into the Charles family.”
At the mention of the Toutant family name Darryl’s eyebrows lifted curiously. The Toutant family was legendary, their lineage going back to the early 1700s when immigrants first took refuge in the newly established New Orleans. The infamous Lucian Toutant, son of a wealthy Parisian architect, had been an instrumental player in the development of the Vieux Carré, or French Quarter, as it was now known. Darryl leaned forward as she continued, not wanting to miss a word over the loud hum of the helicopter’s engine.
“I’m sure you know that the French Quarter was composed of eight streets in a perfect square. And most of the architecture in the area was built during the time of Spanish rule. Some of the old French colonial influences were lost after the big fires of 1788 and 1794. Lucian Toutant’s business ventures financed a significant portion of that rebuilding.”
Turning to stare where Camryn pointed, Darryl could just imagine the views back then. Having scoured thousands of old maps and street plans, he knew that within the boundaries of the old square, construction had been happening wherever they turned, high-ceilinged homes rising grandly from the rich earth beneath them. The massive white columns and the black ironwork that adorned balconies during that bygone era still existed. Young trees that had lined the length of walkways with newly sprouted branches now loomed large and full, limbs stretched sky-high. In the distance, along the Mississippi waterway, a cruise ship was now docked where cargo ships had once landed and unloaded their goods.
“And it was rumored that his wife, Alexandra Fortier, influenced a number of those designs?” Darryl queried.
Camryn nodded. “My great-great-great-great-grandparents left quite a mark on this city.” Her gaze moved back to the sights below.
As the pilot gestured in his direction, indicating that it was time to end their adventure, Darryl reflected on the moment. He understood that the landscape of New Orleans had changed under the dynamics of Hurricane Katrina, the Category 5 storm that had flooded the whole of the city in 2005. The French Quarter was one of the few areas to remain substantially dry, experiencing minor flooding and wind damage. Areas outside the Quarter had not been so lucky. And with everything their beloved city had endured, Darryl was desperate to ensure that nothing the Boudreaux family ever did would negatively impact the home they loved so dearly.
He turned to stare at Camryn and was taken aback by the tears that misted her eyes. Leaning even closer to her, he dropped a heavy palm against her knee, squeezing her flesh with a firm touch. Camryn lifted her eyes to his, a generous smile stretching easily across her face.
“The only thing my grandparents loved more than each other and their family was this city,” she said softly, “so we can’t get this wrong, Darryl. We can’t get this wrong.”
As Camryn dropped her hand atop his hand, entwining her fingers between his fingers, Darryl smiled back, understanding sweeping between them.
Chapter 5
It had been just over two weeks since Darryl had last seen Camryn. But before he’d departed, Darryl had dropped her back to her car after the helicopter ride. The two had spent another three hours just sitting in the front seat of his car talking before they parted ways. Conversation between them had been as easy as breathing.
Camryn had regaled him with stories of the Toutant clan and the historic plantation that now housed the Charles family. The sons and daughters of Toutant Plantation epitomized their auspicious beginnings. They were a family of “Creoles”—people of Spanish and French descent—and transient “Americans” who migrated from the North, as well as black slaves from Africa and the Caribbean, and members of the native Indian population. They were relationships that had crossed the ethnic divide, where family names and lineages might not have been preserved but true love always prevailed. Darryl had found himself enamored with the tales, which meshed historical fact with good old-fashioned homespun fiction.
Although he’d spoken to her every day, sometimes two and three times each day, he had not set eyes on her. Camryn had insisted on the distance, wanting to focus on her work without him or anyone else being a distraction, and so he’d given her a wide berth of space. But not one day had gone by that he did not talk with her, if for no other reason than to simply hear her voice.
Their conversations had sometimes crossed the boundaries of business, taking them to places that neither had expected to go. Darryl thoroughly enjoyed each encounter, whether they were laughing over something superficial or being rancorous over something substantial.
And when time had allowed, Darryl had found himself researching everything he could about Camryn Charles, reading articles from Architectural Digest and the society page of the Times-Picayune. Because despite his best efforts to resist, thoughts of Camryn Charles had invaded not only his waking moments but also his late-night dreams. Truth be told, he missed her terribly and the veracity of that burdened him even more.
With a picnic basket and thermos in hand, he rode the elevator to the third floor of the Tchoupitoulas Street address. The security guard waved him through. As Darryl entered the brick-and-glass office space, he instantly spotted Camryn pacing back and forth between two rooms. The minute he spied her Darryl broke out into a full and magnificent grin. He’d missed her even more than he’d realized. Glancing down to the Citizen watch on his wrist, he couldn’t believe that Camryn was still in her office. When he’d called her shortly after seven that morning, she’d just gotten to her office. Now it was well past the dinner hour and she hadn’t left. Darryl had no doubts that Camryn was past ready for a break. Taking a quick breath, he knocked before entering, announcing his arrival so as not to startle her.
But that knock caught her completely off guard. When she turned and saw him, Camryn’s hands flew to her head first, her fingers patting down a few stray strands of loose hair, and then to her chest, clutching at the neckline of her ratty T-shirt. Her eyes rolled skyward, the expression across her face illustrating her displeasure. She’d been anxiously awaiting his evening telephone call, a conversation that she had come to look forward to each day, but seeing him was a horse of a whole other color. Darryl Boudreaux was the last man she had expected to see at such a late hour. She’d spoken to him early that afternoon and he had not mentioned anything about paying her a visit. If he had, she would have surely changed her clothes and done her makeup.
“Hey!” Darryl chimed, fighting not to laugh out loud at the expression that blessed her face.
Camryn’s eyes were wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted the basket and thermos in greeting. “You need some nourishment,” he said. “I told your assistant that I would surprise you with a home-cooked meal.”
She eyed him with reservation. “You brought me dinner?”
“Lunch and breakfast, too, from what I’m told.”
Camryn tossed a quick glance over her right shoulder, her hands gliding down the front of her denim jeans. “I really wasn’t expecting company,” she said, hesitancy still ringing in her tone.
Darryl shrugged. “Don’t think of me as company. Think of me as family,” he said as he moved past her, easing his way to the large conference table in the room.
After carefully assessing the surroundings, Darryl moved into a far corner. Camryn watched as he pulled a red-checked tablecloth from the basket and laid it neatly against the carpeted floor. As if setting a picnic meal was something he did every day, he laid out a spread of dinner plates, wineglasses, a collection of plastic containers and, lastly, one of the prettiest flameless LED candles that she had ever seen.
He looked over his shoulder, meeting her curious stare. “Are you going to come eat or are you going to just stand there twitching?” he said.
Camryn’s eyes widened, one hand flying to pat her hair down again and the fingers of the other hand pressing against her face. “I wasn’t twitching,” she snarled.
Darryl laughed. “Yes, you were.” He dropped down onto the floor, settling himself comfortably.
“I