Page 68 of Crazy Rich Cajuns

Still, she soaped up, rinsed off, and stepped out of the shower without doing a thing about it.

She was in trouble.

Ten minutes later, Kennedy was downstairs in a tank top and shorts, her hair in a ponytail, scrounging in the kitchen.It seemed that breakfast had been served earlier, probably before the guys left for the golf course, but she’d slept through it.

Which was fine.All she really needed was coffee, bacon, and some grits.She opened three cupboards without finding anything though.She frowned.Maria was a Cajun girl.She might not live that way now, but there was no way a girl who had grown up in Louisiana gave up grits entirely.She finally found what she was looking for in a lower cupboard back behind the oatmeal and coconut flour.What the hell was coconut flour?

She started with the hangover cure, running the blender and pouring a big glass.She’d drink that while she made everything else.

“Please, please,pleasenever turn that blender on again.”

She turned to see Charles shuffling toward the coffeepot.

Kennedy’s ibuprofen and the twelve ounces of water she’d downed were already working and she grinned.“Good morning, Governor.”

“Fuck vanilla vodka.”

“Dude.Same,” she said sincerely.

“Seriously.”He slid up onto a stool, cradling his cup with one hand and resting his head on his other hand.“How can that stuff be so potent?”

Kennedy continued gathering what she needed for the grits.“No idea.At least after a night with moonshine you have some great karaoke on video and probably a story or two about how you won a slam dunk contest or something.”

Charles chuckled, then groaned.

“So, no golfing for you, huh?”she asked, assembling the ingredients.Looked like she was making sweet grits for two.

“I don’t like golfing on my best day,” Charles said, nursing his coffee.“Definitely not today.”

While the water heated, Kennedy dug in the fridge, bringing out bacon and eggs.

Charles groaned again as she began breaking and beating eggs.

“Oh, no, you’re eating,” she said.“You start with the grits.They’ll soak up all the alcohol, but then you have to have protein.”

He justharrumphedin reply.

“And,” she said, bringing the glass of tomato juice—and other stuff—to him.He needed it more than she did.“Drink this after your coffee.”

“Bloody Mary?”he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“My grandma’s best friend’s remedy,” Kennedy said.“Tomato juice, spinach, and cayenne.And a few other things.Worcestershire and salt.Stuff like that.”

“Cayenne?”

“Trust me.Natural pain reliever.”

Charles tipped back the rest of his coffee and reached for the glass.Kennedy went back to the stove.

“So, Charles,” she said, as she stirred the grits and started the bacon frying.“What’s the deal with Bennett and his dad?”

Charles didn’t reply and she looked over her shoulder.He seemed to be considering his answer.

“What’s he told you?”he asked.

“Nothing.I get the definite impression they don’t get along.That his dad is disappointed in him not running for office.”

“That’s part of it,” Charles agreed.

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