worse for letting her down.
Once they’d finally left Baton Rouge behind, the roads grew narrower, quieter and lined with oaks. More important, now that they were getting close to Po Boy’s, her aunt’s restaurant, the roads were filled with the occasional pothole.
“Man,” Matt said as he steered around one. “You weren’t kidding about the condition of the roads.” He glanced into his rearview mirror. “That one should be named Grand Canyon, the junior.”
The conversation was as good a lead-in as she’d ever get. “So what’s it like where you’re from?” Callie asked. She twisted in the passenger seat of her car and leaned back against the door to better study Matt as he steered her car down the road. “Where do you live again?”
“Manford, Michigan.”
Which hardly answered the question burning in her brain. She hiked a brow, encouraging him to go on.
Two beats passed before he answered. “Midsize town. We have a mall, a couple of movie theatres and the hospital is decent enough. Though the emergency room isn’t as big as I’d like.”
Something in his tone told her that last statement represented a massive understatement.
“I thought you worked as a traveling doc,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “I have a part-time job at Manford Memorial. That allows me enough free time to travel as a locums, picking up shifts in bigger cities.”
“If you prefer living in a larger city, why are you living there?”
Several seconds ticked by. “It’s home.” He gave a shrug, the act as vague as his words.
But his voice gave him away, the lack of excitement almost palpable. Callie loved New Orleans, loved everything about the town that managed to merge quirky and a unique cultural heritage with its own brand of Southern charm, all at the same time. The city merged the concepts with a kind of easy grace that amazed her, every single time, and provided the perfect backdrop for her business. Despite the strained relationships, her family was here, too. She’d grown up in the area and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Matt, apparently, had little affection for his own town.
“Promise me something,” she said, and he looked at her curiously. “No matter what happens, don’t go to work for the Manford Chamber of Commerce doing tourist promotion, because you would really suck at the job.”
Matt laughed, and she admired the strong throat, the even, white teeth. His sandy, tousled hair that begged to be ruffled, and Callie flexed her fingers against the urge to reach over and run her fingers through his hair.
In an attempt to dodge a pothole on the left, Matt steered the Toyota to the right, and the front tire hit a second pothole. He shot her a look, and Callie lifted a shoulder. “You get used to it.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You grew up out here?”
“Yep,” she said. “Born right here in Clemence Parish. Spent my childhood playing in the water, fishing and catching crawfish.”
“A tomboy?”
“And proud of it.”
She pointed out the turns, the roads growing narrower, until finally they hit the dirt road that dead-ended into Po Boy’s. There were a half dozen or so cars in the gravel parking lot, shaded by huge oaks, and Matt pulled into a spot in the front.
They exited and rounded the car. Matt came to a stop to stare up at the wooden building.
“Aunt Billie’s restaurant looks...interesting.”
Callie grinned at the expression on his face. The paint on the siding was peeling and cracked, the wood beneath faded to gray where exposed to the sun. The front porch held several tables and chairs, but Callie knew the customers preferred the back and the view of the river.
“Authentic,” she said.
He hiked a brow. “Safe?”
She bit back a smile. “Absolutely.”
They made their way up the wooden front steps. Matt’s hand settled into the dip in her spine, and the heat seeped through her shirt and warmed her skin. Unfortunately, the
Once they’d finally left Baton Rouge behind, the roads grew narrower, quieter and lined with oaks. More important, now that they were getting close to Po Boy’s, her aunt’s restaurant, the roads were filled with the occasional pothole.
“Man,” Matt said as he steered around one. “You weren’t kidding about the condition of the roads.” He glanced into his rearview mirror. “That one should be named Grand Canyon, the junior.”
The conversation was as good a lead-in as she’d ever get. “So what’s it like where you’re from?” Callie asked. She twisted in the passenger seat of her car and leaned back against the door to better study Matt as he steered her car down the road. “Where do you live again?”
“Manford, Michigan.”
Which hardly answered the question burning in her brain. She hiked a brow, encouraging him to go on.
Two beats passed before he answered. “Midsize town. We have a mall, a couple of movie theatres and the hospital is decent enough. Though the emergency room isn’t as big as I’d like.”
Something in his tone told her that last statement represented a massive understatement.
“I thought you worked as a traveling doc,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “I have a part-time job at Manford Memorial. That allows me enough free time to travel as a locums, picking up shifts in bigger cities.”
“If you prefer living in a larger city, why are you living there?”
Several seconds ticked by. “It’s home.” He gave a shrug, the act as vague as his words.
But his voice gave him away, the lack of excitement almost palpable. Callie loved New Orleans, loved everything about the town that managed to merge quirky and a unique cultural heritage with its own brand of Southern charm, all at the same time. The city merged the concepts with a kind of easy grace that amazed her, every single time, and provided the perfect backdrop for her business. Despite the strained relationships, her family was here, too. She’d grown up in the area and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Matt, apparently, had little affection for his own town.
“Promise me something,” she said, and he looked at her curiously. “No matter what happens, don’t go to work for the Manford Chamber of Commerce doing tourist promotion, because you would really suck at the job.”
Matt laughed, and she admired the strong throat, the even, white teeth. His sandy, tousled hair that begged to be ruffled, and Callie flexed her fingers against the urge to reach over and run her fingers through his hair.
In an attempt to dodge a pothole on the left, Matt steered the Toyota to the right, and the front tire hit a second pothole. He shot her a look, and Callie lifted a shoulder. “You get used to it.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You grew up out here?”
“Yep,” she said. “Born right here in Clemence Parish. Spent my childhood playing in the water, fishing and catching crawfish.”
“A tomboy?”
“And proud of it.”
She pointed out the turns, the roads growing narrower, until finally they hit the dirt road that dead-ended into Po Boy’s. There were a half dozen or so cars in the gravel parking lot, shaded by huge oaks, and Matt pulled into a spot in the front.
They exited and rounded the car. Matt came to a stop to stare up at the wooden building.
“Aunt Billie’s restaurant looks...interesting.”
Callie grinned at the expression on his face. The paint on the siding was peeling and cracked, the wood beneath faded to gray where exposed to the sun. The front porch held several tables and chairs, but Callie knew the customers preferred the back and the view of the river.
“Authentic,” she said.
He hiked a brow. “Safe?”
She bit back a smile. “Absolutely.”
They made their way up the wooden front steps. Matt’s hand settled into the dip in her spine, and the heat seeped through her shirt and warmed her skin. Unfortunately, the
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