Page 37 of The House on Prytania
His words shook me from my stupor. I pulled back to look at him. “What? I didn’t text you. Not since last night when I asked if you could talk.”
“But someone did. From your phone. I could show you, but you’d have to get off of my lap.”
Neither one of us moved, too afraid to confirm what we’d find on his phone. Or maybe the way our bodies were nestled into each other was like the force caused by the meeting of two magnets.
My phone rang, and I sprang from Beau’s lap to answer it.
“Nola—where are you?” I didn’t need to look at the screen to identify Jolene’s voice. “I’ve been calling and calling and I was fixin’ to call the police. Do you have any idea what time it is? At this rate we’ll be lucky to hose you down outside and slap on some lipstick and heels.”
I pushed aside that visual. “I’m sorry—I’ll explain later. I’m leaving now.” I ended the call before she could make any more suggestions about how to hurry my beautification process with gardening tools.
Beau had already stood. “I’ll drive you.”
I was still too shaken by my ordeal to argue, so I only nodded before heading toward the stairs. My hand was firm against the banister as I carefully made my way to the bottom.
As we walked out onto the front porch, I paused by my bike. “Hang on. We need to put this in your truck.”
Beau kept walking. “I think it’s safe, Nola. Even if a thief were brave enough to step up onto this porch, no one wants to be seen riding a bike with a banana seat and a giant basket with flowers.”
“Very funny. All I need is one drunk guy to steal my bike and I don’t have any way to get around town.” When he looked at me expectantly, I added, “Please.”
As Beau hauled my bike into the back of his truck, he said, “You didn’t ask me what I was so busy doing last night that I couldn’t talk when you texted.”
I focused my gaze on the door handle of the truck. “I figured it was none of my business.”
“Well, it was. Kinda. Christopher, Trevor, and I were installingyour new kitchen island. It was supposed to be a surprise, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“Oh. It’s... amazing. It’s so perfect. I saw it when I first got here and I had no idea where it had come from, but I love it. It’s only...” I bit my lip, hearing Jolene in my head saying something about looking a gift horse in the mouth. “It’s only that I didn’t put an island in the plans because it was over budget. And that piece, well, it’s special, and an antique, and I know I can’t afford it.”
“I think you can.” He closed the truck’s tailgate. “Climb in and I’ll tell you about it on the way home. Unless you’d prefer to drive.”
I quickly hauled myself into the passenger seat and shut the door.
Beau put the truck in drive and pulled out into the street. “Christopher brought Trevor to his first estate auction last weekend, and when Trevor saw the breakfront he said it would be perfect for your kitchen.”
I shifted in my seat to look directly at Beau. “Trevor bought it? But where did he get the money? All the money he’s making at the store is supposed to go into his computer fund.”
“Come on, Nola. Do you think Christopher would allow that?”
“No,” I said slowly, already wondering how I could return the breakfront without hurting Trevor’s feelings.
Beau slammed on the brakes as a driver ignored a stop sign on a side street and pulled out in front of us. He frequently reminded me that if I could learn to drive in New Orleans, I could drive anywhere. “It was at the end of the auction, and they were going to scrap the breakfront because it was in bad shape and missing its top. Trevor brokered the deal—offering to haul it away for free if some of their guys could put it in the van. That boy’s a born salesman.”
“That he is,” I said, feeling as proud as if he were my own son. “So, who fixed it up and painted it?”
“Trevor picked the distressed black himself. And then Christopher and Jolene showed him the right way to strip the old varnish and use the right painting technique.”
I found myself close to tears before another thought occurred tome. “What would have happened if Trevor had suggested orange or purple or some sort of wild design?”
“Then you’d have yourself a hideous island, because there is no way we could have told him he was wrong. I haven’t seen that kind of excitement on a kid’s face since the Saints won the Super Bowl. Happily, it worked out.”
“Happily. I couldn’t have found anything else as perfect. I’ll have to find some way to pay him—at least for his time.”
“Agreed. But I’d suggest not asking him first, or you’ll end up paying for a whole lot more than just his time.”
We both started laughing, louder and longer than necessary, as if trying to put more than only miles between us and the unknown entity in the upstairs closet.
CHAPTER 13
