Chapter 3
3
ONE OF MY HEELS SANK INTO THE GRASS , tipping me off balance. Perfect. Now my body matched my brain.
Micah, still with the humorous shine in his eyes, nodded to the gate, silently asking for entrance.
I bit the inside of my cheek and made my way to Jonathan, giving the okay to allow Mr. Flamingo in.
As Micah stepped through, the shouts of the crowd behind him escalated again with a double-decker float rolling by. Beads flew from it, several catching on the branches of the two massive live oaks standing sentinel before my home. I swallowed a groan.
He turned, following my line of sight. “Not a fan of the beads?”
“No, I’m not.” Goodness knew beads from previous years still clung to the higher branches, the sun bleaching out their color. They dangled year-round like discarded loops of floss.
Micah slid his hands into his pockets. “Seeing you earlier had me thinking of your grandma’s house, and wondering...”
“You fought through the mess of barricades and crowds to take a peek at my grandma’s house?”
“I’m renting a place on Chestnut Street, not far from here.”
What? Chestnut was part of the route I speed walked three times a week. A perfect route I’d mapped out with smooth sidewalks, shady trees, and no barking dogs.
He studied the house and scrolling columns, the wooden sign hanging from a decorative iron post on the front lawn. “You turned her home into a café?”
“I did.” My lungs expanded at the awe in his tone. “Well, Claire and I did.”
“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that books in the name? You sell books too?” He edged toward the entrance, excitement in his features, as though something wonderfully new to discover lay inside and he didn’t want to wait another minute.
“No.” I kept my feet planted. “I don’t sell books. They’re part of the atmosphere.”
“Would you mind showing me around?”
I glanced at Hayley, who texted feverishly with someone. Rationally, I was ninety-eight percent sure it was her best friend, Emma. But irrationally, my thoughts stuck on that two percent. What if a meth dealer had randomly texted her, offering a free high? Did they still work that way? Giving free drugs the first time to get kids hooked? Not that Hayley would take them up on their offer. But what if they’d disguised the opioids as Skittles? I’d always taught Hayley never to accept candy from strangers. But still. I rubbed the Crease.
“If you’re too busy, I can come back another time,” he said.
“No.” I lowered my hand. I didn’t want Micah returning and seeking me out. If I could douse the curiosity radiating from him, he wouldn’t need to come back. At least not to find me for a tour. He would become a regular customer. No special treatment. And I wouldn’t have to worry about battling the sensation that my feet stood on unsteady ground, like I was attempting to stand on a raft in the middle of a pool. Good grief . How could a kiss from seventh grade still affect me this way? Was it because it was my first kiss? Or the best kiss I’d ever had? Ryan had kissed like an octopus devouring its prey. All hands and sloppy.
He shifted. “No, I can’t come back, or no, you’re not too busy?” A dash of teasing coated his tone.
My gaze trailed up to his face. To his strong, stubbled jaw. Eyes vibrant and piercing. If I were allowed only two words to describe him, I’d choose ruggedly handsome . In my heels, he stood a smidge taller than me. I wouldn’t have to break my neck to kiss him like I had with Ryan’s skyscraper height. Would Micah still taste like pineapple Life Savers?
Kate! I broke eye contact, my pulse rattling. Pull yourself together! Mardi Gras. This was all Mardi Gras’s fault. I just had to hold on three more days. Like the rest of New Orleans, I would return to normal after Fat Tuesday. Clasping my hands before me, I recalled his question. “I’m not too busy.” I cast a glance at Hayley and then Jonathan, who inclined his head, letting me know he’d keep watch on her.
Micah opened the front door, the bell above jingling. With the patrons outside in the thick of the festivities, the restaurant lay empty, save for Mrs. Adélaide. She enjoyed the parade sights from one of the window tables. Our oldest customer in age and loyalty, her smooth, Cajun French accent held the same broken dialect as Mawmaw.
“Hey, Mrs. Adélaide,” I said. “Enjoying the view?”
“Oh, oui .” The wrinkles bracketing her smile deepened. “So much to see. De floats. De people. Especially dem bébés .”
