“That’s right. And don’t forget you’re making it up to me in Vegas. I’ve earned that vacay a dozen times over.”

“Is it that bad?” Maybe Allie should have checked in sooner. Dev had a good head on her shoulders, but she’d never run a business. “Did something happen?”

Dev snorted through the phone. “There’s a lot of something happening. I swear your job is giving me gray hair. Crow’s-feet, too.” She paused as if checking her reflection in the metallic shelf brackets near the phone. “But we’ll talk about that later. First things first—quit dodging my question. Did he hit it and quit it?”

“Dev!” Allie bolted upright in bed. A problem at the bakery—her livelihood and her dream—easily trumped sex talk. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

“You first.”

Allie made a frustrated noise and flung herself back onto a stack of pillows. “That’s emotional blackmail.” But she knew better than to attempt a battle of wills against her sister. Devyn was so stubborn, she could train a cat to bark.

“Fine,” Allie conceded. “The answer’s no.”

“What?” Dev’s reply was loud enough to alert the whole French Quarter. “You haven’t banged him yet?”

“Shh!” Allie clamped a hand over the phone to muffle her sister’s voice. “Please tell me nobody’s in the store!”

She could practically hear the sound of Devyn’s eyes rolling. “We’re all grown-ups here.”

“Still!”

“So what’s the holdup?” Devin asked, totally nonplussed. “It’s not like he’s saving it for marriage.”

“Do we really have to talk about this?”

“Did I wake up before sunrise to carve up a ten-pound block of butter?”

Allie sighed. “At least tell me everything’s all right at the shop.”

“Everything’s all right at the shop,” Dev parroted.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie swear.”

“Okay. It’s the ‘curse.’” Allie used her free hand to make air quotes. “Marc won’t say so, but I can tell he’s afraid something will happen if we go any farther.” Then she told her sister about Chef Regale’s bed catching fire after Marc had kissed her . . . omitting the more torrid details of their romantic encounter. “And everyone thinks I did it because Regale sabotaged me in the galley.”

“Hmm,” Devyn mused. “Maybe you did.”

“Wha—” The accusation stung like a slap to the face. She thought Devyn knew her better than that. “You can’t be serious.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Dev clarified. “I know you’d never willingly hurt anyone. But you have Memère’s spirit watching over you. That’s more than enough to cause a reaction when someone like Regale does you dirty.”

“If that’s the case,” Allie argued, “then why hasn’t this happened before, like after last year’s hit-and-run? Why didn’t that pizza delivery guy’s engine explode when he totaled my front end?”

“Because you’re missing an important connection.”

“Being?”

“Marc Dumont,” Dev said as if the answer should be obvious. “He’s the one carrying around Memère’s curse, not the pimple-faced dick who hit your car. I think the bed igniting was a message from the spirits that you’re playing with fire.”

“Going for the literal interpretation, I see.”

“I’m serious. Look, I know you’re hot for this guy, but he’s going to hurt you.” Dev paused to let her words sink in. “You understand that, right? He’s never been faithful—no Dumont man has. This can’t end well.”

That wasn’t wholly true. Marc had never committed to a woman, so by default, he’d never been unfaithful. But since that point wouldn’t help win her argument, Allie kept it to herself. “I hear you, really I do, but there’s more to him than you think.”

A noise of disagreement echoed through the phone.

“No, really,” Allie insisted. “His daddy’s lying and cheating twisted Marc’s whole perception of relationships. He doesn’t believe in love because he’s never seen it. Deep down, he’s a good man.” And before Devyn could issue another sarcastic grunt, Allie told her about how Marc had barely eaten or slept the past two days because the poker tournament had run longer than expected. He’d divided his time between the pilothouse, the casino, and the purser’s desk. And every night without fail, he put on his most charming smile for the guests in the dining room, making sure to greet each table. “He could’ve pushed the responsibilities onto his staff, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“So he can’t delegate,” Dev said. “Color me unimpressed.”

“You’re not listening. He’s invested in the Belle, not because it’s easy money, but because it’s keeping his whole family together.” Which was something Marc had missed during his childhood. If it weren’t for the boat, he and his brothers would barely know one another. “We take it for granted that Mama and Daddy loved each other, but their example set the foundation for the rest of our lives.”

