Chapter 7 #2
“Oh, oh, oh! Phil’s date is here!” Mya said, clapping her hands like a five-year-old.
“Which means we should probably go out the back door,” Corey said.
Thank you, Phil mouthed over Mya’s head as her friend waddled out of the bedroom, complaining about not being there for the big reveal.
Phil took a moment to collect herself before making her way to the foyer. She waited until she’d heard the back kitchen door close behind Corey and Mya before opening the front door.
Those darn tingles instantly sprang along her skin at the sight of Jamal. He wore a lightweight sweater and tan slacks, and he looked good enough to eat.
His eyes widened. “Damn.” He blew out on a heavy breath.
“Was that a good damn or a bad one?” Phil asked.
“Definitely a good one,” he said. “You look amazing, Phylicia.”
“I think it’s because you’re used to seeing me with sawdust in my hair.” She fingered one of the loose curls that framed her face, and in a teasing voice said, “I washed it for you. You should feel really special.”
“I do,” he said with a sexy smile.
She smiled back. She couldn’t help it.
After a moment that lasted way too long, yet not nearly long enough, Phil shook her head. “I’m sorry. Come on in while I grab my purse.”
He followed her, his hands in his pockets. His eyes roamed around the open living room/dining room/kitchen area. “Nice house,” he said. “Though, to be honest, I can’t picture you living here.”
“Why’s that?” Phil asked over her shoulder.
“You restore historic homes for a living. I’m surprised you can be comfortable in something this modern.”
Phil shrugged. “I doubt I’ll live here forever, but for now, it’s home.”
Jamal stopped short. “You were planning to move back into the Victorian, weren’t you?”
Yes, she had been planning to eventually return to Belle Maison, but one look at the distress on his face and Phil decided to spare him.
“You were,” he said in a pained voice.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “The house is yours, Jamal. You paid a nice sum of money for it. Believe me, I know what the asking price was.” Phil gestured for him to follow her. “Come on. I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m starving.”
He stood there for a few more moments, that mixture of regret and apology in his eyes. If he said one more thing about the house, she would scream. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked over to the door and held it open for her.
“After you.”
Jamal sat at the Formica-topped table at Mother’s Restaurant, watching Phylicia as she bit into her sandwich. How he could be so turned on by a woman with gravy running down her chin, he didn’t know.
Actually, he did. Sitting across from him, she looked downright edible.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for dinner,” he commented, looking around the understated dining room that was just a step up from Jessie’s carport. “But this food proves that you should never judge a book by its cover.”
“I cannot believe you’ve lived here over a year and have never eaten a po’boy from Mother’s,” Phylicia said. “Presidents have eaten here. It’s legendary.”
“As evident by that never-ending line.” Jamal pointed to the stream of people still filtering in.
They’d waited in that line for more than an hour, but it hadn’t been a hardship with Phylicia as company.
“You were telling me about how you and Mya managed to get yourselves arrested,” he said.
“We’re not leaving until I get the rest of the story. ”
She rolled her eyes. “We didn’t get arrested. At least charges were never filed. Mya’s grandpa smoothed things over with Mrs. Jackson by promising to bring her fresh vegetables from his garden for a year.”
“But you stole the woman’s car.”
“We borrowed her car,” Phylicia said. A sneaky smile drifted across her face.
“I still can’t believe we did that. It was all Mya’s fault.
No, actually, it was Corey’s fault. He’s the one who went to baseball camp in Covington for an entire month and told Mya he would explode if he didn’t see her.
And, like the lovestruck fool she was, she went running. ”
“And you helped her. What does that say about you?”
“Who was I to crush young love?” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, we never told Mya’s grandpa exactly why we took Mrs. Jackson’s car. He probably would have had Corey locked up if he knew.”
“Is that the most trouble you’ve ever gotten into?” he asked.
She nodded as she forked a helping of potato salad. “I was a pretty good kid. There wasn’t too much mischief to get into in Gauthier. What about you?” she asked. “Were you a troublemaker?”
