Page 69 of More With You

Too young and too excited to realize the threatening subtext in her grandma’s voice, Grace drags Mae away across the foyer; both of them disappearing down a hallway to the left. I hear the creak of heavy doors and the patter of giddy footsteps, then all is deathly silent.

“I assume this isn’t a casual visit?” Cybil straightens the lapels of her Chanel blazer. Definitely not a fake, like the kind my mother would pick up at a dodgy store in town, swearing on her life it was the real deal. Regardless, it ended up reeking of cigarette smoke, and there is a faint waft of it in the air, sparking up those memories. I think it’s coming from Mrs. DuCate, but it’s smothered with perfume.

Ben shrugs. “That depends.”

“On?” Cybil challenges.

“Why don’t we head into the drawing room. You’ll want to be sitting down,” Ben replies, leading me past his mother. I tuck into his side, so I don’t accidentally brush against his mother’s arm, but, frankly, I’m more conscious of the fact that they have a drawing room. I thought those only existed in Regency romance novels, not on the Gulf Coast.

Walking along the familiar, gloomy gallery, I once again see that old black and white framed photo of the poor farming family. I stop for just a split second to gaze into the sad eyes of that little girl when Mrs. DuCate snaps abruptly, “Follow me!”

We continue past the door where I made my previous “grand” entrance. Seeing it again, I shudder involuntarily, and feel the need to tug at my long skirt, even though I have no thigh on display today.

A few doors down on the left, Ben guides me into a majestic room with barrel-vaulted ceilings and oversized windows. “Do you want anything to drink?” Ben asks, sitting me down on a wide, velvet Chesterfield sofa. Bottle green to complement the mahogany paneling and archaic interior design.

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He crosses the room and pulls open a cabinet, where there’s a concealed drinks fridge. Taking out two bottles of water, he comes back and sits beside me, handing me one of the bottles. “Just in case.”

“Thanks.” I take it and unscrew the cap, taking a deep gulp. Stress really dries out the throat. “Where did your mom go?”

Ben sits back, putting his arm around my shoulders. “More than likely, she went to find my father.” He folds me into him and kisses the top of my head. “Just remember to breathe. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. They can’t do anything to you, and they won’t do anything to me. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Do you really believe that?” I search his face, and I think he really does believe that.

He nods. “We’re safe.” Drawing in a breath, he cups my cheek. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually. Now’s probably not the right time, but we’ve got some time to kill. My father will keep us waiting. Business tactics. Make the clients stew and they’ll be more open to negotiation. Won’t work on us, though.”

“Last time you wanted to ask me something, we ended up married,” I say playfully, keeping my voice low in case of eavesdroppers. Mrs. DuCate clearly knows something is up, but maybe she thinks we’re just engaged.

Ben laughs. “Best decision of my life.” His expression turns more serious. “That’s why I think we should get out of this town, as soon as possible. I don’t care what my parents think, but I want to make things easier on you. I thought we could pack up and move to New Orleans. I could put more of my energy into the gallery, which I know they’d be happy about, and you could do something you’ve always wanted to. Whatever it is, you can give it a try. The world’s your oyster. Our oyster.”

I take another sip of my water, giving myself a moment to think. I’ve never really had options before. Sure, I moved every six months, but usually because another, better job offer came up elsewhere. I’ve never followed any path that I wanted to follow, simply for the hell of it. I’m sure I must’ve had dreams when I was a kid, but they didn’t last long in my house, smashed along with bottles of beer and tossed out with the recycling. I vaguely remember asking my mom if I could join a dance class—she laughed at me and told me the only dancing worth doing was around a pole.

“Or not,” Ben adds, hastily. “It was just something I’d been thinking about. No pressure or—”

“That’d be perfect,” I tell him, feeling hope bubble over inside my chest.

His eyebrows rise half-an-inch. “Really?”

“I love New Orleans, I love you, I love your gallery, I love your artwork. It makes sense.” I pause. “If I stay here, it won’t feel like home, not without my cottage. No matter what happens today, I doubt Vas is going to go against your parents by letting me keep it. And don’t even try to suggest buying it. That’s not what I want. It’s… tainted, now. If something is taken away from me, regardless of whether I get it back or not, I’ll always be afraid that it can be taken away again. Does that make sense?”

He nods. “Perfect sense.”

“And… I know it’s silly, but I do have a little dream,” I admit shyly. I’ve never told it to anyone before.

“You do?” He looks excited, and I’m worried I might be about to disappoint him with the triviality of my dream. Still, I want to tell him.

“I want to work in a coffee shop. Nine-to-five. A hippie kind of café, if possible, where everyone knows everyone, and there’s good music and good vibes all day. No stress, no drama.” I sigh, picturing it in my head. “There were places like that on my travels, and I’d always go in and feel grounded. If I was isolated or alone somewhere, that’s where I’d find something close to friends. I know it’s stupid, but I wouldn’t mind trying it for a while.”

His expression warms, and his mouth turns up in a sweet smile. “It doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds like a good dream to me,” he says, and there’s no hint of ridicule in his voice. “New Orleans is definitely the best place to realize it, too. So many cool cafés.” He laughs. “I know, I know, saying “cool” makes me very uncool.”

“What about Grace?” I remember there’s more to think about, now that I’m married with a stepdaughter.

Ben relaxes. “Lyndsey lives just outside the city, so NOLA is pretty much home already for Grace.”

“Right… Lyndsey.” I swallow, kicking myself for having forgotten about that small hurdle. I hope she’s going to be as lovely as her daughter, but the child doesn’t necessarily reflect the mother. Me and Ben are living proof of that.

He gives me a side hug. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Lyndsey is going to love you. Sure, she’ll be a little surprised to find out we’re married, but she’ll be happy for us. For six years, she’s been asking when I’m going to find someone. I think I was making her feel bad.”

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