The Bridal Suite by Rochelle Alers

Author:Rochelle Alers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

“What do you want to see?” Lamar asked Nydia as he left the CBD and drove along St. Charles Avenue in the direction of Canal Street.

Nydia shifted on her seat and stared at Lamar. There was never a time when she hadn’t found him impeccably groomed. Not a strand of his cropped gray hair was out of place, and whether clean-shaven or electing to sport a stubble, Lamar was the epitome of a metrosexual. His long, slender fingers with clean, square-cut nails indicated he was mindful of his overall appearance.

Nydia did not want to believe she was that superficial to be attracted to a man because of the way he looked, as it had been with Danny, but she knew deep down inside Lamar was as different from her ex as night and day. Danny refused to take responsibility for himself, preferring to depend on his sister to house and feed him. Lamar, although widowed, had elected to remain single because his daughter had become his priority. He had admitted to sleeping with women before meeting Nydia, but hadn’t disclosed whether he’d introduced any of them to Kendra.

“The French Quarter,” she replied, “Bourbon, Ramparts, Basin and Burgundy Streets, and the Farmers’ Market.”

Lamar gave her a quick glance. “Hold up, beautiful. You want to see a lot in just a few hours.”

Nydia rested her left hand on his right one, which cradled the gearshift. “If you don’t mind being my guide, then I’m willing to space out the tour over several weekends. That is, if you don’t work weekends,” she added.

“I try not to work weekends, because I want to plan things to do with Kendra.”

“But you came up to New York to see me on the weekend,” she reminded Lamar.

“That was the exception. It was apparent you needed my help.”

She removed her hand. “You’re right, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“It’s not about gratitude, Nydia. You’ll learn soon enough that folks down here look out for one another.”

“I haven’t officially become a New Orleanian.”

“That doesn’t matter, because you will.” Lamar rested his arm over the back of her seat when he stopped for a red light. “Now that you’ve twisted my arm and got me to agree to learn to cook, what are you going to start out with?”

“I’ll show you how to put together a salad and a sandwich.”

He chuckled. “That sounds easy.”

Her smile was dazzling. “Aren’t you overly confident?”

“How difficult can it be to make a salad, cariña? All you need is lettuce, tomatoes, and maybe cucumber. And a sandwich is meat between two slices of bread.”

“Salads aren’t always made with greens, sweetie. There’s caprese made with tomatoes and mozzarella cheese and basil leaves; salad niçoise. There’s also Greek, tabbouleh, potato, and Cobb salads. Please tell me if a Cuban sandwich is just meat between two slices of bread?”

“No way,” Lamar countered. His fingers combed through the hair on her nape before his hand returned to the gearshift.

Nydia inclined her head. “I rest my case.”

“I find Cuban sandwiches addictive,” he admitted.

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