Jamal shook his head. “I was the apple of my parents’ eyes.
” Too bad that apple had started to rot over the past few years, at least as far as his father was concerned.
“I had ample opportunity to get into trouble, but it just never interested me,” he said.
“I was too busy trying to learn as much as I could about that eco-friendly stuff you hate so much.”
“I told you before that I don’t hate it. I just think it has its place.”
“Which happens to not be in the Victorian, right?” He laughed. “You’re going to be impressed with the way I integrate this new technology into that house.”
“It takes a lot to impress me,” she returned before taking a sip of her iced tea.
“I guess I have my work cut out for me,” he murmured.
The air crackled with electric heat. It pulsed like a living, breathing entity between them.
“Are you ready to head to the club?” Phylicia asked.
They had walked to the restaurant from the prime parking spot Jamal had found just a few yards away from the jazz club in the French Quarter.
Mirroring the route they’d taken, they turned left down South Peters Street, walking past the bright lights of Ceasar’s Casino.
They made their way along Decatur Street, maneuvering around a crowd that had gathered to watch a couple of street performers.
Jamal took a chance at reaching for her hand and experienced an overwhelming sense of accomplishment when she didn’t pull away but instead threaded her fingers with his.
“You ever work on any of these buildings?” he asked as they strolled along Saint Louis Street in the heart of New Orleans’s most famous neighborhood.
“Several of them.” She nodded. “My dad and I used to drive into the city at least twice a month to do restoration work.”
“You enjoyed working with him.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I never considered doing anything else. It’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember.”
“I can tell how much you love it. It shows in the care you take when you work.”
“Thank you,” Phylicia replied. “It means a lot to hear that. My dad left some pretty big shoes to fill, and I’m working as hard as I can to fill them.”
“You think he would be proud of what you’ve done with the business?”
Her mood changed almost instantly, a shuttered look coming over her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Because something was definitely wrong.
She looked at him and shook her head. “You just hit the sensitive button,” she said, but her somber smile told Jamal a whole lot more than her words.
Just when he thought she would try to change the subject, Phylicia squeezed his hand and said, “My dad and I were closer than any two people I know. I suspected that he’d wished I was a boy, but he never let me feel unwanted.
In fact, he spoiled me rotten. I could get away with just about anything.
From the minute I could grip a putty knife, I was in the workshop with him, handing him tools. ”
“So, what happened?” Jamal asked, running his thumb along her smooth skin.
“We had different ideas about how to handle the business,” she said. “I thought it was time Dad branched out, hired additional people so we could take on bigger jobs. He didn’t agree.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “My last conversation with him was a huge fight over the direction we should take the business. He died a couple of hours after I stormed out of his workshop. I would do anything to have that day back,” she finished in a small voice.
“Your heart was in the right place,” Jamal said.
“I know,” she said. “So was Dad’s. It still doesn’t erase what happened.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. He’d never seen Phylicia so vulnerable, and, bastard that he was, he wanted to take full advantage of it. Having her emotions so exposed, it was hard not to give in to the need to comfort her.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a delicate sniff. “Talk about a way to ruin a first date.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” he said. “I know a thing or two about having regrets, especially where family is concerned.”
She looked up at him and squeezed his hand. In that moment, Jamal had never felt a deeper connection to a woman. It transcended mere attraction, burgeoning into something more profound.
“We’re here,” Phylicia said as they came upon a nondescript building with a simple green door. “Are you ready to hear some of the best undiscovered jazz musicians in the city?”
If it meant spending more time with her, he’d listen to a band of out-of-tune bagpipers.
Jamal opened the door, settling his hand at the small of her back as he urged her to go ahead of him. As the heat of her skin penetrated her silky top, Jamal tried to think of anything that could be better than being with her tonight.
He couldn’t come up with a single thing. Tonight had been everything he’d hoped it would be…and they were only halfway through it.