Winning Her Heart

“Is that where you live now?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I actually have an apartment in each city where I have a restaurant, so Portland, Chicago and New York City. I bounce around a lot.”

“Sounds like fun, but I prefer to call one place home.”

“You’ve only been here a little while. Is Bay Point ‘home’ for you already?” he teased.

“Time will tell.” A shadow crossed her face, and he sensed she was unhappy. “My grandmother needs me.”

She laid his bill on the counter. “I hope you enjoyed everything.”

He barely glanced at the amount and reached into his back pocket for his wallet, keeping his eyes on hers.

“I did, and if I said something that offended you earlier, I’m sorry.”

Jasmine bit her lip and she seemed nervous. “You didn’t. I’m just protective of her, that’s all.”

“And she seems protective of you,” he said, handing over his platinum credit card. “Sounds like she really relies on you.”

“Lunchtime is busy and she needs the help.”

She shrugged her shoulders, then glanced over at the kitchen. “But I do more than pour drinks, she’s been doing the books by herself all these years, by hand no less. I’m bringing her into the 21st century.”

“Kicking and screaming?”

Jasmine laughed. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“That’s wonderful. Do you help with the cooking too?”

“No way. I try to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible.”

She asked him if he wanted anything else, and he shook his head. He had other things to do that afternoon, but he also didn’t want their conversation to end.

“I could give you a cooking lesson.”

Jasmine pursed her lips. “Oh really? Can you give me an idea of what the first class would be like, so I can judge if I’m interested?”

“How about I teach you how to make homemade spaghetti sauce? And then how to cook the perfect pasta al dente? There’s an art to cooking, you know.”

Her half smile was sexy and dismissive at the same time. “Thanks, but with all I have to do around here, I don’t think I have time.”

She handed him the receipt, which he quickly signed. She tried to reach for his pen, but he held on to it.

“Wait. Before I go, I have something to ask you.”

Jasmine furrowed her brow, but he couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or curious.

“What is it?”

“Do you?”

He watched her face, deliberately being obtuse.

“Do I what?” she repeated, drawing out the words as if she didn’t understand.

“Care.” He pointed at her with the pen. “Your T-shirt says Ask Me if I Care. So, I’m asking. Do you care?”

She stared into his eyes, challenging him. “That’s an odd question to ask someone you just met.”

“Let’s just say, I care about the answer.”

Smiling, she lifted her chin. “Rub the crystal ball and see.”

“That old thing is still here?”

He glanced toward the door surprised that he hadn’t noticed the large glass orb nestled on a gold-columned pedestal near the front of the restaurant when he’d first walked in.

Locals touched it on their way in or out, hoping it would bring them good luck. He remembered giving the thing a good rub on the night of his senior prom, hoping he’d get lucky with his date. But she’d slapped him in the face when he made his move. He didn’t even make it through the first kiss.

Over the years, his luck had changed. He had no trouble seducing any woman that he wanted, and Jasmine Kennedy would be no exception.

He gave her a large tip, and added his phone number before handing the receipt and the pen back to her.

“What’s that sly grin for?” she asked.

“Call me and find out.”

Micah winked and felt her eyes linger on his back as he headed toward the front of the restaurant. He knew she was waiting to see if he would touch the crystal ball.

But he refused, and sailed right past it. He wasn’t a superstitious man, just a cautious one, and he didn’t believe in magic. Just hard work.

The sun nearly blinded him when he emerged from the poorly lit restaurant. He’d forgotten his sunglasses in the car, so he shaded his eyes with his right hand and looked across the street at his building.

There was brown paper on the windows and the scaffolding was up, but no construction workers in sight. Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearly three o’clock. Were they already done for the day?

He stuck his hands in his pockets and jingled his keys, debating whether to check on the renovation, as he’d originally intended. He was expected for dinner at his family’s beach estate at five o’clock, but wanted to get there early for a relaxing shower and shave.

Temporary lodging in his boyhood bedroom, he told himself.

At this point in his life, he just wasn’t sure if his hometown was even worthy of his time, talent and money.

