She handed Ward her business card while Rob scanned Ward’s three cans of primer.

“Impressive.” Ward’s flirtatious gaze made her almost want to forgive him for having been so condescending to her a few minutes ago. “Never would have expected someone as young as you to be such a bigwig with a company as huge as B-G Enterprises. You must be good at what you do.”

Rob’s chuckle brought flames of embarrassment to Meredith’s cheeks. All of a sudden, all she could think of was her grubby appearance. Who was she kidding, thinking that a man like Ward Breaux was flirting with her?

“E-mail or call me, and we can set up a time for you to come by the house to look it over and then review my plans so that you can start putting together a bid.” She grabbed her bags off the counter. “Thanks, Rob. Happy New Year.”

She didn’t usually take the coward’s way out, but she pretended not to hear Ward calling for her to wait up and ran through the rain to her SUV.

The puppy awoke with a yip when the can of epoxy fell off the seat and bumped him.

“Oh, goodness—I’m so sorry.” She leaned over the console and rubbed his head before returning the can to its bag and putting the supplies on the floor behind her seat. One glance at the rearview mirror showed Ward exiting the store. Stomach churning, Meredith started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so dense as to think he was flirting with me for any reason other than wanting my business?”

The rain slapped the windshield all the way back to the house, doing nothing to improve her mood. She sat for a moment after parking under the protection of the carport.

He probably hadn’t seen her as anything more than a potential client. How many people had she sucked up to in the past, believing they could potentially become clients? But she couldn’t deny that while the delusion lasted, she had felt the stirrings of attraction toward him.

Maybe, just maybe, she was finally recovering from her eight-year affliction—the affliction that went by the name Major O’Hara.

* * *

Cars—mostly expensive, foreign models—lined the street of the upscale subdivision. Major parked a few houses down from the Guidrys’, pulled his coat collar up, and ran through the rain to the cover of their wide, wraparound porch.

He reached the front steps at the same time as a pair of other guests—familiar looking and smart enough to be carrying a huge black and red umbrella. One of Major’s part-time staff opened the door and grinned at him, dressed in the standard black pants and white tuxedo shirt all servers at B-G events wore.

Major stepped aside for the woman to enter first. As she passed, the small dog draped across her arm snapped and growled at him. Behind her, folding the umbrella, the man rolled his eyes and sighed—and Major finally recognized him. Gus McCord, Bonneterre’s new mayor. Major hadn’t realized how short the man was. He always looked much taller on TV.

When the mayor drew even with Major, he extended his right hand. “Sorry about the dog. She can’t go anywhere without that thing. You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”

“Major O’Hara, sir.” Major returned the politician’s firm, brief grip.

The quick processing of Major’s name registered in Mayor McCord’s brown eyes. “You played football with my son at ULB.”

Major reined in his surprise. “Yes, sir. He was a couple years ahead of me.”

“And now you’re the most popular chef in Beausoleil Parish—if not all of Louisiana.” Mr. McCord handed his dripping umbrella to the doorman.

Maybe Major shouldn’t have voted for the other guy last fall. “Mr. and Mrs. Guidry would be pleased to hear you say so.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them, then.” Mr. McCord motioned Major to enter ahead of him.

Major stopped just inside the door, awestruck. He didn’t know much about architecture, but this house reminded him of the big plantation houses down on the river he’d seen on school fieldtrips. The dark-wood-floored entryway echoed with a hum of voices coming from all around. To his left, the walnut and green library featured a large, round table laden with a display of fruit, guests hovering around it like hummingbirds in a flower garden.

For a moment, professional jealousy reared up in his chest. Why hadn’t they asked him to cater? Then, before the envy could take full root, he spotted Maggie Babineaux, Mairee Guidry’s sister—the caterer who’d taught Major more about food service than they’d ever imagined teaching in culinary school. She waved at him but didn’t break away from her conversation. He waved in return.

To his right, circulating around the twenty-person dining table piled high with exquisite displays of pastries, he recognized a few people—the mayor’s wife and her little dog, the state senator for Beausoleil Parish, the pastor of Bonneterre Chapel ... who motioned Major into the room.

