A Taste of Spring novel Chapter 33

A brief, haunting look crossed over Spring's exterior. Her demeanor seemed to reboot right in front of him and a look of indifference appeared. He was just about to tell her that she needn't share but when she started to talk, he couldn't help his interest.

"My mother used to boast about our Cane River Creole heritage when I was younger; but I've only met a handful of her side of the family, so I know next to nothing of them. My father's mother raised me and Summer. My paternal side is a potluck of African, French, and maybe Native American heritage." Spring tapped the table then raised her hand and rubbed the back of her neck. "Grams moved us away soon after Katrina. Her little antique shop didn't get damaged too much; in fact, The Quarter only had minor flooding but she told us we all needed a change. We settled in a small cozy town in Virginia. Summer moved here three years ago and I followed," Spring said.

Her tone, a little lost in the beginning, came off upbeat at the end.

"That's interesting. Maybe you may want to look into those family tree genealogy sites. I have a friend who speaks highly of the one with the leaf. I can't recall the actual name right now." Dez pondered as he bit into his sandwich.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I like it being just our small circle of family, you know."

Dez liked things small and uncomplicated too. He also kept his circle small. The smaller the circle the less bullshit to maneuver through.

Spring forked some of her food and lifted the portion to her mouth. Dez watched her lips close over the fork as if she were the featured attraction at his favorite cinema. He had to shake himself just to look away from the basic, yet erotic, action. The half-mast and rising erection held at bay by his jeans and the table was going to be a constant issue.

After a few minutes of eating, Spring broke the silence. "Dez?"

Blinking away the troublesome lust he'd been nursing through the quiet, Dez focused on Spring's eyes.

(As if doing so is going to lessen my desire.)

It didn't. "Hmm?"

"Are you happy being a famous author?" Her eye lashes fluttered over her eyes several times as she met his attention head on. "I just...those people the other night was bombarding you with attention and you seemed in your element. But on the night we met, I noticed you sitting in that booth alone. You looked...unhappy."

Dez chewed the last bit of one-half of his sandwich then said, "I wasn't happy then, Spring. But, I met you. And, I love writing." With the admission, Dez felt the truth of his words. A truth he hadn't felt in some time.

"What do you write?" Spring scooted forward; her fork hovered over her meal. "Where can I buy your books?"

"I dabble in fiction, romance with a bit of action and suspense." He shrugged, then lifted one of his fries. "I'd rather you get to know me before you open up one of my books." He had the idea that if Spring found she didn't care for his writing, she may look at him more critically. "Besides, I am more interested in you. Imagine my shock and great fortune when I saw you on the cover of such a huge magazine."

Spring coughed...or rather choked on her food. She held her hand up to stop Dezmond from getting to his feet. It took a few more coughs and a drink for her to settle.