Page 6 of The Flirt

"She's fine, darling," Mom told Dad. "Wait, I’ll put you on speaker."

"Hey, darling. How are you?" Dad said so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

“You don't have to yell, Edward," Mom chastised softly. "She can hear you."

"I can, Dad," I confirmed. "I'm doing well. I figured I'd go out and explore for a bit, since I can't finish unpacking for now."

"All right. We won't be keeping you. Have fun, baby girl. Don't let anyone give you grief, okay?"

"I won't. I promise."

I was stronger now. I wasn't going to take grief from anyone—especially not from someone I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. But that was completely beside the point. Dating wasn't on my to-do list for the foreseeable future. I was here to prove to the LeBlancs and Broussards, or whoever ran the restaurant branch, that I was the chef of their dreams.

I was positively grinning as I walked around, snapping pic after pic. I even loved the police department’s building—it was impressive. I spammed Mom with all my photos because I knew she’d appreciate them. There were plenty of establishments on this street—bars, restaurants, cafés, the occasional pastry shops that sold beignets. I couldn't wait to head to Café Du Monde. I wondered if the beignets really were as good as I remembered them from when I'd been here with my parents or if I was just building them up in my mind.

When I arrived in front of LeBlanc & Broussard’s, I smiled from ear to ear. I could barely believe this was going to be my workplace. I felt like I was in a movie.

The building looked exactly like it had in the pictures. They had a few tables outside too. They’d even set up a few heaters, which was smart. The air was humid and pleasant for an April afternoon, but if you sat dining for very long, you were bound to get chilly.

I peeked inside the restaurant through one of the front windows. It was a mix of more wrought iron and wood. I couldn't even see the kitchen, which made me think it was separated from the main dining area. Great! Open kitchens weren't my favorite.

I toyed with the idea of going inside but decided not to. There was no point in introducing myself today. The kitchen would be busy, and the last thing they needed was a distraction. I'd hate it if it were me. But I stayed for a bit and just people watched, taking in the patrons coming in and out, wondering if they were tourists or locals. My gut feeling was telling me it was a mix, based on the way they were dressed.

A stunning man in a suit caught my attention when he pushed the door of the restaurant open. Once outside, he put on his suit jacket and arranged his cuff links. Was it a force of habit, or did they really need adjusting? God, he was truly gorgeous. I hadn’t even noticed another man in months, ever since my breakup, but this stranger simply took my breath away.

He had dark brown hair, and though I couldn't see his eyes from where I was standing, I imagined them being vibrant blue or maybe green.

He didn't seem like a tourist. I wondered if he came by often. Not that it mattered, considering I'd spend all of my time in the kitchen and have zero interaction with customers unless someone requested to see the chef. I tilted my head, trying to decide if this guy was the type to complain about his food and ask the chef to personally apologize.

No, I imagined he was polite, determined, someone who didn't take shit from anyone, but he wasn’t a jackass. I was tempted to text Ariana and tell her that I’d noticed a man. She’d be so proud of me. She’d tried to get me to go on a few double dates with her in these past few months, but I’d flatly refused.

After the stranger left, I stayed a while longer, taking in several details of the restaurant. The servers moved quickly, which meant the kitchen worked like a well-oiled machine. Who’d been running it while they didn't have a chef?

I unhitched myself from the brick wall I'd been leaning against and walked over to the side of the restaurant, where I could get a better view inside.

"Dani," a male voice boomed to one of the servers.

She stopped in her tracks, looking up at the guy who'd just arrived in front of the entrance.

"Mr. LeBlanc, hi." I stood to attention. Was he part of the LeBlanc family or just a regular patron? It wasn't an uncommon name here in New Orleans, after all.

"My brother said he was still here."

"Oh, you just missed him. He left a few minutes ago," she said.

"All right. He did mention he'd have a short afternoon today."

"Do you want me to prepare a table for you?" she asked.

"No, I'll go upstairs to the office. My brother’s assistant has some documents for me."

"Of course. We can send a dinner upstairs, if you prefer."

"That would be great. My usual, please."

She nodded. "Right away."

I rolled my shoulders. Clearly he was in charge of this place. It wouldn't hurt to introduce myself. I walked right up to where he was standing in front of the entrance, making sure to leave a large enough area so people could come and go.

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