A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance) (7 page)

“Yes, it is,” her grandmother said. “Main Street is the heart of this community. If those developers see how strong the support is for local business, then maybe we can get them to stop sniffing around.”

Mya crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you have to say about your new best friend, Corey, being the new store’s biggest cheerleader?”

Her grandmother shot her a frustrated scowl. “I’ve tried to tell him better, but he’s hardheaded.”

“He says the developers plan to work with the local businesses.”

That statement got her another disapproving glower. “They say that now, but I know how these big companies work. They’ll drop their prices until no one else can compete with them, and after they’ve run all the other stores out of business, that’s when they’ll jack the prices up.” Her grandmother wagged a finger at her. “You mark my words. If we let those developers set up shop here, it’ll be the beginning of the end of this town as we know it.”

Mya leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s forehead. “You don’t have to worry about that. Gauthier isn’t going anywhere.”

Mya was taken aback by the comfort that accompanied that thought. For someone who had spent most of her youth itching to flee this town, she couldn’t deny the sense of security she’d derived in seeing that so much of Gauthier had remained the same. This town—these people—would always be a part of her.

Despite the disruption it would cause to her nicely structured life, Mya knew she wouldn’t be buying a return ticket to New York anytime soon. New York would always be there. She owed it to Gauthier to make sure the same could be said for her hometown.

Chapter 6

C
orey gulped down half the cup of sweetened iced tea as he read over the expense reports from last season’s games. The school board’s financial director had warned him that Gauthier High’s athletic department would probably face budget cuts. He was preparing himself for when
probably
became
definitely
.

“You look like someone just stole your bicycle.”

Corey’s head popped up. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched Mya stroll toward the wooden picnic table he’d commandeered underneath the carport at Jessie’s. She looked good enough to eat.

“Just work,” he said, closing the manila folder and scooting over on the bench to make a spot for her. She walked over to the other side and sat across from him. That was probably for the best. For the past few days, he hadn’t been thinking straight when it came to Mya.

“I can’t believe this place hasn’t been shut down yet,” she remarked, her eyes roaming around the open-air carport that was attached to Jessie LeBlanc’s wood-frame house. “I’m no expert on Louisiana state law, but I believe it’s illegal to run a restaurant out of your home’s kitchen.”

“And that’s supposed to stop Jessie?” Corey laughed. “She caters the Policemen’s Banquet every year.”

“Gotta love small towns where things like proper licenses and permits don’t matter.”

“Can you smell that fried fish? Who cares whether or not she has a permit?” Corey rose from the picnic table and entered through the screen door that led to the back porch. Rapping lightly on the open kitchen door, he ordered two plates of fried catfish with a side of potato salad and two sweetened iced teas.

When he returned to the table, Mya was gazing toward the huge oak tree in Jessie’s backyard, a wistful smile tilting her lips.

“I know why you’re smiling,” Corey said as he slid onto the bench.

She brought her gaze to him and quirked a brow.

He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. Heavy on the husky, he murmured, “Junior year. Gauthier versus Slidell High School. I hit three home runs, and you rewarded me over by that oak tree.”

Her smile broadened as she slid a heavy-lidded gaze back toward the tree. “Everyone was sitting here under the carport eating burgers. They never even realized we were gone.”

“And we just slipped right back here after we were done,” Corey said, his gut tightening at the memory.

“You talked me into doing the wildest things,” Mya murmured.

“Nah-uh.” Corey shook his head. “That time, you’re the one who did the talking. I was sitting over there with the guys.” He pointed to the spot where Jessie used to keep an ice chest filled with free sodas for the team. “You caught my attention and lured me over to that oak tree.”

Her eyes widened and her grin turned into a full-on smile. “I remember now,” she said.

“You seduced me, Mya Dubois. I was like an innocent little lamb being led to slaughter.”

She barked out a laugh. “Don’t even try it. Everything I knew about seduction, I learned from you.”

Corey reached across the table and fingered her slim wrist. “I taught you well.”

The pulse beneath her delicate skin escalated as his gaze silently, steadily bore into hers. As the heat of the shared memory burned hotter than the midday sun, Corey leaned forward, the impulse to taste her mouth overriding his senses.

The minute his lips met hers, he was catapulted back in time, to an era when his entire world revolved around getting to do this very thing as much as possible. He traced his tongue along Mya’s lips, urging them to part. When they did, Corey dove into the moist warmth, probing, seeking, unearthing her unique flavor.

