma said. “I’ll check. Why don’t you go in the shed and get the double boiler?”
Mya went into the wooden storage shed behind the house and found the huge pot in the same place it had occupied for as long as she could remember. She grabbed the pot, along with the rack for canning.
“She didn’t forget the salt,” Grandma announced as Mya mounted the steps.
“Good. I’ll start boiling the water.”
“Looks like we’ve got company,” Grandma said, motioning toward the road. Mya twisted around.
A silver two-door Mercedes coupe pulled into the graveled driveway.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
She got her answer a second later when the door opened and Corey alighted from the car. He waved at them.
“Oh great,” she muttered. Mya pushed past her grandmother and went into the house. She pulled in several deep breaths as she tried to collect herself.
She’d managed to avoid Corey the entire week, preparation for the quickly approaching anniversary celebration providing the perfect excuse. She’d crisscrossed the town and made the hour-long trip to New Orleans twice this week, making sure her errand running didn’t start until just before the high school let out for the day. But today was Friday, and Corey was off for the rest of the weekend. She knew her time had run out.
She shored up her defenses and headed for the back porch. Corey sat in the chair she’d left unoccupied, snapping the ends off string beans as if he’d been doing so his entire life. Mya stopped just inside the opened kitchen door and leaned against the jamb, marveling at the absurdity of her grandmother and Corey Anderson shooting the breeze like a couple of old friends.
“You’ve been following the doctor’s orders?” he asked Grandma.
“Of course,” her grandmother answered. The model patient. Mya managed to suppress her sarcastic snort. “I’m not as hardheaded as Maureen makes me out to be.”
“I know you’re not.” Corey laughed. “And I also know that you’re going to do a better job at keeping up with your diet.”
“You’re starting to sound like the two pests in this house,” she said.
“Hey!” Mya pushed away from the doorjamb and walked farther onto the porch. “I resent being called a pest.”
“There you are,” her grandmother said. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. Now, go right back inside and pack yourself a bag. Somebody is whisking you away for the weekend.”
“Excuse me?” Mya looked from her grandmother to Corey.
“Not the entire weekend,” he said. “Just overnight.”
“Excuse me?” she said again. “I can’t spend the night with you.”
His brow lifted, and Mya’s entire body blushed. She turned to her grandmother. “And just what kind of example are you setting, urging me to pack a bag?”
“Oh, Mya, you’re not children anymore. There’s nothing wrong with the two of you going away for the weekend.”
Who is this person? Mya was pretty sure she was the same woman who had threatened to call the cops on Corey if he dared to touch her granddaughter.
“We’re supposed to can green beans today,” Mya said, inwardly cringing at her flimsy excuse.
Corey saw right through it. She was so tempted to slap that smug smile off his lips, but he looked so scrumptious sitting there that she had a hard time doing anything but staring at him.
Her grandmother was no help at all. She flung a nonchalant wave toward Mya. “As if I can’t get this done by myself. Go pack your bag. Corey says he has a surprise for you.”
“She’s right, Peaches. You’re going to love it. I promise.”
Mya cut him a narrowed gaze, not trusting him one bit. But she had to admit she was intrigued.
Without another word of protest, she turned and went back toward the kitchen door.
“Make sure to include an evening dress,” Corey called.
She twisted and eyed him with a curious lift to her brow, but he just continued grinning like the proverbial cat with cream. “I don’t have an evening dress,” she said.
“Fine, we’ll find something at the mall.”
“As long as it’s not at that outlet mall in Maplesville,” her grandmother said.
“No, we’ll need to go a step above an outlet mall,” Corey said.
Intrigued beyond belief, Mya hurried to her room and threw clothes and toiletries into the carry-on bag she’d brought from New York. Twenty minutes later, she was ensconced in a soft leather bucket seat, waving goodbye to her grandmother.
“Nice car,” she said as they backed out of the driveway.
“Thanks,” he answered. “One of the few indulgences from my baseball-playing days.”
“You don’t call a five-thousand-square-foot house for one man an indulgence?” she asked.
“That’s an investment,” he said. “And there won’t always be just one person living there. I still have hopes of filling it with a wife and children.”
Mya quelled her runaway heartbeat, but nothing would suppress the almost dreamlike image that flashed across her mind’s eye. She saw herself and a couple of children that looked unmistakably like Corey playing in that massive backyard.
Mya gave herself a mental shake, forcing a picture of her place in Brooklyn to the forefront of her mind.
But all that did was cause a twinge of claustrophobia to close up her throat. Compared to Corey’s spacious home, her home was a shoebox.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he headed south on Highway 21.
“First, we’re going shopping,” he said. “We’ve got to get you a dress for dinner.”