He traveled regularly, living out of one suitcase, trying new cuisines and meeting new people around the world. He loved his lifestyle too much to be snagged down in one place, with one woman.

Micah looked back over his shoulder at Lucy’s, and decided to visit his building later that evening, and check out the interior instead. There was a back entrance he could use to avoid attracting attention.

He got into his convertible and, after verifying that the road was clear, backed out.

All the way to his parents’ house, he denied that it was because of Jasmine that he had changed his plans.

* * *

“My, my, Micah. Talk about afternoon delight!”

The man had left her a twenty-dollar tip on a ten-dollar meal. She couldn’t decide whether he was a big spender or just trying to leave a big impression. He didn’t need to wave around his money. All he needed to make heads turn was to walk into a room.

Jasmine hurried to the front of the restaurant. She bumped one of the empty rattan dining chairs to the side with her hip and positioned herself at the window. The gold curtain rings that held red-checkered café curtains pressed against her cleavage as she peeked outside.

A local construction worker sitting the next table over cackled at her. She ignored him, though she could feel his eyes ogling her miniskirted behind. He’d finished two orders of buffalo chicken wings and a pitcher of beer, and she knew from experience that she’d get nothing from him but trouble.

“Just one last look. That’s all I need.”

She clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth.

Micah Langston was just the break she needed in the middle of a busy day.

Handsome, sexy and not planning to stick around.

His clean-shaven, medium brown tone skin was unlined and appeared as smooth as a baby. His nose was a little smaller than she liked, but still fit with his oval-shaped face that angled at his jaws.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. She didn’t see him pull out any reading glasses, and the piercing way he was looking at her made her think he could see just fine.

She wondered if the flecks of gray in his close-cut black hair were due to heredity, stress or age. She was twenty-three, so if they hooked up, they would be pretty close in age.

Those hazel eyes with specks of deep blue had sunk into hers, and she felt a little like when she slipped on her favorite fuzzy socks at night after a long day on her feet—warm, safe and a little thankful.

Micah had full lips that he knew to close when he munched on his food, unlike some of the customers that ate at Lucy’s. Some of the things she’d seen since arriving at her grandmother’s restaurant made her cringe even now. Just because it was cheap didn’t mean it was okay to leave one’s manners outside.

The black Audi proved he had terrific taste in cars, and the rental plates screamed just passing through.

Fine man, he was. Very fine.

She watched Micah slide his sunglasses over his nose, and check his rearview mirror, but not for his reflection.

A man that looked like him did not need to check his appearance, Jasmine thought. He was perfect.

She pressed the palm of her hand to the back of her neck. Her skin was hot, her secret gauge that indicated she was equally hot for a man, double verifying the exquisite pull in her loins that she felt when she first laid eyes on Micah.

He watched for cars, of which there were some crisscrossing the road, before pulling out onto Magnolia Avenue, heading west toward the beach.

She sighed and put one hand on her hip, watching until he disappeared.

“Get away from that window,” her grandmother said, picking up a set of rooster-shaped salt and pepper shakers from an empty booth. “Never let a man know you’re interested.”

Jasmine turned and plastered an innocent smile on her face. “I’m not interested and besides, he’s gone.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

She moved out of the way so Donnie, one of the busboys, could clear a table that was recently vacated. His arms stretched here and there removing every dish and piece of silverware into a square plastic tub.

As soon as he was done, Lucy slapped a wet rag down on the table and started to scrub.

“Great. A man like Micah Langston is no good for you.”

Jasmine spotted another patron in the corner gesturing for a check, and hurried over. After she’d run their credit card and provided the receipt, she joined Lucy back behind the bar.

“What do you mean that Micah is no good for me? I thought the Langstons were a little like royalty in this town.”

Lucy cocked a brow. “Just because Gregory is the mayor?”

Jasmine shrugged, placing a used beer glass on a tray under the bar.

