Nelida Rodriguez

“Well, honey," Ellie said. "Every single person who's important to me started out as a stranger. Figure I might as well start off nice with new people. There's always time to think they're assholes later.”
― Erin Nicholas, Crazy Rich Cajuns

“Owen felt his mouth curve into a grin as he heard the familiar clap, clap, clap behind him.
That was one of his favorite sounds—high heels on the wooden dock of the Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company.
He took his time turning and once he did, he started at the shoes.
They were black and showed off bright red toenails. The straps wrapped sexily around trim ankles and led the eye right up to smooth, toned calves. The heels matched the black polka dots on the white skirt that thankfully didn’t start until mid-thigh, and showed off more tanned skin.
He straightened from his kneeling position in one of the boats as his eyes kept moving up past the skirt to the bright red belt that accentuated a narrow waist and then to the silky black tank that molded to a pair of perfect breasts.
He was fully anticipating her lips being bright red to go with that belt and her toenail polish. God, he loved red lipstick. And high heels. In any color.
But before he could get to those lips, she used them, to say, “Oh, dammit, it’s you.”
Owen’s gaze bypassed her mouth to fly to her eyes. Because he’d know that voice anywhere.
Madison Allain was home.
A day early.
Not that an extra day would have helped him prepare. He’d been thinking about her visit for a week and was still as wound tight about it as he’d been when Sawyer, his business partner and cousin, had told him that she was coming home. For a month.
Owen stood just watching her, fighting back all of the first words that he was tempted to say.
Like, “Damn, you’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”
Or, “I haven’t put anyone in the hospital lately.”
Or, “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
Just for instance.”
― Erin Nicholas, Sweet Home Louisiana