Page 12 of The Shop on Royal Street
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nola.” He waited for us to take the twoseats across the table before reseating himself. “I went ahead and ordered waters all around, but they have a full bar, and I can get you whatever you’d like. I have to get back to work, so just water for me, but don’t let me hold you back.”
“Water is fine with us,” Jolene said. At my look of surprise, she smiled at me, making me wonder if Melanie had said something to her. I wanted to be angry at my stepmother, yet all I could feel was gratitude.
While Jaxson turned to get our waiter’s attention, I had a chance to take a better look at him. He was tall and broad shouldered, his well-formed muscles defined beneath the high-thread-count button-down he wore. His hair, with natural highlights and auburn shades most women would kill for, was professionally cut but in need of a trim. I imagined he didn’t notice that kind of thing until someone pointed it out to him. He’d loosened his tie and sat with his forearms on the table and hands clasped with restrained energy, like a football player in a huddle ready for action, his attention focused on Jolene and me. Even when a group of young women, all short skirts and long legs, walked past our table, he didn’t turn to look. I decided then that despite his thickheadedness in choosing this Carly person over Jolene, I liked Jaxson Landry.
As we studied our menus, Jaxson said, “You have to come back on a Monday for their red beans and rice. I don’t know what they do with the andouille sausage they put in there, but it’s the best I’ve ever tasted. And that’s saying a lot, since I was born and raised here.” He gave us a winning grin that looked out of place on the face of a guy who spent his days defending accused felons. “Just don’t tell my mother I said that, or she’ll knock me sideways into next week. She’s a bit proud of her beans and rice.”
“Can you order it without the sausage?” I asked, studying the menu.
When my question was answered with silence I looked up to find Jolene and Jaxson watching me with blank expressions.
“I’m vegan,” I explained.
“Oh.” Jaxson nodded. “That’s cool. For how long?”
“My whole life. My mom said we were vegan, so that’s how I was raised.”
“Was she a big animal lover?”
It was the first time anyone had asked me that, and I had to take a moment to think. I remembered us eating canned beans, cereal, and boxed frozen vegetables for most meals when I was a child. I’d once invited a school friend over for dinner and when she asked us where the meat was, my mom had explained that there wasn’t any because we were vegan. Mom had always found it easier to confess that she was an addict than to admit that she was intermittently employed and struggled to put food on the table. Especially after all she’d gone through to keep me, including moving across the country and not telling my dad that I existed. Searching now for the easiest answer, I said, “I’m originally from California.”
Both Jaxson and Jolene nodded, as if that explained everything.
After ordering—the tofu stir-fry for me, and the Soule’ burgers with fries for Jaxson and Jolene—Jaxson leaned forward in a stance I was pretty sure he used with his clients. It showed interest, confidence, and restrained strength. If I were a felon, I wouldn’t even think about picking a fight with this man. Or lying to him. “As I texted Jolene, I’ve heard back from my uncle Bernie about that house on Dauphine.”
I nodded eagerly. “That’s the house I want to buy. But for some reason, the seller—Jolene’s boss, as it turns out—won’t sell it to me, even though I’m a qualified buyer with all the preapproved paperwork ready to go.”
He lifted auburn eyebrows. “Beau Ryan is the owner?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Sure. New Orleans is actually a very small town. My grandparents lived down the street from the Ryans on Prytania for about forty years, and Beau and I went to Jesuit together—we both played lacrosse. And we were members of the Krewe of Bacchus, too. Great guy. We didn’t keep in close touch after he moved to Charleston, and I haven’t seen him much since he returned. I guess he stays pretty busy.”
I tried not to grimace. “Yeah, well, I knew him when he was inschool in Charleston—he worked at my grandparents’ antiques store. I remember him as being very bossy.” I didn’t say anything about the fire, or my guitar, or any of the stuff afterward, when I’d left Tulane and returned to Charleston. It was irrelevant. Or at least it should be.
“And you think he doesn’t want to sell it to you because it’s a murder house?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, and he seems reluctant to give me any reason at all. The murder took place in 1964, so I don’t really see why that should make a difference. And the house was shown to a number of potential buyers before me and was still listed when I went to see it.”
He nodded, absorbing my words. “And there’s nothing in your background that might make Beau hesitant about committing to a financial transaction with you?”
I felt my face burn, but I didn’t look away. “No.”
My brief hesitation made him lean a little closer, and I had to remind myself that I wasn’t a criminal and this wasn’t an interrogation. When I didn’t say anything else, he sat back in his seat. “You might need to see a lawyer, then. Someone who deals with housing discrimination. I’d be happy to get you some names.”
“Thanks. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’ll keep it in mind. We’re having dinner with Beau and his grandmother tonight, to see if we might be able to get to the bottom of this. That’s why I was hoping you could give us a little more information, so that I’m better prepared.”
Jolene leaned forward, her voice earnest. “Nola really loves this house. And she knows how to save it. She believes that they were meant to be together.”
I sent her a grateful smile before turning back to Jaxson. “I have this affinity for old buildings. I know there are other homes in desperate need of renovation and restoration, but this is the one for me. That probably sounds crazy to you, but this one just spoke to me.”
Jaxson surprised me by smiling. “Not crazy at all. I get it. It really broke my mother’s heart when she decided to sell my grandparents’house in the Garden District after they died. It’s where she’d grown up and it had been in the family for generations. But my brothers and I had all grown up in our house in Old Metairie, so that’s home for us. Didn’t make sense to move. I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t think about maybe someday buying that house back and raising my own family in it.”
I dared not look at Jolene, afraid of what I might see in her eyes. Probably something that belonged in a Hallmark movie.
Our food arrived and I pretended to get excited about my tofu while smelling their burgers and fries, and telling myself it would be rude to ask for a single French fry. I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed it down with a sip from my water before turning to Jaxson again. “So, you heard back from your uncle. I believe Jolene said he’d been with the New Orleans Police Department?”
He nodded, his mouth full. As I waited for him to swallow, I admired the eclectic décor of the restaurant—the psychedelic wallpaper and murals behind basic black tables and chairs that could have belonged in any school cafeteria, the full bar, the corner stages set up for musical entertainment—and wondered if this unique mix of mod bar and vegan soul food restaurant could exist anywhere in the world besides New Orleans.