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, reacquainting himself with a mouth he had not tasted in fifteen long years. She tasted just as he remembered—sweet with a hint of spice.

With a pained moan, Mya abruptly pulled away from him.

“Stop this, Corey,” she said, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths. “I’m not going there with you again, so just stop it.”

Corey suppressed the curse on the tip of his tongue. She was resisting him. He refused to believe she was immune to these rekindled feelings.

He wouldn’t call her on it...yet. But he would prove that she was as affected by him as he was by her.

He flipped the pages of his notebook until he found a clean sheet. “Are we ready to get started?” he asked.

With a shaky hand—evidence that she had been affected by their kiss—Mya gestured to the folders sprawled out on the picnic table. “Did you have something else you needed to finish?” She pulled a pen and paper from the bag she’d brought with her.

“Not really,” Corey said. “This paperwork isn’t going anywhere. I’ll get it done tomorrow.”

She shot him a quizzical look. “I always wondered what coaches did during the day while their players are in class.”

“This coach teaches economics and American history,” Corey answered. He was pretty sure the shocked expression on her face should have offended him, but it was too funny for him to be upset.

He nodded. “Believe it or not, I’m good for something other than swinging a baseball bat and hot-wiring cars. Who would have thought, huh?”

That garnered him a chastising frown. “Stop that,” she said. “You know I never thought you were only good for swinging a baseball bat.”

“What about hot-wiring cars?”

“I’m being serious, Corey. I thought you dropped out of college to play in the major leagues?” she asked.

“I left after my junior year, but I continued to take classes during the off-season until I earned my degree.”

“I had no idea.” She fiddled with a couple of salt and pepper packets that had been left on the picnic table. “Do you miss it?” she asked after a few moments had passed.

“Baseball?” Corey shrugged. “Of course I do. Baseball was my life.”

“I watched your games whenever I could,” she said. “Both while you were in college and when you joined the Arizona Diamondbacks.”

Corey fully owned the joy that single admission induced. He had always hoped she’d kept tabs on him once she left Gauthier, but he’d had too much pride to inquire from her grandmother whether Mya asked about him when she called home.

“Those were good times,” he said. “But I’m enjoying coaching. When the doctors told me my shoulder injury was career-ending, I thought the game would be lost to me forever. It’s pretty satisfying to be able to put my baseball knowledge to good use, you know?”

Why was he telling her all of this? She’d asked him to help come up with a plan for sprucing up Main Street, not recap his life story. Maybe if she didn’t look so damn interested in what he was saying, he’d shut up.

Thankfully, Jessie’s granddaughter appeared, balancing two plates of perfectly fried catfish and rounded scoops of potato salad along with two plastic cups of iced tea.

“So, what are your thoughts for this cleanup day?” Corey asked as he broke off a piece of fish, more than ready to shift the topic of conversation away from himself.

Mya stared at him for a moment longer, then mercifully flipped the cover open on her notepad. “I jotted down a few ideas. Most of the stores do a good job taking care of their own property, but the public areas could use some work. We don’t have a huge budget to work with, but if we can get enough people to pitch in with the labor, we can use our dollars for other things.

“I’m going to try to solicit as many donations as possible. I talked to Campbell’s Nursery over in Bogalusa, and the owner is willing to sell us seedlings and bulbs at cost. We’re going to add shrubbery around the base of the lampposts and some more flowers to the landscaping in Heritage Park.”

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

Mya shrugged. “Grandma and I were talking about it earlier today. She was so excited. I guess she’s rubbing off on me.”

As they feasted on fried catfish and diabetes-inducing sweet iced tea, they broke the cleaning tasks into categories and estimated how many people would be needed for each group in order to get the work done.

“You won’t have a problem convincing your players to pitch in, will you?”

“Don’t worry about the team,” Corey said. “And I’m pretty sure you’ll get people from the area churches to help out.”

“You’re right. No town rallies behind a cause quite like Gauthier. I still remember when that political group from up north tried to stop the living nativity from taking place in Heritage Park.”

“People take their Christmas celebrations seriously around here.”

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Speaking of celebrations, I need to head over to the library. I promised Grandma I would help write the town’s history for the pamphlet she wants to put together for the anniversary celebration. Hey, you think Leroy Gauthier would have some info? Maybe I should stop in at his law office.”

“Leroy Gauthier is an appellate court judge in New Orleans. His son Matthew took over the family practice.”

