He’d be a fool not to have noticed the jealous gleam of speculation in Sylvie’s eyes when seeing them together, and he’d played up her misconception for all it was worth. Hey, he got his fun anywhere he could these days… rusted zipper and all that. It was amusing, really, to see Sylvie react to him with another woman… not that she had any right to be jealous of him. Still…
Most normal people would have hightailed it out of Houma with the threats and actual physical assaults that had been directed against them. But, to his amazement, he had agreed to wait till Tante Lulu could assess and straighten out the damage to his apartment. “Besides, those crim’nals ain’t dumb enough to come back again so soon,” Tante Lulu had contended.
Luc wasn’t so sure about that.
“And if they do, you can shoot ’em smack dab between their eyeballs.”
This was a cold-blooded side to Tante Lulu he’d never seen before. He could be mistaken, but he suspected his aunt was enjoying all the excitement.
He sat in the kitchen sipping his third cup of thick chicory coffee as he alternately raked his fingers through his hair, shook his head with dismay, and wondered if a tension headache could actually make a man’s brain explode.
In the next room Tante Lulu was chitchatting with Sylvie—chitchatting, for God’s sake!—about herbal remedies, Cajun and Creole lifestyles, and him.
Through the open doorway, he heard Sylvie ask his aunt, “Will you be able to repair these linens?”
“Some of them. But I got plenty of others at my house and in Luc’s cabin. Don’t you be worrying none.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Sylvie interjected quickly. “It’s just that they’re so beautiful.”
He didn’t need to look to see that Tante Lulu was beaming. Thank God, Sylvie wasn’t looking down her aristocratic nose at his eccentric aunt, who did make herself a mark for ridicule in a lot of ways. He had to give Sylvie credit for seeing beyond the outrageous exterior.
“Tell me again why Luc needs all these household linens,” Sylvie urged.
Propping his elbows on the table, Luc put his face in his hands and groaned.
“For his hope chest, of course.”
“His hope chest?” There was no laughter in Sylvie’s voice. Just incredulity.
“Mais yeah. Certainly.”
“A hope chest for a man? Really? And Luc wanted a hope chest?”
He spread his fingers, which still braced his face, and peered at Sylvie to see her reaction.
She was looking pointedly at him, eyebrows raised in question.
He rolled his eyes.
“Hah! When it comes to what’s good for that boy, he don’ know haf’.”
Luc rolled his eyes some more.
“Tell me, honey, did you give the same jelly beans to Luc as that male rat there?” Tante Lulu was peering inside the Happy Meal box, where the rodent couple had made love an impressive number of times.
“Well, not exactly the same,” Sylvie said hesitantly.
“But they have the same effect on rats as humans, right?”
“They should,” Sylvie admitted.
Oh, God! he thought.
Sure enough, his aunt whooped with glee. “Thank you, St. Jude.”
St. Jude? She thinks St. Jude is responsible for this love potion nonsense.
“Maybe it wasn’t really an accident that Luc ate your jelly beans,” Tante Lulu confided to Sylvie.
“Huh?” Sylvie didn’t have a clue when it came to the meandering way his aunt’s brain wended its path through a conversation.
“Dontchya have a hope chest, honey?” Tante Lulu asked Sylvie. Good, the subject was moving away from him and love potions.
“Well, no.”
“Cou! Not to worry. We got plenty of time to get you started on one. And on the flocking, too.”
Luc bit his bottom lip to stop a burst of laughter. He couldn’t wait till Sylvie found out what flocking was.
“What’s flocking?” Sylvie inquired casually.
“Same as feathering,” he told her.
“I’m assumin’ the wedding won’t be right away,” Tante Lulu continued. A pregnant pause followed.
Then: “There ain’t no reason for a rush wedding, is there?”
Luc’s head shot up. “Tante Lulu!” he rebuked. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. And don’t you dare start crocheting doilies for Sylvie’s hope chest.”