Page 86 of The Shop on Royal Street
I was already light-headed from the wine and a glass of champagne someone had pressed into my hand and I needed to eat. After a round of meeting people and chatting, I tugged on Michael’s arm. “I’m starving. Can we eat now?”
“Sure, but first we need to cast our votes.” He began leading me toward a large crowd surrounding a bar area. “It’s the Love Cocktail Challenge—they have it every year. Ten of New Orleans’s top bartenders try to win first place by creating a signature love-inspired cocktail.”
Michael led me into the midst of the crowd, high-fiving a coupleof friends while I smiled and followed in his wake. He lowered his head closer so that I could hear him over the din from the crowd. “The themes are forbidden love, love/hate, lust, unconditional love, and unrequited love. There are a few others, but those are my favorites just because of the names. Last year I tried them all and regretted it the next morning. I think this year we only sample them. We put a token in the little banks for the ones we like. Pretty simple, huh?”
I started to remind him that I needed to eat something, but he was already moving forward in the crowd to get us cocktails. The claustrophobic crush of bodies held me back, my hand slipping from Michael’s as he disappeared in front of me, shoulders closing the space where he’d just been. I stayed rooted to my spot, happy to sway like jetsam in the waves of people.
While I waited, I found myself in conversation with a woman named T’ish (spelled with an apostrophe—or “comma to the top,” as she explained—between theTand thei) who told me she was a tour guide and a native New Orleanian, as if her accent hadn’t given her away. She was telling me that her son was getting married in the spring and that the reception was being held at the sculpture garden, when Michael reappeared, two drinks in each hand.
I introduced him to my new friend and then followed him to our table, where he set down our drinks. “Having fun?” he asked.
“So far! It’s so beautiful here at night. After we eat, can we go walk through the gardens? I love the way the lagoons reflect the light. It’s almost magical.”
“Absolutely. One of the late-night food trucks is going to be Nola’s Snowballs, so make sure you save room and we’ll eat them while we walk.” He bent down to kiss me. “Did I mention how beautiful you are tonight?”
“You might have. But I don’t mind hearing it again.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, our eyes open. Straightening, he said, “I’ll go fight the crowds again and fill up some plates of food for us—unless you want to pick your own?”
“I trust you. And my feet thank you. I’ll keep an eye on our drinks.”
“Go ahead and try each one—they’re all different. And then we’ll cast our votes and get four more.”
I gave him a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan.”
As I waited, I sipped on one of the drinks while my foot tapped to the music from the Boogie Men, an amazing and entertaining ten-piece horn-based dance band, and watched as dancers executed a mixture of swing and modern moves. I waved to several of the people I’d met earlier as they passed by my table, some stopping to chat, while I grew hungrier and eager to join the swaying couples on the dance floor.
I’d picked up the third cocktail and started sipping it when I felt someone pull out a chair next to me. I turned, expecting to see Michael, and my smile faded quickly when I saw it was Beau. An unexpected and unwanted jolt ofsomethingzapped through me when our eyes met, and I quickly took a sip from my drink so I had a reason to look way.
“Hello, Nola.”
“Beau,” I said, keeping my voice pleasant. “What a surprise to see you here.”
He looked pointedly at the drinks on the table and the one in my hand. “What are you doing, Nola?”
“I’m enjoying myself with Michael at a fund-raiser for the museum.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I looked over his shoulder, eager to spot Michael on his way back.
“Why haven’t you been answering my calls and my texts?”
I schooled myself to meet his eyes again. “Because we have nothing to talk about. Jolene is my project manager and she and I are working on getting estimates for the roof replacement. Your involvement isn’t needed.”
He took a deep breath. “That wasn’t what I was calling about.”
“And I don’t need you to babysit me, either. Are you going to go tattle on me to my parents now?”
“Why? Do I need to? I’m sure you’ve already told them that you’re drinking again.”
I took a defiant swig of my drink, if only to hide the wave of guilt flashing through me. “Why would I? I’m an adult.”
“Then maybe you should act like one.”
I stood, my folding chair wobbling. I would have walked away, but he grabbed my arm. “Stop. Please. There’s something you need to know. It’s important.”
Something in his eyes made me sit down again, but I made sure I kept my hands in my lap just in case I needed to get away.