“Little Matt Gauthier?”

“He’s not all that little. He was only a few years behind us,” Corey said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. The town is named after their family, after all. Maybe he has some old stories passed down at reunions that the rest of us don’t know about.”

She pushed her empty plate to the side and flipped the cover on her notepad. The sight of her preparing to leave pinched his chest. “You’re not going to have any of Jessie’s bread pudding?” Corey asked, trying to think of any reason to get her to stay just a few minutes longer.

“It’s bad enough I wolfed down that fried fish,” she said. “I’ll need to jog from here to Maplesville to work off this food.”

Corey dragged his eyes in a deliberately slow perusal up and down Mya’s incredibly toned body. At thirty-two she was in better shape than someone half her age.

“Your body is one thing you don’t have to worry about,” he said.

“Don’t look at me like that, Corey.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you’ve decided I would be a better dessert than Jessie’s bread pudding.”

They were just words, but the image they brought to mind made him harder than forged steel. His tongue darted out of his mouth, and he licked his lips, remembering the taste a fifteen-year dearth could not obliterate.

“It’s not even a question,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to get on the menu.”

He was well acquainted with that glazed look that came over her eyes. He had rendered her speechless with his lips and fingers and tongue enough times to know her body’s every reaction.

Trying to start up anything with Mya was just asking for frustration and heartache. His rational side knew it as fact, but the part of him that burned like a bonfire for her was waging an all-out campaign to get into Mya Dubois’s pants. It was as if the raging hormones of the guys on his baseball team had somehow rubbed off on him. He was a grown man. He shouldn’t be sporting wood after a few minutes of light flirting and one kiss. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t hard as a brick. Only Mya could have this effect on him.

“Thanks for the early dinner,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I’m able to get anything from Matthew Gauthier.”

Corey turned around on the bench and rested his elbows on the picnic table as he watched her march to her aunt’s car. She was rattled, and he wasn’t so sure it was a good thing. The last time he’d rattled Mya, she’d left town and stayed away for fifteen years.

Then again, it was pretty much a certainty that she would leave again in a matter of days. He’d better do as much rattling as he could while he still had the chance.

* * *

Mya stuffed the old book bag she’d found in the closet between the spare tire and the box of clothes marked Goodwill in Maureen’s trunk. She went back into the house and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge before stopping in the living room where her grandmother lounged in her grandfather’s soft leather recliner.

“You’ll be okay?” Mya asked, bending over and placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s not as if your aunt will let me do anything.”

“Do you know what ‘take it easy’ means?” Maureen called from the laundry room. “I can bring you back to the hospital so the doctor can explain it again.”

Her grandmother looked up at Mya and rolled her eyes. Then she turned her attention back to the television. “That Paula Deen knows she likes herself some butter. Look at that.”

“Please don’t have a twelve-thousand-calorie pound cake baking when I get back,” Mya pleaded. She was sure she’d gained five pounds in the week she’d been in Gauthier.

“Mama knows better than to try baking pound cake,” Maureen yelled.

“You sure you don’t need company on your trip to Baton Rouge?” her grandmother drawled.

“No. I still remember how to get to Baton Rouge, and I borrowed Phylicia’s navigation system to guide me to the state library.”

“Thank you again for doing this, baby,” her grandmother said. “I know you hadn’t planned on any of this when you came home.”

“I told you it’s not a problem,” Mya assured her. “I’m just hoping I have better luck at the state library. There has to be more on this town’s history than what I could find in the library here, and Matthew Gauthier was no help at all.”

“He’s a busy lawyer, even in this small town,” Grandma said.

“I’ll probably be gone most of the day since just the drive will take three hours round trip. Aunt Mo?” Mya called. “You sure you’re okay with me taking your car?”

Maureen came into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel that she then tossed onto her shoulder. “Little girl, how many times do I have to tell you to take the dang car?”

Mya grinned. “Thank you. And unlike I used to do in high school, I’ll be sure to bring it back with a full tank.”

“You’d better,” Maureen warned.

Mya gave them both parting kisses before heading out of the house. Her steps slowed as Corey’s Escalade pulled up. He climbed out of the SUV, sunglasses covering his eyes. His freshly pressed shorts and polo shirt were definitely not for cutting grass.

Still, Mya said, “You’re a week early, aren’t you? I thought you cut Grandma’s grass every
other
Saturday?”