Jasmine furrowed her brow. Pharmaceutical sales reps, who had Bay Point Community Hospital in their territories, often stopped in for breakfast or lunch on the way in or out of town. She distinctly remembered giving Micah a pen imprinted with the brand name of some kind of drug, but she’d humor the man. Besides, where would he have kept it? The polo shirt he’d worn had no pockets.
“Sure, hold on,” she said, and set the phone upright on the bar.
Just for kicks, she did check near where he sat, but there was nothing but some food scraps on the floor. Not from him, she knew, but from the previous customer who routinely dropped food in his lap, while talking to his coworker.
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You do have what I’m seeking. You just don’t know it yet.”
He sighed and the low sound vibrated, soft and sexy, against her ear as though he were right next to her.
Suddenly she knew what he was implying and her loins pulsed with need. And though he’d made her go chasing for something that didn’t exist, she found him very exciting.
She sucked in a breath, and he chuckled softly.
“Get lost, Micah,” she said, disconnecting the call.
Jasmine stuck her hands in her apron and brought out his receipt. She examined his signature, or autograph she supposed, if she were a fan, which she most definitely was not. Her eyes traced his phone number, committing it to memory.
Time for a fling? Perhaps.
Time for love? Not a chance.
Micah chuckled as he pulled up to his parents’ beachfront estate. With Jasmine’s sexy New Orleans drawl still in his ear, his body hummed with desire. Even though she’d hung up on him, the call energized him.
Coming home always brought back the guilt that he’d left in the first place.
His parents were never happy with his decision to stay away from Bay Point after culinary school. Because of their deep roots in the community, they’d wanted him to start a business there, but he’d refused and his relationship with them had suffered.
It was important to him to make his own way, with or without their blessing. That feeling hadn’t changed, although sometimes he wished things could have been different between them.
The briny ocean breeze hit him as soon as he stepped out of his air-conditioned car. He got his suitcase from the back seat, relieved to see that there were no other vehicles in the area adjacent to the circular driveway.
His brothers, Gregory and Marlon, always parked their cars in the attached six-car garage on the other side of the Spanish-style home. His parents loved to entertain on a regular basis, but it looked like tonight would be a family-only affair.
Micah felt a pain in his gut knowing that after ten years as a successful chef and restaurant owner, his parents still didn’t respect his choice of a career.
This time, I won’t let them get to me.
The scent of sand and seaweed further boosted his positive mood as he wheeled his suitcase up the red brick path to the front door. He punched in the security code, went in and stowed his bag next to the curved staircase, just outside the expansive foyer.
He slipped off his shoes and peeked in the library, which his father also used as an office. It was empty, so he strode into the large living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in late afternoon light and he could see everyone had gathered outside.
Micah closed the patio door behind him and was soon enveloped in his mother’s embrace.
“It’s good to have you home, son.”
“For a small woman, you pack some powerful hugs,” Micah joked, giving her a tight squeeze back.
Helen Langston, only five feet tall, was a giant of philanthropy in Bay Point, raising thousands of dollars for causes she cared about. In her early sixties, her demeanor with her children was often cool and distant, but in public and at parties she always turned on the charm. Impeccably dressed, even when just relaxing at home, her short coppery-brown hair was always cut in the latest style.
“I’ve been saving them up for a while,” she said, after releasing her grip.
Gregory, the middle Langston, was lounging on a chaise. He uncrossed his ankles but did not get up.
“You can thank me for getting him back in town. I’m the one trying to get him to open up a restaurant here.”
Micah strolled over. “Lying down on the job again, Mayor? At least give me a proper greeting.”
He picked up Gregory’s legs and swung them out of the way so he could sit down, ignoring his brother’s protests.
“Okay, but I’m warning you, if I shake your hand, it’s a done deal.”
Micah got the hint and stood, a wry smile on his face, knowing his brother was dead serious. “My partners and I bought the building, but as you already know, we haven’t decided whose restaurant will be utilizing the space.”
Marlon, the eldest brother, strode over and draped an arm around his shoulders. He gave him a gruff, but hearty squeeze that almost caused Micah to trip over his own feet.
“If Gregory’s big tax breaks won’t work, can I tempt you with one of my not-so-famous mango margaritas?”
“Made with farm-fresh, organic ingredients?”
“Don’t ask, just drink,” Marlon teased.
Micah reached around and punched his brother’s right shoulder, a funny kind of “man hug” that was a tradition with them.
“Hangover coming right up.”
Marlon walked to the wrought iron patio table and grabbed a pitcher.
Micah chuckled when he poured a healthy serving of the frosty beverage into a margarita glass.
“Leave the man alone,” his father admonished. “Be glad he had the decency to grace us with his presence this time.”
Theodore (Theo) Langston swirled his half-filled glass of scotch and water from his seat under the edge of the table’s huge umbrella, setting himself apart from the family as usual. It occurred to Micah that he was somewhat like him, but in the next moment, he told himself that wasn’t true.
His father, a well-known personal injury attorney had the kind of class and style that could never be duplicated even though he was sometimes accused of being an ambulance chaser, mostly by jealous peers who couldn’t get, nor handle, his caseload. He dealt in slips and falls, auto accidents, medical malpractice and other injuries, for clients in Bay Point and surrounding cities in Northern California.
“Bad day at work, Dad?” Micah asked, dragging over a chair next to him. The harsh sound of iron on stone made everyone wince.
“Nah, the usual.” Theo raised his glass before draining the contents. “Since your brother became the mayor two years ago, my business has tripled, but I’m not complaining.”
He rubbed his stomach and turned to his mother. “When is dinner? I’m starving.”
She consulted her bracelet wristwatch, a family heirloom. Even though Micah wasn’t in to jewelry, the bone china face with tiny hands, surrounded in diamonds, always awed him. The elegance of the piece suited her perfectly.
“You know your father won’t eat a minute earlier than six p.m.”