Page 1 of No Place Like Home
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If a guy had to eat a few frog legs to save the family legacy, Cade Landry better find a bib.
Still…“Frog leg food truck, you say?” Cade leaned back in his desk chair in the mayor’s office building in downtown Magnolia Bay and propped his brown Sperrys on the desk. The phone cord snagged against the overflowing bin of papers awaiting his attention, knocking half the stack onto a red folder that teetered before dropping. More papers fluttered to their freedom.
He closed his eyes—would that make the mess go away?—as the Cajun drawl continued in his ear.
“That’s right. I heard about that Magnolia Days festival you got going on end of the month, thought we could snag a spot.” The man, who’d introduced himself as Bruno and who Cade imagined had to be tanned and burly, cleared his throat. “Best in Louisiana, we are.”
“Uh-huh.” Was that a flex though? How many frog leg restaurants could there even be on the mainland?
Then again…Cade squinted at the open spreadsheet of vendors thus far committed to Magnolia Days—and at the multiple empty rows that had been full just two years ago. Before the hurricane. Before the annual festival had taken a nosedive and, with it, the much-needed funding for his beloved city still undergoing storm restoration.
Could he afford to be picky? His secret weapon for the festival had ghosted his emails. Two months and still no answer. Cade reached over and clicked refresh on his computer, hoping for a miracle.
Nope.
And now he was going to be late to meet with the balloon arch lady. “Listen, Mr.…”
“Guidry. Bruno Guidry, at your service.”Clang.
That sounded like a stockpot lid. Was he cooking the legs as they spoke? Cade grimaced, fighting the irrational urge to pinch his nose shut. “Look, I’m sure they’re great—as far as frog legs go—but I’m looking for crawfish meat pies. Shrimp tacos. Cajun biscuits. Beignets.”
“Tell you what,” Bruno said.Clang-clang. “Why don’t you come up to New Orleans for a tastin’?”
Cade swallowed, smoothed the front of his fitted button-down. “Um…”
His office door, cracked as usual so it didn’t jam when summer heat swelled the wood, swung all the way open to reveal his father’s secretary, Pearl. She fanned herself with an envelope as she clutched the neck of her floral blouse with her free hand. “Miley is here.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Miley Mitchell, the twenty-something barista from Chug a Mug, pressed past Cade’s overheated receptionist and plopped into the chair adjacent his desk. She wore fishnet leggings under denim shorts, an oversized men’s button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a sullen expression. He jotted the wordlatteon a notepad—the coffee would be good today.
But probably not the pending conversation.
He raised his eyebrows at her as he leaned back in his chair. “What now?”
Clang. “No, you don’t have to come now. Anytime next week works.”
“Oh, sorry. Not you, Bruno.” Cade held up a finger at Miley as Pearl slipped back into the hallway. “I’m actually not sure I can get to New Orleans at all?—”
“He can’t. He’s busy.” Miley cupped her hands and talked loudly toward the receiver. “Fixing potholes.”
“No, we don’t sell tadpoles.” Bruno sounded confused. “Frog legs don’t work that way.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Cade’s feet hit the floor as he lurched forward. “Just a second, Bruno. I’m putting you on a briefhold.” Not pole. Or hole. He jabbed the red button on the phone base and gave Miley his full attention. “You were saying?”
A second line rang. His cell buzzed. Cade ignored both.
Miley gestured, black nail polish contrasting her white skin. “I sent in a request to meet with you.”
He looked at his chaotic desk. “When?”
She hiked a dark eyebrow. “This mess is organized by date?”
Fair point. He rummaged a little, carefully. Miley leaned over and rescued the red folder from the floor. “Man. You need an assistant.”
He snorted as he continued to fruitlessly dig. “Iamthe assistant.” The framed diploma on the wall behind Miley taunted him—Yale Law. Ha. And look at him now. Working for Dad, being the face of Magnolia Bay. He’d probably shaken more hands and kissed more babies than his mayor father.
“I can’t find it.” Giving up, Cade reached in the top desk drawer and rustled around for the bag of M&Ms he’d stashed. At least he knew where those were. “I don’t know why my father thought making me town director was a good idea.”
