Page 12 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

He nods at the syrup and butter. “That’ll be all. Thanks for theflapjacks.”

I narrow my eyes, convinced he only said that to irritate me. I don’t make it a habit of sassing customers, but he dug his way under my skin, making me itchy all over. However, instead of coming back with a zinger, I won’t waste my time and return to the kitchen to finish the crème brûlée.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a blow torch, though one would come in handy today for more than caramelizing the sugar. I carefully brown the top of the custard under the broiler.

With a smile, I return to the dining room where Molly not-so-subtly watches the out-of-towner eat the pancakes as if she’ll glean his life story by the way he cuts little triangles into the stack and lets the syrup drip off before he stuffs the bite into his mouth.

Actually, perhaps you can tell a lot about a person by how they eat. Namely, that he’s full of himself.

I set the crème brûlée on the counter in front of Molly who sits only one spot away from Maddo.

She bounces to her feet and gasps. “You made me cream brool!”

“Crème brûlée,” he and I say at the same time.

Our gazes meet and we exchange a glance akin to the one when we were both vying for the parking spot. But his blue eyes on mine send a flutter through me that makes me rethink the one thing I know about myself.

Honey Hamilton Fact Number One: I’m unflappable.

Right now, with that gaze on me, I feel very flapped. So flapped. Super flapped.

A female voice with a Louisiana accent that’s the same as mine but older, says, “Honey, where’s the fire?”

Maddo jumps to his feet, alert. “Is there a fire?”

Betsy, one of the hair stylists from across the street, and the sweetest of the busy bodies in town, looks Maddo up and down. “Ten alarm.”

“That’s not a thing,” he says, wiping his mouth with a thin napkin.

Betsy’s eyes get all swirly. “You’re a ten out of ten.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t get your meaning.”

I’d like to know what criteria Betsy uses to grade guys because I give him two stars at most. Maybe three because he has nice teeth. Looks like he flosses.

Maddo peers around as if not accustomed to how things work in the small town “Arrivals Terminal.”

“I’m Maddock Witt, ma’am—friends call me Maddo. Nice to meet you?” The greeting is a barely veiled question, as if he’s not entirely sure what he’s dealing with.

They shake hands, then Molly extends hers as if for a kiss on the top like in old black and white movies. I half expect her to fall into reverie and say,Enchanté.

To her credit, Betsy acts normal, well, normal for a woman in her late fifties with strikingly brassy hair, an intense enthusiasm for garden gnomes and gonks, and who knows more about everyone in town than they do themselves—I think she’s been preparing to pass her crown to Molly.

Turning to me, Betsy says, “Cher, Jesse is on his way back from Marais Way. I suggest you address the way you parked your car.”

I glance out the window. At least the door is closed. I’ll admit I was in a snit when I left it cockeyed in the parking spot with the driver’s side door ajar.

Molly, having practically licked clean the ceramic ramekin that held her crème brûlée, bounces to her feet and joins me behind the counter. “I got this.”

Betsy is right. I’d better move my car before I lose points with Jesse. It’s bad enough that I’ve been driving as much as I have lately. Unless it’s raining, I walk everywhere because sliding behind the wheel makes me long for what I can’t have. For the dream I gave up. It also puts me at risk for fines I can’t pay.

I reluctantly go outside. The sixty seconds it takes me to properly park resets my bearings. My cheeks return to their natural shade, my breath comes easier, and my irritation notches down. Could be the itty bitty sock on the passenger seat. Somehow, Leonie always manages to lose one.

When I return, Molly and Betsy all but have Maddock cornered for an interrogation. Good.

“So you’re a firefighter?” Molly twirls a curl of her red hair.

He bobs his eyebrows. “You’ve got that right.”

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