“Where are we going for dinner?”
He glanced at her from behind dark sunglasses. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the ride? I promise you’ll like it.”
Mya wanted to press him, but knew it would be futile. She settled more comfortably in the soft leather as they cruised along the interstate, across Lake Pontchartrain and into downtown New Orleans.
Once in the city, they made their way to the world-famous Canal Street. Corey drove all the way to the base of the long boulevard, where it butted against the Mississippi River. He made a U-turn and pulled up to the valet at The Shops at Canal Place.
“We’re shopping here?” Mya asked. She and Phylicia had window-shopped in the ultra-high-end stores dozens of times when they were younger, but never had they made a purchase.
“Yes, we are,” Corey said. “But quickly. Our dinner reservations are in less than a half hour.”
They went to Saks Fifth Avenue and Mya fell in love with the first cocktail dress she encountered. It was black, strapless, and hugged her hips and waist. She walked out of the dressing room and did a slow twirl.
She could practically feel the heat in Corey’s gaze on her skin.
“I cannot wait to take that off you,” he said.
A mother and teenaged daughter searching through a rack of dresses both turned to stare. The girl giggled.
The mother did not. Embarrassment washed over Mya’s entire being.
“Come on,” Corey said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He paid for the dress, and they exited the store. The valet brought the car around within minutes. Mya grabbed her black heels from her bag and slipped them on.
“I love the way your legs look in those shoes,” Corey said. “The day of the funeral, I was amazed that you were able to balance in those high heels. You are so sexy, Mya.”
“Only you would be concentrating on a woman’s legs at a funeral.” She laughed.
“I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.”
They drove into the French Quarter. He made a right onto Chartres Street, a left on St. Louis, and then another quick left onto Royal Street. When he pulled up to the curb at Brennan’s Restaurant, Mya actually squealed.
“We’re going to Brennan’s?” she shrieked.
Corey grinned as he put the car in park. “I’m about a decade and a half late, but I told you I’d bring you here, didn’t I?”
He had indeed promised to bring her to the famed French Quarter restaurant after her prom. Mya knew he couldn’t afford it, so she wasn’t disappointed when they’d had to settle for a chain restaurant in nearby Metairie. It was only after prom night that Corey had told her that he did have the money. He’d spent an entire month working evenings and weekends in his dad’s auto repair shop, despite how much he loathed it, only to learn that reservations at Brennan’s were scooped up months in advance.
“How did you manage to get a reservation on such short notice?” she asked.
“I’m not giving out my secrets,” he said as he exited the car.
They were guided to a table for two in the restaurant’s courtyard, where old-world gas lamps flickered against the backdrop of lush vegetation. They feasted on some of the most amazing food Mya had ever tasted. She’d dined at some of New York’s best restaurants, but there was nothing like New Orleans cuisine. The succulent crabmeat in a creamy béarnaise sauce melted on her tongue, and the chardonnay it was paired with was simply exquisite.
After their entrée dishes had been cleared away, a member of the waitstaff rolled a small flambé cart to their table and, with the flair of a seasoned performer, prepared the restaurant’s signature dessert, Bananas Foster. The creamy butter, brown sugar, rum, and banana concoction was poured over vanilla bean ice cream.
Mya slid a spoonful in her mouth and her eyelids closed as a moan escaped her throat. She opened her eyes to find Corey staring at her from across the table, his dessert untouched.
“Aren’t you going to try it?”
“I’ll have my dessert later,” he said.
Her entire body warmed, and it had nothing to do with the heated sauce. Their plates were soon cleared, and Mya was almost embarrassed by the amount of anticipation flowing through her veins. She knew what was coming next. She’d seen it in every one of Corey’s smoldering stares.
As they walked out of the restaurant, she stopped at the line for the valet, but Corey tugged her arm. “I’m leaving the car here,” he said. “We’re not going very far.”
He tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow and they started walking on Royal Street.
“Corey, where are we—?” She stuttered to a stop as she stared ahead at the Hotel Monteleone. “You didn’t,” Mya said with an awe-filled sigh.
“I did,” he said. Corey leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. “A night in the Tennessee Williams Suite awaits you.”
Mya’s eyes filled with tears and her throat clogged with so much emotion that she could hardly catch her breath. He was re-creating one of her biggest fantasies. Ever since their literature class had attended a production of A Streetcar Named Desire, Mya had been swept away by the world of Tennessee Williams.
How had Corey remembered that?
“Wait.” She tugged his arm. “My clothes are in the car.”
“No, they’re not. I had the valet service at Brennan’s deliver them to the hotel concierge. Now come on. I’m ready to get you into that room and out of that dress.”
