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everything is going well and she should expect some shots in her inbox later tonight.
    As I’m pushing send, I turn to walk back to the table and collide with a person and a large tray of food and drinks. Things splatter and spill all over the floor and I find myself lying flat on my back with something warm and gooey stuck to my forehead. When I try to sit up and assess the damage, the slight spin in my head and feeling of unsteadiness forces me back down. Only me . I groan, not wanting to face the mess I just made.
    “I’m so sorry,” I finally tell the person I ran into from my horizontal position, peeking up to see the girl with curly brown hair staring down at me with a scowl on her face. Of course, it would be her. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to smooth things over.
    “I’m fine,” she huffs. “Don’t worry about it.”
    She’s definitely going to spit in my food.
    I attempt to sit up again, feeling the need to help clean the mess, when a pair of strong hands come from behind and gently grip my arms, helping me stand. For a second, I think it might be Deacon coming to my rescue, but when I turn around, dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes greet me.
    Micah .
    “The better question is, are you all right?” The sexy as silk voice from yesterday pours over me like warm honey.

Micah
    “LET’S GET THIS MESS CLEANED up.”
    “Sure thang, Boss,” Jamie says, shaking her ass a little extra as she walks off. For my benefit, I’m sure. She’d be happier than a tick on a fat dog if I’d just fuck her already, but she ain’t my type. Besides, she’s an employee, and I don’t mix business with pleasure . . . or, at least, not that kind of pleasure.
    “Sorry for your little run in with the food,” I tell the beautiful woman standing in front of me. I recognize her from the parking lot last night, and my smile turns into more of a smirk. “It looks like you’re wearin’ a bit of it. Can I get you a clean shirt?”
    “Oh, I’m fine. I’ll just, um, go back in the bathroom and, uh . . .” She looks down at the gumbo splattered across her chest and midsection . . . and maybe a little étouffée right by the collar. “Uh, on second thought, I’ll take that shirt,” she says.
    There’s a smear of barbeque sauce on her forehead, and I have to admit, it’s pretty damn cute.
    “Micah Landry,” I say, offering her my hand.
    She blushes and cocks her head, giving me a funny look. “I know. I’m Dani Reed,” she replies. “I saw you last night.”
    “I remember, but we didn’t exchange names.”
    “No, we didn’t, but I’m in town doing an article on the Landry Plantation for Southern Style Magazine .” She gives me a quirk of an eyebrow, like I should know who she is. I do vaguely remember Mama saying something about a magazine article.
    “So, you’re the city-slicker New Yorker who came all the way down here to snap some pictures of our house?”
    “Yep, city-slicker New Yorker, that’s me.” She huffs out a laugh.
    “You always so clumsy, Ms. Reed?”
    “I have tendencies,” she says, looking away and giggling, like she has an inside joke with the wall.
    “Lemme get ya a clean shirt.”
    After finding one that looks to be her size, I walk back into the hallway and hand it over to her. She thanks me and goes into the bathroom to change.
    Walking back out into the main part of the restaurant, I see my brother sitting in the corner booth talking to a few of the regulars. While I slide into the booth across from him, I ask, “So, did you bring the city-slicker?”
    “Who, Dani?”
    “No, that other city-slicker who walked in earlier, ‘cause we have so many of ‘em ‘round here,” I deadpan. “Yes, Dani.”
    “So, you two met?” he asks with a wide grin, and I ignore his waggling eyebrows. My brother loves to stir shit.
    “Yeah, she had a little run-in with a food tray. She’s in the bathroom cleaning up.” I laugh a little under my breath, thinking about her clumsy ass