“We’ve missed you the last couple of Sundays.” Pastor Kinnard shifted his plate and extended his right hand.

Major smiled and shook hands with him. “I’ve missed everyone, too, but I was filling in for the chaplain out at ... one of the nursing homes.”

Reverend Kinnard nodded. “When are you boys going to sing for us again?”

Major shrugged. “Everything’s been so crazy with the holidays and then with the Christmas musical before that—we haven’t practiced in months.”

“Three weeks enough notice?”

To pull together four professional workaholics to learn the intricate harmonies of a southern gospel song and have it memorized? “Shouldn’t be a problem—oh, but I think Forbes said something about going to a conference in Baton Rouge in a couple of weeks, so let me check with him—and George and Clay—and I’ll try to let you know by Wednesday.”

“Sounds good—ah, Mairee, no doubt you’re here for our chef extraordinaire.”

Average height, like Meredith, with dark auburn hair, Mairee Guidry entered the dining room with a majestic air. “I hate to steal him away, Frank, but I do have some business to discuss with everyone’s favorite chef.” She hooked her arm through Major’s and, though ever polite, steered him through the crowd without interruption.

She led him up the back staircase from the kitchen. “I know you probably want to get home and relax on your day off.” She pushed open a set of double doors at the end of the hall. “So I’ll keep this as short as possible.”

The study was at least the size of Major’s living room and bedroom combined. Mairee led him to a raised area in a bay window and motioned for him to take one of the wing chairs while she enthroned herself in the other.

“How’s your mother?” she asked, settling back as if ready for a long chat.

“She’s fine. I just came from seeing her, actually.”

Mairee’s eyes flickered to the door. “Oh, good, Lawson—there you are.”

Discomfort settled in Major’s gut. What in the world would they want to talk to him about that they couldn’t do at the office? He blanched. Please, Lord, don’t let anyone have come down with food poisoning last night! But Mairee had told him early yesterday evening she wanted him to come by today.

He stood and offered the chair to Lawson, but Meredith’s father waved him off and pulled one of the ottomans beside Mairee’s chair.

Mairee folded her hands in her lap. “I know you’ve got to be wondering why we asked you to meet with us today, outside of business hours.”

Major nodded and swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat.

“We wanted to discuss your future with Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises. Your annual appraisal is coming up in a couple of weeks, and Lawson and I wanted to take some time to talk to you about your goals and plans for the future.”

Rubbing his tongue hard against the backs of his teeth, Major nodded again, flickering a glance at Lawson then back at Mairee. Meredith looked more like her father than her mother.

“You told us a long time ago that one of your dreams is to open a restaurant here in Bonneterre.” Mairee uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, leaning forward slightly. “We have recently purchased a bundle of properties in the Warehouse District—all of which has been rezoned to commercial and retail space. You may or may not have heard that we have just contracted with another company to develop the area into a village square–style shopping area—boutiques, specialty stores, high fashion, and the like.”

The knot in Major’s stomach stopped twisting.

Lawson took over. “One of the properties in the parcel was a cafeteria. It’s a separate building with a large industrial kitchen. While it would need a complete overhaul, we believe you’re up to the task.”

His heart tripped and fell into his feet, then leaped back up into his throat. “Me? You want me to overhaul the cafeteria?”

Lawson chuckled. “No. Not a cafeteria. A restaurant. Your restaurant. Well, technically, we would own most it—but with an investment, you’ll be a co-owner in addition to being executive chef. And over time, we expect you to buy us out of it—even if it’s just 10 or 20 percent at a time—until it truly is your restaurant.”

Investment. He prayed he had enough money saved. So long as nothing happened with Ma anytime soon, he could be on the road toward becoming the restaurateur he had always dreamed of being.

Mairee laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “We don’t need to get into all of the business details right now—Forbes will take care of that. What we do want is for you to take some time to think about this. You’d still be working for us—drawing a salary—and we would need you to continue to oversee the event catering division. I know that will put quite a strain on your time, but no one ever said opening a restaurant would be easy.”