Page 5 of The Grump

“If you come all the way here, the least I can do is have your favorites ready.”

“I forgot to tell her you were stopping by,” Avery said as she poured sherry into two glasses.

Isabeau and Celine clinked them together, and then Isabeau said, “You’ve got chorizo again. I bought some for home too.”

“The boys love it as well,” Celine said.

I barely bit down a chuckle. It always surprised me when they referred to their seventy-year-old husbands as “boys.” Though I suppose in their eyes, they were the same young men they’d once fallen in love with.

I took out the pralines and said, “These need to cool a bit.”

“Chorizo is severely underused in Louisiana,” Celine said.

“True. We pumped up the jambalaya with it, and it’s been a success,” Isabeau added.

“I’ve poured sherry for us too,” Avery said to me.

“Avery,” I chastised, “it’s the middle of the workday.”

“A little bit of sherry helps with inspiration,” Celine said in a conspiratorial tone, but she and Isabeau exchanged a glance that made me feel uneasy.

“Sure, thank you,” I told my sister.

She was right, and besides, it was delicious. We only ever opened it when these two came to visit. Avery had poured much less for us, and I took a bite of cheese, too, to have something in my stomach—well, besides the several pralines I’d eaten throughout the day.

I watched the two of them intently. Celine leaned forward, opening her mouth as though she intended to say something, but then settled back in the chair. She was hesitating. This was unusual, and I felt like it wasn’t good. I glanced at my sister, but she was happily sipping from her glass. She clearly hadn’t noticed anything. Maybe I was imagining things. Then Isabeau cleared her throat, and my stomach bottomed out.

“Listen, girls, we have a reason for stopping by today.”

“You have more ideas for the Christmas recipes?” Avery asked. “Because the ones you had last year were an absolute hit.”

Isabeau shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. As you know, we officially retired from running the company or having anything to do with it a long time ago.”

“Yes. We know that,” I said.

“And then so did my son.”

I frowned. We already knew all of this. “Sure. Your grandchildren are running it now, and as far as we’ve heard, they’re doing a fabulous job.”

I’d met some of them over the years, especially around Christmas when the LeBlanc-Broussard mansion was part of the Holiday Home tours.

“Yes. Well, you might not know that Xander is the CFO,” Celine explained.

I furrowed my brow. “I don’t think I’ve met Xander.”

“I did a couple of times,” Avery said. “But we’ve only exchanged a few words.”

“Anyway, he’s been going over the financials, and...” Isabeau shook her head. “I can’t say it.”

I felt as if someone had pulled the rug from under me. Isabeau didn’t shy away from difficult situations. She faced them head-on. I’d gathered that much from all the stories she regaled us with from her time in the company. So if she couldn’t even bring herself to say it...

“What is it?” I asked softly.

Celine looked at Avery and then at me. “Well, he wants to sell off the confectionery.”

“S-S-Sell off? What is there to sell?” I questioned before I could help myself.

Celine shrugged. “We told him it’s always been a passion project. Our goal was to bring a little more joy to the customers of our other businesses and to all of the charities in New Orleans.”

---