I couldn’t help but return her grin. I’d come to learn people-watching was her favorite pastime. But with the raucous crowds and dimly lit sidewalks, I’d need to ensure someone walked her home when she was ready to leave.
Micah closed the door, cutting off the revelry noise from the parade.
Penny stood at the hostess stand, offering a pleasant nod as she answered the café’s phone.
“Wow.” Micah paused, his face tipping up to the sixteen-foot ceilings, his gaze trailing along the intricate white moldings, rosettes, and supporting scroll brackets. In this main section, the lightness of the cream-hued walls had been a must with the only natural light coming in from the two front windows. “It’s completely different but still the same.”
“We tried to keep as much in place as possible.” Up-tempo jazz, set to a low volume, tinted the background.
“You moved the stairs.” He gestured to where a grand staircase had once connected the top and bottom levels.
“We needed to in order to open this central area and provide privacy for the second floor.”
His brow quirked.
“That’s where Hayley and I live.”
“You live here too?”
I nodded.
He considered that and stepped across the white-oak floors to the first room running along the side of the main dining space. “This was your grandma’s front parlor.” He paused in the archway separating what now housed the sports-themed room. Four round tables filled the spot. Life-sized cutouts of Eli and Peyton Manning stood in the corners, the shelves lined with books on the history of the Saints, as well as the other New Orleans–based teams.
He moved to the chefs’ room, which had originally been Mawmaw’s library. It had been pared back to now hold a few tables for customers, and a shelf with cookbooks by local legends like Paul Prudhomme, Leah Chase, and Justin Wilson.
“Her books are in each room.” Sweet satisfaction curled beneath my ribs. “We wanted to incorporate as much of her as we could.”
“Are her beignets on the menu?”
“They are.”
A fond smile spread across his face. “I loved her beignets. That was one of my favorite parts of Mardi Gras Day, when she’d open her doors and cook all day long.”
My breathing slowed, memories flickering. Claire in the kitchen, right there at Mawmaw’s elbow, learning and trying different recipes. Me playing hostess and keeping my mom from bickering at my dad in front of others, including Micah.
Micah crossed the main area, weaving between tables, and entered the music-themed room.
I followed, pausing at the threshold. Only Harry Connick Jr., in the form of a cardboard replica, occupied the space. Several strands of Mardi Gras beads hung around Harry’s neck. “You were the only one from school who came to Mawmaw’s party every year.” My voice had gone soft. Even Ryan had only made an appearance once despite the fact we’d dated all through high school. Ryan had preferred spending the day with his friends in the French Quarter, an entirely different atmosphere from the tamer gathering at Mawmaw’s. Another warning sign of his character I’d ignored.
Micah scanned past the tables and fireplace to the rear wall. “The dining room used to be open to this space.”
“Yes. When we renovated, we took it over to expand the kitchen.”
He returned to where I stood, again taking in the main room.
The front bell jingled, the ruckus from outside slipping in, along with Hayley. Veiled curiosity marked her face as she glanced between Micah and me. She didn’t break her stride though.
“Hayley,” I called.
She paused in her trek, halting next to the hostess stand.
Penny left her post to check on Mrs. Adélaide, giving us privacy.
I straightened the business card holder atop the stand, containing cards with the café’s social media accounts and QR code. “Did you know Mr. Micah and I pretty much grew up together?”
Hayley’s large round eyes stared back, unblinking. She almost resembled a character from one of those odd anime shows she’d become interested in.
Micah edged forward. “I went to school with your aunt and mom. Elementary through high school.”
Hayley’s gaze zipped to Micah.
“Though your mom was a grade younger than me and your aunt, of course,” he said.
Hayley held him in her stare, her expression unreadable. “Is Mrs. Gail coming back to the library?”
Ouch .
Micah didn’t flinch. “I was told she’d be back in a few weeks, but that could get extended.”
A beat followed. She moved to leave.
“Hayley,” I said.
She stopped.
“It’s not polite to just walk off when you’ve been talking to someone.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled to her shoes. Her eyes rose slowly, shifting from Micah to me. “Bye.”
