Page 56 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
“I’m takin’ poetic license here, sir, cut me some slack.”
A sensible man would’ve withered under the stare I sent Rayford. Obviously he wasn’t sensible.
Being annoyingly reasonable, he said, “You don’t want to go back to Kentucky. You also don’t want to be dead-ass broke, because you’ve never had a job in your entire life, and you don’t know how to do anything except collect overpriced automobiles and mope around in your big ol’ mansion. You wouldn’t last an hour as a poor man. So your only other option is marriage. Ideally you’da had a girlfriend you could ask, but your antisocial self doesn’t have one of those, so we gotta be practical and determine who you could stand livin’ with for the next few years before you get divorced and go your separate ways, and everybody’s happy because everybody’s rich.”
He smiled at me. “And from where I’m sittin’, only one woman in the world fits that bill.”
I had to admit it. The man made some very good points.
Shit.
SIXTEEN
BIANCA
Four days had passed since the benefit, and though I kept hoping Jackson would walk through the front door of my restaurant, he never did.
Now I’m as liberated as the next girl, but one thing I will never, ever do is chase after a man. No matter how much of a fascinating puzzle he is. My mama always said the minute you make a move on a man is the minute you lose control, because then he knows he’s got you.
“A woman worth her salt should be the hardest thing a man has to work for in his life, because then she’s a prize, not a gift,” she’d told me. “Anything you get for free is worth exactly what you paid for it: nothing.”
I wasn’t looking for control in a relationship, but I knew she had a point because I’d thrown myself at Trace like I’d been shot from a cannon, and look where that got me.
So I put Jackson Boudreaux out of my mind and focused my energy into taking care of Mama, running the restaurant, and trying to think of ways to make more money.
Unfortunately I was coming up short on all three counts.
“Boo, what’s happenin’ with you?” said Eeny, hands propped on her hips. “I’ve never seen you lookin’ so raggedy!”
We were in the kitchen. It was a weeknight, and the restaurant was full. Mama was in her second round of chemo and was sick as a dog. I’d started spending the night at her place because I was afraid to leave her alone. When I’d looked into the cost of a home health-care worker to help out, I’d nearly fainted.
I should’ve gone into health care instead of the restaurant business.
“I’m fine, Eeny,” I said, rubbing my eyes. They were grainy and bloodshot from lack of sleep, and swollen from crying.
Watching someone you love being slowly poisoned to death is not much fun.
“Girl, you are not fine!” said Eeny, folding her arms over her chest. “I’ve known you since I was cookin’ in your mama’s restaurant and you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and never once have I seen you in such a state! I think you should tell me what’s goin’ on before I pay a visit to Miss Davina and get the truth!”
I stopped stirring the big pot of jambalaya on the stove in front of me and turned a tired eye to Eeny. She stood there glaring at me, searing my eyes with the canary-yellow caftan she was wearing, which had turquoise-blue stripes and a matching turban. All she needed was some fruit in it, and she’d look exactly like the Chiquita Banana lady.
“Where’s your apron?” I asked. “You’re blinding me with that getup.”
She said, “I’m not coverin’ up this beautiful frock I special ordered with one of those dingy ol’ kitchen aprons! And don’t change the subject!”
I loved that she was worried about me, but if I told her the truth, the news would spread around the city faster than the speed of light. Eeny was many wonderful things, but circumspect wasn’t one of them. She loved gossip as much as she loved loud frocks and fried plantains.
So I said, “I’m fighting a bug.”
That wasn’t exactly a lie. I was fighting a bug. The depression/insomnia/so-broke-I-can’t-afford-to-pay-attention bug.
Eeny narrowed her eyes at me. She opened her mouth, but before she could get anything out, Pepper ran through the kitchen doors.
“He’s here again!” she shouted gleefully. “It’s him!”
There was only one person in the world who could get Pepper so excited. I wondered how much Jackson had given her this time.
My heart beating faster, I said, “He’ll have to wait for a table, unless you can move some of those reservations around.”
