Blossoming Love – An Excerpt from Bourbon Street Nights, by Jack Caldwell

Greetings, everyone. Jack Caldwell here. Sorry it’s been so long between posts. I don’t wish to bore you with what’s been happening down here in Louisiana, but I have been writing when not looking after one of my grandsons.

The trials of being me.

This month, Jane Austen Variations is doing “Blossoming Love.” Now, most of my stuff are either sequels or moderns. The moderns can get a little racy. But one couple came to mine: Emma and George from my New Orleans JAFF novel, BOURBON STREET NIGHTS.

Let me set the scene. It’s early 1999. College student Emma Weinberg (rather than Woodhouse; I’ve changed some of the names) lives in the Garden District of New Orleans with her Papa, Abe. She is hosting a pre-party for that night’s Mardi Gas parade. Coming by are her good friends Elizabeth Bourdreaux (Bennet) and Marianne Dashwood. She is also hosting Elizabeth’s nursing student sister, Jane, for the weekend. Mrs. Talyor is the family’s housekeeper and cook. Emma doesn’t expect that the family friend, heart surgeon Dr. George Katz (Knightley) is also stopping by.

Friday, February 12, 1999: Garden District

It was the Friday before Mardi Gras, and all through Emma’s house, it was anything but quiet.

Emma dashed through the various rooms, trying to prepare for her guest, Elizabeth’s sister, Jane, and all her friends who were going to use the place as their central headquarters and designated restroom for the parades. Mrs. Taylor had prepared tons of hors d’oeuvres, but they were still in the refrigerator, yet to be placed out or heated. The decorations had to be finished, the beer and wine chilled, and Papa was useless.

Just as Emma was ready to scream, the doorbell sounded. No! Jane can’t be here now! I’m not ready! Emma brushed off her hands on her apron, ran her fingers through her hair, and answered the door.

“Doctor George! Come in, come in. I didn’t know you were coming over. You’re not working?”

“Abe invited me. I’m on call for Sunday, but other than that, I’m free.”

“That’s wonderful. Papa’s in his study watching basketball. Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m okay. What’s with the apron? What are you doing? Looks like you’re getting ready for a—oh, Emma, Abe didn’t do it again, did he?”

Emma laughed. “Oh, no. Everyone’s coming by before the parade. We’ve got plenty—even for you.” She looked down. “And this apron was my mother’s. I wear it to remind me of her. She always wore it when she was setting up a party.” It wasn’t some frilly June Cleaver thing—it was white and functional, with the exception of the initials “RW” in script across the lone pocket. Something a real cook might wear.

George looked at all the boxes in the dining room. “Looks like you’ve got a lot to do.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ve got to get all this stuff done, Elizabeth’s sister is staying here for Mardi Gras, and Miz Taylor’s off for the weekend.”

“Need some help?”

Emma smiled at her long-time friend. “Would you? You’re such a sweetie!” She grabbed his hand. “C’mon!”

Emma concentrated on the decorations, while George schlepped the heavy stuff. Emma was on a stepladder when she lost her balance, only to be steadied by George’s strong arms.

“Watch it there, Em,” he advised.

Thanking him, she returned to her task. However, she glanced every so often at her rescuer. She had never been aware of his strong hands or long fingers before. Now that she noticed, she could see the good doctor had a fine pair of guns on him. The idea of George working out was an intriguing notion.

He really is a good looking guy, she considered. I wonder why some girl hasn’t snatched him up yet?

***

An hour later, the food to be heated was set out next to the oven, the beer and wine were on ice, and the dining room was decorated in Mardi Gras colors. The chips and nuts were already in their proper dishes. Steamers stretched from the chandelier to the corners of the room. Purple, green, and gold confetti was strewn over the tablecloth just so. Emma stood back to judge her efforts, one hand on her chin.

George wiped his hands with a dishtowel and watched her from the kitchen. In her all-purple outfit with the apron over it, Emma had grown to be a beautiful, sophisticated, yet domestic woman. No one could ignore her two most prominent assets, of course, and George felt the stirrings he had experienced many times in the last few years.

One was the occasion of Emma’s graduation from Newman. She wore a lovely white dress with a slightly low neckline. She was laughing for the first time since her mother’s death, and she bent over slightly to retrieve her Coke, and George was in prefect alignment to appreciate her décolleté. It was the most disconcerting feeling George had ever experienced.

Since then, George had unsuccessfully fought his lust for her. It was a losing cause. One of Emma’s more endearing qualities was her modesty. She had absolutely no idea how gorgeous she was. Instead, she’d complain about her nose, or gripe what a pain it was to wear contacts. But she wouldn’t do anything about it. Emma disliked hospitals and was terrified of surgery. That was why she refused to get a nose job or LASIK surgery. As far as George was concerned, he never wanted her to change. There was something charming about her face, and her nose, long or not, suited her. It made her Emma, and Emma was lovely just as she was.