Two years ago, Jasmine had graduated with honors from Tulane University with a degree in business administration, and a minor in accounting. Because of her strong internship history, she was lucky enough to land a job with a small advertising agency in the French Quarter as a junior account manager.

The pay was decent, the work interesting. She’d enjoyed helping the agency’s clients, who were mostly restaurants, shops and historical sites, with their marketing strategy in hopes of attracting increased numbers of tourists to their respective businesses.

Then one night she’d stayed until almost midnight to help finalize a new business pitch. Her boss put his hand on her thigh, and she gave him a right hook across his leering mouth, and she never went back. Broke her lease and used her rent money to fly one-way to California.

“The Langstons have been here for generations,” Lucy continued. “Micah is the only one who, after college, didn’t come back to stay.”

“He probably figured you were the best chef in town, so why stay here and get his butt beat?”

Lucy patted Jasmine’s cheek, and she relished the touch of her grandmother’s hand.

“You’re kind to flatter me, but I’m not the one who is on television, am I?”

“Did you ever want fame and fortune?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, I moved to Bay Point to brush shoulders with both from time to time.”

“The town used to be a weekend getaway for the stars, wasn’t it?”

Lucy wiped down the bar and smiled wistfully. “I’ve seen my fair share of Hollywood royalty during the almost fifty years this restaurant has been open.”

Lucy’s Bar and Grille was an institution in Bay Point. It was no Sardis, the famed New York City restaurant with hundreds of celebs and Broadway stars on the walls, both in atmosphere or price, but it was charming nonetheless. Several black-and-white or color autographed celebrity photos hung on the walls, alongside old porcelain, Cajun art and other antique treasures her grandmother had brought with her from her native Louisiana.

To most people in Bay Point, her grandmother’s restaurant was just a homespun place to eat, but Jasmine knew that it was Lucy’s life. And she also knew that as the town continued to grow, so would the competition to threaten its existence.

“The men and the women were gorgeous. Glamorous! And the directors?” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Pigs, mostly, with hands like an octopus.”

She thought about her boss, Peter, and what he’d tried to do, what he wanted to do. A flash of anger rose up inside her, like bile, and Jasmine almost thought she was going to be sick. She poured herself a ginger ale and sipped it slowly until the feeling passed.

Donnie gathered up the last of the shiny aluminum carafes that held Lucy’s famous “bottomless coffee.” The lunch crowd was slowly filing out which meant only one thing. The dinner crowd would soon replace them, gathering again in the vintage button-tufted blue vinyl booths that lined the walls or at the green Formica tables scattered about the room.

Jasmine rang out the last customer at the bar and sighed. Since she’d arrived, she’d been so busy helping her grandmother that she barely had time to notice anything but receipts spitting out of a credit card machine, and the unpaid bills piling up in the back office.

Although Mayor Langston had done a great job revitalizing downtown Bay Point with new restaurants, housing and shops, and they had customers other than the regulars, they weren’t out of the hole yet.

She’d already talked the landlord, George Stodwell, off the cliff of eviction. He’d given them another six months to pay the back rent owed or she’d be selling jerk chicken from the trunk of her Mini Cooper.

Jasmine wrung a rag out in the bar sink, wishing for a moment that it was Stodwell’s neck. But she knew better than anyone that violence didn’t solve anything. It just made things worse.

Besides, her grandmother needed her, though she would never admit it. Now in her seventies, Lucy Dee Diller was as feisty and fierce as her Cajun dishes.

Growing up, Jasmine had never really known her. Lucy’d been so busy with the restaurant that she rarely returned to New Orleans. This was her chance to give her grandmother the love and affection she’d wanted to since she was a little girl. Lucy was trying to teach her how to cook, and now with her warning about Micah, also about men.

“Some guys are okay,” Jasmine said, handing Lucy the cash drawer.

“Yes, the mayor is a fine man. But he’s taken. Money and good looks flow throughout the Langston family tree, but as far as I’m concerned, Micah can plant his seed somewhere else.”

