Read Online Say You Love Me by Rita Herron - Free Book Online Page A

oblivious to the fact that she was embarrassing him. “See all the pictures of him after the hurricane? He worked day and night, saved women and children. My boy is a local hero.”
    Jean-Paul gritted his teeth as she waved past the photo of him and Lucinda. Britta narrowed her eyes, obviously curious about the woman, but she didn’t ask and he didn’t offer the information.
    How many times had he questioned his decision? Some men had lost their jobs because they’d left their posts to save their families. He’d saved strangers, kept his job, but lost his wife.
    â€œAnd here’s Damon, my next-to-the-oldest son,” his mother continued. “Damon works for the FBI. Always the serious one, tough like Jean-Paul, but reserved, a methodical thinker.” Her face beamed with pride. “And this is Antwaun, my youngest boy. He’s hot-headed, temperamental like his papa, unpredictable.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “He’s too quick to jump into things sometimes, but ahh, a good boy at heart, he is.”
    â€œYou have a beautiful family,” Britta said quietly.
    Her tone sounded so sad that Jean-Paul squeezed her hand beneath the table. A gesture of silent thanks for being so tolerant? The realization that he was sorry for whoever had hurt her?
    â€œNow please, Britta, try some of my famous white-bread pudding.” His mother pushed a dish toward Britta and she accepted it graciously.
    â€œIt’s delicious.” Britta sipped her latte. “In fact, everything looks wonderful. And the smells…I’m sure customers are drawn in from the streets because of the tantalizing aromas.”
    â€œOh, thank you,” his mother gushed. “You must come by for lunch. I work so hard to get the freshest ingredients and Catherine here, Jean-Paul’s youngest sister, she helps me create the desserts.”
    â€œMy daughter, Chrissy, likes to bake, too,” Catherine said with a grin. “I think she might grow up to be a pastry chef herself.”
    â€œYeah, but she usually wears more flour than goes into the dough.” Jean-Paul ruffled his five-year-old niece’s hair and smiled as she popped part of an éclair into her mouth and the cream oozed down her chin.
    â€œSo how long have you known my big brother?” Catherine asked.
    Britta squirmed in her seat. “Actually we just met.”
    Stephanie, his dark-haired sister and the bookkeeper for the café, raised a brow. “Papa said you’re helping Jean-Paul with a case?”
    Britta nodded, but refrained from elaborating.
    â€œWhat is it you do?” Catherine asked. “Are you a detective?”
    â€œOr one of those psychic investigators?” Stephanie asked.
    Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. “The festival has everyone’s imagination running on overload, doesn’t it?”
    Stephanie shrugged. “I know you don’t believe in anything supernatural, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
    Catherine cleared her throat. “That’s right. Just like love. Just because it’s not a tangible thing, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
    Jean-Paul glared at them to stop the matchmaking. They both knew he’d vowed never to marry again, that he had no desire to get involved with another woman.
    Britta cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m not gifted or a detective. I’m an editor for a magazine.”
    Stephanie’s dark eyes lit up as recognition dawned. “Britta Berger. That’s right. You edit that Secret Confessions column, don’t you?” She stirred sweetener into her coffee. “I love that column. It’s exciting to see the diversity of confessions. Do you have a difficult time choosing which ones to print?”
    Britta shrugged. “Sometimes.”
    â€œI met the owner, R.J. Justice,” Stephanie continued. “He’s handsome. I bet he’s interesting to work