Galahad in Jeans (Louisiana Knights Book 2) Read Free Page A

and the heavy oak chairs had been spaced around on the oak floor from the beginning, and would be there until the end. A counter with stools topped by red plastic ran along one side, a few booths occupied the dim back regions, and a juke box from the Rock and Roll era sat in the near corner. The air was rich with the smells of fresh coffee, baked goods, roasting wieners, toasting buns and yesterday’s onions.
    “Beau! Long time no see!” Zeni, the twenty-something manager, with her multi-colored hair, zombie makeup and small gold ring in her nose, waved her spatula in greeting from where she stood behind the grill. “What’ll it be?”
    He gave their order, and then pulled out a chair at a window table, waiting to seat Carla. She glanced at his choice, but stepped around to the chair on the opposite side. Taking it, she lifted a brow.
    Fine, if that’s the way she wanted it. Beau swung the chair he held out and dropped into it, stretching his long legs at an angle away from the small table to give her room.
    “Do you always order for your dates?”
    Beau met the challenge in her direct gaze head on. “Is this a date?”
    “Don’t be absurd,” she said, her voice sharp as a saw brier. “You know what I mean.”
    The hazel of her eyes turned as green as spring grass when she was annoyed, he saw, but weren’t nearly as warm or as soft. She was buttoned up in her mannish black, her shining, honey-blond hair tucked back in severe control. Her oval face appeared tight with stress and a little pale, and her full mouth was set in a straight line. It should have been off-putting. Instead, his fingers itched to unbutton her, take down her hair, and make her smile. Yes, and find out what her eyes and her lips looked like when she’d been thoroughly kissed.
    He knew what she’d feel like, as he’d had that pleasure just now. And maybe enjoyed it a little too much, which was no doubt what caused the rest of his too-warm speculation.
    “The answer to your question would be, yeah, I do the ordering,” he said with a tip of his head. “When I know what the lady wants.”
    “And you always know what she wants?”
    Now how was he to take that? Beau wasn’t quite sure, but didn’t mind playing along. “I do when she decides to tell me.”
    “So you wait to be told.”
    “Not always. Sometimes I ask.”
    The slight widening of her eyes told him she got the point. Trouble was, thinking about the questions he could put to her in the dark was getting to him, too. He needed to back off before he embarrassed himself.
    Zeni arrived just then, setting their orders off her tray and plunking down a sugar bowl, cream pitcher and two set-ups of paper napkin-wrapped utensils. Curiosity was written all over her face as she looked at Beau. “Anything else, folks?”
    “I’m good,” Carla said.
    “We’re fine, thanks,” Beau agreed with a nod and a smile.
    He took his coffee black, but sat back and watched as the lady editor added enough cream to hers to turn it almost white. As she stirred it into a small whirlpool, a wavelet slipped over the side of the cup and puddled in the saucer.
    “Wait a second,” Beau said as she started to sip the brew. He reached out with his napkin to catch the drip that was about to spot the pristine white collar of her blouse.
    Surprise rose in her eyes, lingering there as she stared at him across the top of her coffee cup. Then she took the napkin from his hand, using it to absorb the spill in her saucer.
    “Do you do that kind of thing all the time, or is it supposed to impress me?” she asked as she attended to the small task.
    “What kind of—” He stopped, drew a deep breath as irritation crept over him. All he’d done was try to be helpful. “It was nothing. Really. Aunt Tillie would have said I flubbed it, that I should have offered my handkerchief.”
    “You carry a handkerchief?” She ran her gaze over him as if looking for it.
    Beau reached into the back pocket of his jeans and