“Lucy!” Jasmine croaked out a shocked laugh, as racy images flitted through her mind, but her grandmother had disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

Leaning her elbows on the bar, Jasmine felt her nipples tighten involuntarily as she recalled Micah’s packed, athletic build. His white short-sleeved polo shirt and pressed khaki shorts, with just enough bulge in all the right places, and none of the wrong ones.

She licked her lips and drank the rest of her ginger ale to cool off.

Lucy reemerged and Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you standing around for?” Lucy called out, as she went to the front door and locked it. “Time to prep for dinner.”

Jasmine slipped under the counter, rather than lift it up. “I’m on it.”

“Whew, girl,” Lucy said, walking back. “You make me nervous every time you do that.”

“I’m ok. Besides it’s good for my thighs.”

“Honey, I can’t even remember a time when I was able to squat that low.”

She gave Lucy a hug. “Why don’t you go up to your room and rest? Donnie, Gloria and I will handle prep.”

Every dish at Lucy’s Bar and Grille was made from fresh ingredients. Even the spices were freshly ground just before use.

“I guess you’re right. I could use a little nap.” Lucy wiped her brow. “I hope I’m not keeping you from whatever it is you kids do these days. I love having you here, but—”

“And I love being here,” Jasmine interrupted. “We’ve got a lot of missed time to make up for, don’t we?”

“We certainly do, and I’m treasuring every moment.”

Jasmine backed against one of the swinging doors to hold it open so her grandmother could pass. At the end of the kitchen, which smelled of roasted chicken, allspice and thyme, there was a short hallway with stairs that led up to a small apartment, which she shared with Lucy.

Although Jasmine had a fair amount of money in her savings account, she wanted to take her time to find her own place. She was hoarding her tips to get her stuff out of storage, when the time came. For her, Bay Point was not only a place to reconnect with her grandmother. She hoped it would be a refuge.

After she got Lucy settled upstairs, she went back down and started to cut onions, while Gloria sliced the potatoes. She was almost finished when Donnie informed her she had a call.

She swung into the main dining area and picked up the cordless at the hostess station. “Lucy’s. This is Jasmine Kennedy. How can I help you?”

“Miss Kennedy. That sounds so presidential.”

The man’s low baritone voice, sounding vaguely familiar, sent a chill up her spine.

“Who is this?” she demanded in a sharp voice.

Donnie stopped stacking the highball glasses and frowned.

“Micah Langston.”

“Oh,” she said, letting Donnie know with a nod that everything was okay.

“Forget me so soon? I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Now that she knew who he was, his intimate insinuation transformed the chill in her spine into a pool of heat in her belly.

She sank onto a bar stool, not expecting to hear from him so soon, or even at all.

“What can I do for you, Micah?”

“I think I left my pen, a black Mont Blanc, very expensive, there at the bar. Can you check for me?”

Jasmine furrowed her brow. Pharmaceutical sales reps, who had Bay Point Community Hospital in their territories, often stopped in for breakfast or lunch on the way in or out of town. She distinctly remembered giving Micah a pen imprinted with the brand name of some kind of drug, but she’d humor the man. Besides, where would he have kept it? The polo shirt he’d worn had no pockets.

“Sure, hold on,” she said, and set the phone upright on the bar.

Just for kicks, she did check near where he sat, but there was nothing but some food scraps on the floor. Not from him, she knew, but from the previous customer who routinely dropped food in his lap, while talking to his coworker.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You do have what I’m seeking. You just don’t know it yet.”

He sighed and the low sound vibrated, soft and sexy, against her ear as though he were right next to her.

Suddenly she knew what he was implying and her loins pulsed with need. And though he’d made her go chasing for something that didn’t exist, she found him very exciting.

She sucked in a breath, and he chuckled softly.

“Get lost, Micah,” she said, disconnecting the call.

Jasmine stuck her hands in her apron and brought out his receipt. She examined his signature, or autograph she supposed, if she were a fan, which she most definitely was not. Her eyes traced his phone number, committing it to memory.

Time for a fling? Perhaps.

Time for love? Not a chance.