And there were other things to appreciate about her. She had a kind and generous personality. Her loyalty and devotion to her father was admirable. He knew, for all her protests to the contrary, it was she and Mrs. Taylor who ran this household.

Damn if he wasn’t falling in love with her.

George moved into the room, stopping right behind Emma. “It looks lovely, Emma. Don’t change a thing.”

She looked back over her shoulder at him, and he knew she missed the double meaning in his words. “You think?” She turned back to the table and sighed. “Okay, we’re done.”

George shifted so he was alongside her. “I remember what a wonderful hostess your mother was, Em. You do her proud.”

She turned to him. “Oh, George, that’s lovely. Thank you.”

George fought to keep his eyes from moving south. Emma’s scoop top was too darn tempting. Her brow started to wrinkle, and George tried to keep his expression neutral.

They were saved by the doorbell.

“Oh, they’re here!” Emma cried as she fumbled to remove the apron. “Here—be a dear,” she said as she thrust the garment into George’s hands before and dashing to the door, calling for her father as she did.

George chuckled, tossed the apron onto the kitchen counter, and rejoined Emma. By then, she was welcoming in Elizabeth, Marianne, and a beautiful blonde woman carrying a suitcase. Abe had just walked out from his study.

“Welcome to Casa Weinberg! You must be Jane,” Emma cried as she extended her hand.

“Yes, Jane Boudreaux. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Emma looked back over her shoulder. “And here is the master of his realm, my father, Abe Weinberg. Papa, you know Marianne and Elizabeth. This is Elizabeth’s sister, Jane Boudreaux.”

Abe greeted her with a smile. “So, you’re our guest for the next few days, hmm? Nice to meet you, Miss Jane. Let me take that bag for you.”

“Oh, sir, it’s quite unnecessary!”

“I know, but this is my house, and no young lady is going to carry a heavy bag here.” He picked it up with a grunt. “My goodness! What do you have in here—rocks?”

Jane blushed to the roots of her hair. “Mr. Weinberg, I’m so sorry!”

“Papa!” cried Emma with a sharp look.

Abe chuckled. “Hee hee, just my little joke. Forgive me, Miss Jane.”

“Sure you don’t need any help, Abe?” teased George.

“You just entertain the ladies, Doctor, while I take care of this little matter,” Abe huffed. He began to walk up the stairs. “Your bedroom is the first on the left.”

“Your father’s very nice,” said Jane.

Emma was still frowning. “Yeah, he’s a riot.” She turned to the man beside her with a smile. “And this handsome man is our friend, Dr. George Katz.” She stepped closer to George and touched his arm. After exchanging introductions and greetings, the guests began to praise the decorations. “Thank you,” said Emma, “but I couldn’t have done it without George, here.”

“Is that so?” smirked Marianne. “I didn’t know you were so talented, George.”

“Or so domestic,” added Elizabeth with a grin.

“Bachelors can do many things, ladies.”

Emma broke in, “And that’s enough of that! C’mon, Jane, let me show you to your room.” As the girls went up the stairs, Emma turned and returned to George’s side. Without hesitation, she kissed his cheek. “Thanks, George, for everything.” She gave him a happy smile and hurried upstairs.

George watched her go, her kiss still warm on his face. He was still there when Abe came downstairs.

“Hey, George, want to catch the second half of the game?” Abe gestured towards his study.

“Sure,” he said as he tore his eyes from the top of the stairs. “Who’s playing?”

“LSU and Arkansas.”

“Cool. Want me to grab you a beer out of the fridge?”

***

“I hope the room is okay,” Emma said after showing Jane around.

“Okay? It’s lovely, Emma. Thank you so much. This was very kind of you. When is everybody coming over?”

Marianne sat on the bed. “About an hour before the parade. Wait ’til you meet them, Jane. They’re real nice.”

Jane nodded. “If they’re anything like your boyfriend, I’m sure they will be.”

There was deafening silence in the room.

“What boyfriend?” asked Emma.

Jane was clearly perplexed. “Downstairs . . . George. I’m sorry, did I get something wrong? I just thought—” She blushed as Marianne and Elizabeth laughed. “I said something silly, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Marianne said as she observed a red-faced Emma. “Do you have something to tell us, Em?”

“George?” Emma squeaked. “You think George is my boyfriend? That’s—no way! He’s like a brother to me!”

“Well, this is the South, darlin’,” Marianne drawled.

“Mari!” Elizabeth cried while laughing.

“You take that back, you redneck!” Emma cried as she threw a pillow at her. A short, giggle-filled pillow fight ensued.

“Emma, I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” said Jane.

“No, it’s okay. It’s just . . . weird.”

“He’s really cute, Em,” suggested Marianne.

“You could do worse,” Elizabeth added.

Emma looked about the room with a shocked expression. “Me and George? Nah!” She jumped up, as much as to end the strange discussion as anything else. “Let’s get your stuff put away before everybody gets here, Jane. This party’s gonna be so much fun!”

Get BOURBON STREET NIGHTS here.

Until next time, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…