Micah fought a grin. “See you around.”
“I’ll be up in a bit,” I said to her retreating figure.
She vanished through the back door.
A low sigh loosened from within. “Once upon a time, I was the cool aunt.” I grabbed a menu from the hostess stand and motioned to an open table in the back corner.
Micah took the seat across from mine. “Has it been a tough transition with Hayley?”
I nodded, handing him the menu. “Claire was effortless at being a mom. But me?” I shook my head.
“So that never changed?” He set the menu aside.
I blinked, confusion rocketing through me.
He winced. “That didn’t come out right.”
“No,” I lightly chided. “It didn’t.”
Penny paused her approach, but I waved her forward. She took our order and left.
“I apologize.” He rested his elbows on the table and bit his bottom lip in endearing awkwardness. “What I meant to say was ... well, back in junior high, you were the only one not to dress their flour-baby for that home ec project.” His brows lifted, and he smirked. “Or even name it.”
“Goodness.” I leaned back in my chair, covering a chuckle with my hand. “I’d forgotten.”
“I didn’t. It was kind of hard not to. That poor naked sack of flour.”
Penny arrived with our drinks.
Micah’s gaze remained on me. “You just shoved that baby into your backpack the entire week.”
Penny slowed her motion of setting Micah’s steaming coffee before him.
I raised my hand as though swearing an oath. “Let the record show it wasn’t a real baby.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened, swinging to Penny. “No, it wasn’t a real baby.”
“Good to know.” Penny placed a cream server on the table and a decaf café au lait before me. She stepped away smiling.
I returned my attention to Micah. “That was the only assignment I didn’t ace my entire time in school.”
“No doubt it still irks you.” Faint lines creased the corners of his eyes. “Miss Perfectionist.”
I wrinkled my nose at him.
He added cream to his coffee and stirred. “I’ll never forget that same week when we were put in the church daycare.”
“That’s right.” A light laugh escaped. “Real baby interaction was part of the assignment.”
“You basically stood in the corner in horror.”
Penny exited the kitchen and placed Micah’s plate of original beignets on the table before retreating. The scent of freshly fried dough wafted. Micah lifted one of the puffy square-shaped pastries. Powdered sugar dusted the dessert. He took a bite, the crispy outside giving way to the soft, airy middle. His eyes slid shut with a moan.
I couldn’t help the pride blooming within. Especially with receiving approval from someone who’d basically grown up on Mawmaw’s beignets.
He chewed and swallowed. “I’m surprised Café Du Monde hasn’t put a hit on you.”
“There’s enough business to go around for everyone.” I sipped my decaf, savoring the rich chicory, appreciative of how Penny had prepared it exactly how I liked it. “I never did thank you for stepping up that day in the church nursery.”
He shrugged and devoured another bite. “Did you ever get over your baby phobia?”
“It wasn’t a phobia. It’s just ... I’d never interacted with babies. Or kids for that matter.” I slid my napkin-wrapped silverware to the side for them to be reused. “I’ve never had a desire to have my own children.” Which meant I’d rarely paid attention to them, other than sending pitying glances to overwhelmed parents in the toy aisle at Walmart and rejoicing in my decision to remain childless.
His chewing slowed, his gaze turning thoughtful. Too thoughtful.
It unsettled me. I shifted my regard to the windows. “But Claire, she’d always wanted children. When she got pregnant, I was ecstatic. We’d been in the midst of remodeling”—I motioned to the restaurant—“and immediately decided she and Adrian should live above the café to make life as easy as possible for her.” When Claire’s husband couldn’t make it to a doctor’s appointment, I went. I threw her the best baby shower (after extensive research). “I watched her belly grow every day. Was there when her water broke and for the birth.”
Micah wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin. “I was fortu nate to make it in for a week after the births of my niece and nephew to help Renee.”
Renee, his sister . “How old are they now?”
“Eighteen and nineteen.”
“Was that your first time around a baby? Other than that doomed Sunday in childcare?”
A smile touched his lips. “Yes, and it was overwhelming. Renee’s husband was stuck overseas on duty, and my dad had little experience with babies. He basically learned with me.”