Chapter 2

Micah chuckled as he pulled up to his parents’ beachfront estate. With Jasmine’s sexy New Orleans drawl still in his ear, his body hummed with desire. Even though she’d hung up on him, the call energized him.

Coming home always brought back the guilt that he’d left in the first place.

His parents were never happy with his decision to stay away from Bay Point after culinary school. Because of their deep roots in the community, they’d wanted him to start a business there, but he’d refused and his relationship with them had suffered.

It was important to him to make his own way, with or without their blessing. That feeling hadn’t changed, although sometimes he wished things could have been different between them.

The briny ocean breeze hit him as soon as he stepped out of his air-conditioned car. He got his suitcase from the back seat, relieved to see that there were no other vehicles in the area adjacent to the circular driveway.

His brothers, Gregory and Marlon, always parked their cars in the attached six-car garage on the other side of the Spanish-style home. His parents loved to entertain on a regular basis, but it looked like tonight would be a family-only affair.

Micah felt a pain in his gut knowing that after ten years as a successful chef and restaurant owner, his parents still didn’t respect his choice of a career.

This time, I won’t let them get to me.

The scent of sand and seaweed further boosted his positive mood as he wheeled his suitcase up the red brick path to the front door. He punched in the security code, went in and stowed his bag next to the curved staircase, just outside the expansive foyer.

He slipped off his shoes and peeked in the library, which his father also used as an office. It was empty, so he strode into the large living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in late afternoon light and he could see everyone had gathered outside.

Micah closed the patio door behind him and was soon enveloped in his mother’s embrace.

“It’s good to have you home, son.”

“For a small woman, you pack some powerful hugs,” Micah joked, giving her a tight squeeze back.

Helen Langston, only five feet tall, was a giant of philanthropy in Bay Point, raising thousands of dollars for causes she cared about. In her early sixties, her demeanor with her children was often cool and distant, but in public and at parties she always turned on the charm. Impeccably dressed, even when just relaxing at home, her short coppery-brown hair was always cut in the latest style.

“I’ve been saving them up for a while,” she said, after releasing her grip.

Gregory, the middle Langston, was lounging on a chaise. He uncrossed his ankles but did not get up.

“You can thank me for getting him back in town. I’m the one trying to get him to open up a restaurant here.”

Micah strolled over. “Lying down on the job again, Mayor? At least give me a proper greeting.”

He picked up Gregory’s legs and swung them out of the way so he could sit down, ignoring his brother’s protests.

“Okay, but I’m warning you, if I shake your hand, it’s a done deal.”

Micah got the hint and stood, a wry smile on his face, knowing his brother was dead serious. “My partners and I bought the building, but as you already know, we haven’t decided whose restaurant will be utilizing the space.”

Marlon, the eldest brother, strode over and draped an arm around his shoulders. He gave him a gruff, but hearty squeeze that almost caused Micah to trip over his own feet.

“If Gregory’s big tax breaks won’t work, can I tempt you with one of my not-so-famous mango margaritas?”

“Made with farm-fresh, organic ingredients?”

“Don’t ask, just drink,” Marlon teased.

Micah reached around and punched his brother’s right shoulder, a funny kind of “man hug” that was a tradition with them.

“Hangover coming right up.”

Marlon walked to the wrought iron patio table and grabbed a pitcher.

Micah chuckled when he poured a healthy serving of the frosty beverage into a margarita glass.

“Leave the man alone,” his father admonished. “Be glad he had the decency to grace us with his presence this time.”

Theodore (Theo) Langston swirled his half-filled glass of scotch and water from his seat under the edge of the table’s huge umbrella, setting himself apart from the family as usual. It occurred to Micah that he was somewhat like him, but in the next moment, he told himself that wasn’t true.

His father, a well-known personal injury attorney had the kind of class and style that could never be duplicated even though he was sometimes accused of being an ambulance chaser, mostly by jealous peers who couldn’t get, nor handle, his caseload. He dealt in slips and falls, auto accidents, medical malpractice and other injuries, for clients in Bay Point and surrounding cities in Northern California.