Page 4 of The House on Prytania
“Huh,” he grunted, clearly not convinced.
“Guess what Jolene’s favorite book in the whole world is.”
His eyes brightened, and I knew I had him. Ever since he’d met Jolene and had become the recipient of her baked goodies, he’d been a devoted admirer. He wasn’t alone in that regard, since she seemed to have that effect on everyone. Everyone except Jaxson Landry.
“The Avengers!”
At my look, he burst out in his contagious laugh. “I’m just punkin’ you, Miss Nola.”
“Yeah, well, Jolene would be very impressed if you read the first book in the series. I bet—with your meemaw’s permission—we could have you over to our apartment to watch the movie after you read the book. Jolene makes the best popcorn.”
A frown appeared and he focused his gaze on the pavement at his feet. “Don’t know about that.”
“I hope you’re not thinking that the book will be too hard. Christopher or I would be happy to help if you get stuck.”
He looked up with an expression I couldn’t read, but it quickly faded before I could overthink it. He tucked the pot under his arm while I folded up the paper and placed it carefully inside. “I gotta go—Christopher’s waiting for me. I’m supposed to be at the shop now to sweep the back room.”
“Don’t let me keep you. He says he doesn’t know how he did it all without you.”
His small chest expanded like that of a robin preparing to sing. “My meemaw taught me how to clean right. Between you and me, Miss Nola, some of them corners at the shop hadn’t seen a broom or rag since Jesus was a baby.”
I hid my smile. “Well, then, you’d better hurry.”
He didn’t budge. “You owe me a dollar.”
“A dollar? What for?”
“ ’Cause I brought you your bike in the rain. It’s an extra fee.”
“I don’t remember ever paying that before.”
“It’s a new policy.” He grinned so big that I could see the pink of his gums. “You told me to look for ways to earn money so I can buy myself my own computer.”
I fished a dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to him. “I’ve created a monster.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. His grin never dimmed as he said good-bye and began jogging toward the Past Is Never Past, carefully cradling the pot against his chest.
•••
In the upstairs bathroom of my Creole cottage I sat up on my padded knees and rubbed my back. I’d been painstakingly applying thin-set mortar to the membrane I’d helped Thibaut install the previous day, and I had lost track of time while placing black and white octagonal floor tiles in a design I’d found inPreservation Resourcemagazine.
I had appreciated Thibaut’s agreeing that laying individual tiles was a lot more time-consuming and difficult than laying sheets of tile but way worth it in the long run. Which was always the way withhistoric restorations. My back and knees currently disagreed, and my mind was beginning to concur with my body when I looked up to realize that I had backed myself into a corner. My only way out was to step on the newly laid tiles with their even rows of meticulously placed spacers, which would erase all my hard work.
I groaned out loud when I spotted my phone lying out of reach on the other side of the doorway, where I’d placed it because it kept falling out of my back pocket when I leaned over. Melanie had sent me a lanyard designed to hang a phone around a person’s neck. She’d sworn by it, saying she didn’t lose her phone in the house anymore. I’d laughed at it as something only old people would need and shoved it into the back of a drawer. Someone was laughing now, but it definitely wasn’t me.
Thibaut and Jorge had long since left, their misplaced confidence that I could get this one job done before they returned in the morning sitting like sour milk in my stomach. I stood in my small untiled corner, wary of the waning of the light as I counted how many rows I needed to leap over. And how many rows I would likely destroy and have to replace before tomorrow morning.
The sound of a vehicle pulling up outside and then the slam of a door gave me hope. Maybe Thibaut or Jorge had forgotten something and had returned to the house. Holding my breath, I listened to footsteps climbing the porch while my nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of pipe tobacco. A loud knock sounded on the front door, and my surprise expelled air from my lungs in a deep cough.
“Nola? Are you still here?”
I recognized Beau’s voice and felt relieved and horrified at the same time. I was glad to be rescued but would have preferred it be by anyone but him. We had a long history of me being the unwilling rescuee while Beau Ryan swooped in to play my unwanted hero. Melanie and Jolene kept telling me that I needed to reanalyze my feelings on the subject, but that would be like blowing into a hurricane to change the direction of the wind. I’d come by my stubbornness honestly, and I wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
My phone, its ringer silenced, vibrated on the floor. I found it easier to concentrate when I wasn’t being interrupted by calls and texts. Although I was beginning to think that if I had been interrupted, I might have noticed my error sooner.
“I’m upstairs,” I shouted. “If that’s you calling, I can’t answer my phone right now. But if you could come up, I’d appreciate it.”
“Why are you shouting?” Beau’s head appeared in the doorway.