Dev softened a little at the mention of their parents. She released a nostalgic sigh. “Remember how he’d have tulips delivered the first Friday of every month?”

“To celebrate the day they met.” Allie felt a pull at her stomach. The deliveries had continued after her parents died together in a car accident. One of the saddest moments of Allie’s life was calling the florist to cancel Daddy’s long-standing order. “He loved her so hard.”

“And she felt the same way.”

“But imagine how different it could have been,” Allie said. “If Daddy had knocked up some other woman and left us for a new family, maybe we’d act like the Dumonts. Then people would call us cursed.”

“Some already do.”

“You’re missing the point again.”

“No, I get it.” Dev lowered her voice in a reluctant concession. “But knowing why the Dumonts are messed up doesn’t change the fact that they’re messed up. It’s just a matter of time before Marc lets you down, just like Beau did to me.”

“Not necessarily.” Not if Allie could reshape Marc’s way of thinking—show him how it felt to trust and be trusted in return. In essence, show him what he’d been missing all these years. “I don’t think he’s damaged beyond repair. And if it doesn’t work out . . . well, a broken heart never killed anyone.”

“I’ll remind you of that in Vegas when you’re crying in your poolside margarita.”

“I’m sure you will.” And since Dev had mentioned her ex, Allie figured she should rip off the Band-Aid and warn her of his sudden reappearance. “Hey, speaking of Beau . . .”

“That’s twice too many times I’ve heard his name today.”

“Sorry, baby, but he’s back. He finished his enlistment with the marines, and Marc hired him to replace Regale in the galley. I thought you’d want to know. It’s just a matter of time before he shows up in Cedar Bayou or New Orleans.” She braced herself for a tirade of obscenities, but the long silence that ensued prompted Allie to check the cell phone connection to make sure the line hadn’t disconnected. “You still there?” she asked.

“We’ve been bombarded in the shop,” Devyn finally said, shutting down like a liquor store on Sunday. “Apparently, your desserts are a hit with the passengers on that floating garbage heap. They’ve been calling and texting home to rave about your crème puffs, and now we can’t keep up with the orders.”

Allie wanted to press her sister to talk about Beau, but all thoughts of the man vanished, replaced by a hopeful tickle inside her chest. “Are you serious? That’s fantastic!”

“Psh,” Devyn said. “Fantastic for you. I had to hire three temps to help out. I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to.”

“You’re the best,” Allie told her sister. “Just keep thinking of Vegas.”

“For all the sleep I’ve sacrificed, you should hire me a stripper. One of those beefy cowboys whose chaps rip off with one tug.”

“For you, I’ll hire a whole posse.” Before Allie could offer to throw in a bonus construction worker, her cell phone chirped to announce a text message. Glancing at the screen, she recognized the number to the Natchez fire department. “Gotta go. But thanks for holding down the fort. I owe you, big.”

Dev grumbled, “It’s a good thing I love you,” and disconnected.

“Love you too, baby,” Allie said into empty space. She tapped her cell phone screen, and it rewarded her with the message she’d been waiting for.

Hey, Allie. RE: the mobile device you supplied, it’s possible that a faulty battery overheated and ignited the bedspread, resulting in a fire. But please note that without examining all the evidence, we cannot officially . . .

That was all Allie needed to hear.

She pumped a fist in the air and hopped off the bed to slip on her shoes. Finally she had proof that otherworldly forces had nothing to do with Regale’s fire, and she couldn’t wait to show Marc, even if it was ten o’clock at night. She tucked her phone in the back pocket of her jean skirt and headed for the door. When she slung it open, she stopped short at the sight of a gleaming nose ring.

Mrs. Gibson stood at the door with her knuckles poised to knock. The woman jumped in shock and pressed a hand over her heart. “How’d you know I was here?” she asked. “I didn’t have a chance to knock yet.”

Allie released a shaky laugh. “I didn’t. I was on my way downstairs.”

“Oh, well, I won’t keep you.” The woman lifted an old hardback Bible for show. “I just wanted to share something real quick.”

Allie hoped Mrs. Gibson wasn’t one of those missionary types. “Thanks, hon, but I’m Catholic. My soul’s already spoken for.”

“Nothing like that,” she assured Allie. “I found this Bible in our nightstand drawer. Usually I don’t notice them when I travel, but I felt prompted to pick it up, and look what I found.”