I nodded. “With Hayley, I learned how to change diapers and that babies needed burping. And that babies cried. A lot. And peed and pooped. A lot.”
“And spit up a lot.”
“Right? But despite that, I was thrilled to babysit.” I held up a finger. “After taking CPR classes.”
“Of course.” He sipped his coffee, his wry grin disappearing.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “But I was equally thrilled to retreat to my quiet apartment, where I wasn’t responsible for keeping another human alive.” Slowly, I turned my cup on the saucer, the porcelain grating. “Two years of blissful aunting passed.” My hands slunk onto my lap.
“And then the worst happened.” His heavy tone bore so much compassion in that one sentence.
My throat thickened, a sense of encouragement pushing my emotions to the surface. “In one fell swoop, I lost my sister and best friend, and Hayley lost her parents.” My lungs squeezed, and I stared at my coffee. “I’d been babysitting, right upstairs, when I got the call. In a state of brain fog, I buckled Hayley in her car seat, drove to a bookstore, and purchased everything they had on raising children.”
“And you moved into Claire’s place above the café?”
“Yes. I didn’t want Hayley losing the security of her environment.” And there was no way I was letting my parents obtain custody. Thankfully Claire’s will had rendered that process easy. Her wishes had been clear I receive sole guardianship of Hayley in the event of her and Adrian’s death. Funny how having horrible parents made you want to protect your children from them too. Or from having your own children at all.
“All you’ve done sounds very maternal to me.”
I reached for the container at the center of the table, holding varying sugar packets, and straightened them. “She’s breathing and healthy. But I have no idea what’s going on in her head. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”
“She’s a teenager. That’s normal.”
“She’s not a normal teen.” My eyes met his. “She lost her parents. And she’s being raised by someone missing a maternal gene.”
“You’re selling yourself short. The way you flew into the library earlier could rival any paranoid helicopter mom I’ve seen.”
Lightness eased into my heart. I studied Micah, perplexed at how I’d spilled my guts to him so easily. Maybe it was our shared history, and he was a connection to Claire. A connection I hadn’t had in ages. Or maybe it was his mesmerizing eyes and how he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Or in the New Orleans metropolitan area. The air thinned, and that traitorous tingle broke across the skin at the back of my neck. God, please don’t let me blush.
The front door bell jingled, and two women entered, both wearing the café’s reservation wristbands. They made their way into the music room, where Natalie, another waitress on shift, followed. Their entrance popped the bubble of ... whatever it was that had been building.
Micah’s throat bobbed. He moved his empty plate aside and reached for his coffee.
With a low exhale, I eased back in my chair. “This has been way too one-sided. Between that voice mail I left and this conversation, if I ever run for a political office, you’d have enough ammunition to annihilate me.”
One edge of his mouth lifted. “Would it make you feel better to have some dirt on me?”
I snickered. “Of course.”
“Okay.” He set his cup on the saucer with a clink. “Our senior year of high school, I was the one who toilet-papered your house.”
My jaw unhinged. “My mom hates you!”
“Your grandma supplied the toilet paper.”
I gasped a laugh. “You know, I had a feeling she had something to do with it. My parents did too.”
He gave a shrug that came across as equal parts sheepish and wicked.
“So after high school you took your toilet-papering skills to Colorado?”
He nodded. “Graduated from college and got married.”
Hmm. His lack of a wedding ring brought two scenarios to mind: divorced or widowed. “And you stayed in Colorado?”
“I did. After a few years of marriage, my ex-wife and I realized we weren’t ... a good fit.”
A red flag hoisted. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
His lips rolled inward with a head bob, his gaze falling to the table. It seemed Micah could be filtered when it suited.
Breaking solemn vows over not being “a good fit” felt like a glib description. Was he sugarcoating his role in their breakup? Or had his wife done something unforgiveable? The red flag in my mind rippled in the wind. “Do you have children?”
“No. So I spoil my niece and nephew. An upside to moving back here.”
“There’s always a silver lining.”
He nodded, but something in his expression gave the impression he didn’t wholeheartedly agree.