HEAT in New Orleans || Marcel Gerard

Chapter 3: Dauphine Street Music Festival

Chapter Three

I was in the middle of filling and decorating my bookshelf with the help of my son who was pulling everything I needed out of the many boxes that filled the living room currently. This was my task of today. Trying to do little by little to get our new home all together and cozy for my family.

The doorbell went off as I placed the last hardcover cook book on the top shelf. "Mommy, someone's at the door," Zach told me.

I chuckled, "I know, bud." Zach continued removing books from the largest box we had. Seems he found his children books. I laughed as he sat down with one, flipping through the pages while I answered the door. To my surprise Marcel was on the other side of it. Marcel and a very large, fully stocked tool belt. Okay, I felt like a stereotypical corny middle aged mom from decades ago, because this felt like a naughty mediocre sec fantasy. But he looked hot. Very hot.

Maybe it was the tight shirt, or how the tool belt sat around his hips bringing attention to his nether region where the tools hung low. I gulped, hopefully not audibly. "Hi," he greeted me, smiling. "Mind if I come in?"

I shook my head, too speechless to ask what he was doing here. But the tool belt gave me an idea. I stepped back to let him enter my house. Then I shut the door behind him as he walked straight through to the right, to my kitchen. I followed him, watching him round the island counter and undo his tool belt. "Kieran said he couldn't fix it and asked me to give it a try before you called a handy man. We both agreed you should save the money," Marcel informed me.

"And you just assumed I'd be home and now would be a good time without discussing it with me?" I retorted, kind of baffled. Like was he serious? You don't just show up at someone's house uninvited.

"Yes."

My brows raised at his simple, direct answer. "Next time I'd appreciate a call. You know, for permission to come over. Especially because it's my decision on who I want to fix this. Whether I choose to have someone I know or to pay a handy man to instead."

"I didn't know it would bother you this much. I'm sorry," he said with a small shrug. Then he put on that large, charming, killer smile. "Do I have your permission to fix your faucet? Or do you want it to constantly leak and raise your water bill?"

"Be my guest," I sighed, defeated.

He grinned, bigger if that was possible. "I'll get to work. You go back to whatever you were doing," he said and I slowly nodded. "All I ask is for dinner made in return."

"I told you I was doing takeout for now," I scoffed. "My stove and oven don't function correctly. Remember? Or are the details of three blondes harder to recall than just one?"

"I didn't forget and I didn't mean tonight. I have plans. Which I actually want to talk to you about. But later, you seem to be in a mood and I'm worried I interrupted whatever you were doing."

I sighed, feeling guilty. "Not in a mood," I said. Though I wasn't fairly happy with him, that's why I was seeming a tad bit bitchy. But come on. Me, my sister, and Rebekah?

"You sound like it," he retorted. "Is this about last night?"

I shrugged, "What about last night would bother me? Except you flirted with Rebekah, asked me to make you choose between me and my sister, then you danced with my sister anyways."

"Are you jealous?" He smirked. Ugh.

"No. Irritated."

He put down the wrench in his hand and stepped around the open cabinet door to reveal under the sink. "You seem jealous," he commented, walking slowly towards me.