Page 85 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Stop right there. If he belongs to someone, we can’t keep him, okay?”
She held her hands over Mardi’s ears. “Don’t say that in front of him. It hurts his feelings.”
“Jolene, I’m serious....”
As if she hadn’t heard me, she asked, “Hey, did you see on the news last night that Past Posh was robbed?”
“Why does that name sound familiar? And are you talking about New Orleans news? Because I thought you were in Mississippi.”
“I am. But my mama’s second cousin Bedellia—you know, the one who brought us all of those pecans from her tree and I made that pie for you?—she saw it on the local news and because she knows I’m best friends from growing up with Andrea, the owner, she called to let me know. It’s the boutique where I sold all of those clothes from your attic. Most of the clothes were still hanging by the door, because she was inthe process of determining prices and giving them tags. Everything on the rack was taken, and her cash register emptied—although there wasn’t a lot in there, thankfully.”
“That’s awful. Was anybody hurt?” I asked.
“No, thank heavens. It happened at night, after closing. But Andrea’s pretty shook up. Since she just lost all that merchandise, she was wondering if there was anything in the hatboxes we wanted to sell.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been waiting for you to get back like you asked.”
“I was hoping that’s what you’d say. We can do it this weekend.”
“After we take Mardi to the vet to see if he’s chipped,” I reminded her.
“Vets’ offices are usually closed on weekends. We’ll have to wait until Monday.”
“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. And thank you.”
“No thanks needed, Nola. I love doing it for you. There’s just one thing to take care of before I get there.”
“Sure—what?”
“Take a tweezers to your eyebrows before I have to get a hedge clipper involved.”
•••
The party started at seven o’clock, just past sunset, which meant that the light had already started to dim by the time Michael pulled his car into the driveway. Dimmer lighting hopefully would hide any glaring makeup mistakes or spotlight my attempt at an updo, which I’d decided to label a “messy bun” if anyone cared to ask.
When Jolene tried to leave that morning, her car wouldn’t start. Her cousin Ace, who fortunately owned a repair shop, had it towed and put up on a lift, but he needed a few parts and wasn’t sure how long it would take to get them. As glad as I was that Bubba hadn’t conked out in the middle of nowhere between Jackson and New Orleans, I found myself wondering if I’d put on too much blush as I waited outside on the front stoop for Michael to pick me up.
As he approached I walked down the steps, feeling slightly unsteady on a pair of borrowed heels from Jolene’s closet. It had nothing to do with the two glasses of wine I’d consumed to still my nerves while getting dressed. Michael and I hadn’t known each other for long, but I knew tonight would be special. And as I walked toward him, I knew that right now we were on the cusp between the before and the after of our relationship.
“You look beautiful,” he said, taking my hand.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping he wasn’t saying that just to be nice. “It’s Jolene’s dress. I wasn’t sure if it was a good color on me or not.”
“Lavender is definitely your color. But I also think that you would look beautiful in anything. Or nothing.” He grinned, gently squeezing my hand. “Speaking of Jolene, when does she get back?” Michael’s fingers rested lightly on my lower back as he guided me toward the car. I felt the heat from his hands through the silk of my dress as if I wore nothing at all.
“I doubt it will be before Sunday. Her car needs multiple parts. At least she’s related to a mechanic, so she doesn’t need to worry about it being fixed properly.”
“That’s a relief.” He opened the door and I sat down, then lifted my legs together before pivoting forward as Jolene had instructed. Leaning inside, he said, “I know that you miss her, but at least we’ll have your apartment all to ourselves tonight.” His lips met mine, and I melted back into the soft leather. Michael was an expert kisser; sometimes, like now, though, I wondered if he might betooexpert. Beau’s kiss, on the other hand, although not lacking experience, had felt as if it had been meant only for me, all other recipients forgotten as soon as his lips met mine.
Which was ridiculous since he’d been practically asleep at the time and the whole experience had been just an aberration. And I shouldn’t have been thinking about Beau at all. I smiled up at Michael, his green eyes framed by those enviable black lashes. “Something else to look forward to.”
The Sydney and Walda Besthoff Sculpture Garden was located onthe grounds of the New Orleans Museum of Art in City Park. During my abbreviated previous tenure in New Orleans I’d visited the museum once, but a torrential downpour had cut my trip short. My sudden departure from the city meant that I’d never made it back to the garden’s ten acres filled with works of art nestled neatly among lagoons, centuries-old live oaks, and meandering footpaths.
The night air at this time of year couldn’t be described as cold by anyone from north of the Mason-Dixon Line; the slightly cooler temperatures and lower humidity made the outdoor event bearable. Michael had bought tickets that included reserved seating at one of the white-cloth-covered tables, and his jacket was shed almost immediately and hung over the back of his chair.
Lights twinkled from trees and around the dance floor and the food and drink tables. The food was provided by the Brennan Group’s long list of amazing and award-winning local restaurants, with live music delivered by a popular local band. Most important was the dance floor, since it was my belief that real men knew how to dance. My research into this was limited, having been based solely on my dad and Cooper Ravenel, a Citadel cadet I’d once dated, but dancing proficiency was a solid criterion Michael would need to meet before I could consider us “serious.”
Michael seemed to know everyone and made sure to introduce me proudly as “Nola Trenholm, historic preservationist” instead of as his girlfriend, which—to me and apparently to him, too—sounded very high school.
