Chapter 5
5
“HAYLEY’S UPSTAIRS HATING ME.” I pressed the Crease.
My best friend, Julia Reed, sat across from me at a wrought-iron table that Friday evening in the courtyard. “If your kids don’t hate you at some point in their lives, you did something wrong.”
I chuckled without humor.
We were in the midst of our long-standing weekly date. The crisp February air provided a welcomed contrast to our steaming decaf café au laits and beignets. The floodlights from the house lit the area and the three-tiered fountain anchoring the space.
Yesterday, Hayley had returned from her sleepover. The night she’d been gone I’d discovered her latest tactic for getting a dog. I’d snuggled into bed, turned on the TV, and discovered our DVR had been filled with canine-oriented shows of every variety. Pit Bulls and Parolees , The Wizard of Paws , and a plethora of dog competitions. I, in turn, added The Dog Whisperer (starring neurotic canines) and Cujo to the listing. She’d retaliated by setting up camp on the sofa and playing a marathon of ASPCA commercials on the television via YouTube. Hours of quivering, emaciated dogs. Talk about torture.
Julia wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. Light caught and sparkled on her year-old engagement and wedding rings. At forty-one, she held a slight resemblance to a brunette version of Alicia Silverstone.
For a little over a decade now, Julia had been a gift from God. We’d met at a Grief Share group counseling program at our church. She’d been struggling through the abrupt loss of her husband and raising two young boys on her own. We’d instantly bonded.
“Is she still clamming up on you?” Julia asked.
“Yes. The only thing she talks about is getting a dog. Other than that, zilch.”
“Well, you do have more than your red hair in common.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your stubbornness.”
I shot her a look.
One corner of her mouth twitched. “Or maybe determination is a better word.”
“I’d like to point out my determination helped your products become the number one seller at Nancy’s Naturals.” With assistance from her newlywed husband, two collegiate sons, and me, her small side business of homemade, nontoxic cleaners had taken off. For which she’d been extremely grateful.
Her face scrunched. “Let’s move on to a different topic. One that avoids you tossing ‘I told you so’ at me for the millionth time. Anything new happen this week?”
The beignet in my gut churned as Ryan came to mind. Would it be wrong not to mention him? After all, he could be classified as old . An old mistake that had returned to bite me in the butt. An internal nudge prodded. As though an invisible finger pointing out that thought as the lie it was. I scraped in a breath. “I saw my ex on Wednesday.”
She leaned forward, eyes bulging. “Are you serious?”
“Was Zacchaeus a wee little man?”
“Why are you just now telling me? Where did you run into him?”
I sipped my café au lait, stalling, and set the cup on the saucer with a faint click. “I was viewing a building.”
She gave me the mom look. Like I’d devoured the last Ding Dong and left the empty box in the pantry. “Has some distant relative I don’t know about keeled over and blessed you with their fortune?”
“No.”
“Then why torment yourself by looking to expand now?”
“It’s a unique property.” Which was an understatement.
“That you can’t afford.”
My scalp prickled. Julia was right. But what stung the most was that her words echoed Ryan’s. Which also meant he was right. And he’d been dead-on correct that I hated being in financial debt. The stress of potentially defaulting on one loan was difficult. But the thought of having two loans looming? The world didn’t hold enough Tums.
She shook her head. “I’m glad you can’t afford it. You need to slow down, not gear back up again.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth.
Her gaze narrowed, no doubt her sharp mind working. “Please tell me you’re not considering going to your parents for the money.”
Ever so slightly, I raised a shoulder.
She lifted her gaze to the moon with a groan.
“First, I’m looking into a city assistance program. My parents are a backup plan.” I rubbed the Crease. “I hate the idea of going to them, but ... Claire adored that location. She would daydream about it.” I lowered my hand. “That’s where I saw Ryan. He’s interested in the spot too, and I can’t stand losing it to him. I’ve already given up so much to that man. He was so ... arrogant. And he wants to suck all the life and charm from the place. All the things Claire loved about it.”
Her expression softened. “Regardless, hate is not a good motivator.”
“He didn’t ask about Hayley.”
With a blink, she stiffened. “Maybe hate is a good motivator. What is he? A sociopath?”
“No. He’s just a thousand percent selfish.”
“What a bullet you dodged there.” She studied me, her brows drawing together. “How are you feeling after seeing him?”
“Angry.” I tossed my napkin on the table. “At him and myself for how I let him use me. How I allowed myself to be so vulnerable.”
“That’s understandable. But do you really want to go into further debt? Make yourself beholden to your parents? Would Claire? I seem to remember you giving me wise advice about thinking things through, looking at all the angles, and praying on them.”
Boo . She had me there. Why was it always easier to give advice than to follow it? I stared at the fountain, not wanting to see reason. The faint rumble of a streetcar moving down St. Charles Avenue carried over the mansion.
“What other secrets are you keeping from me?”
Micah catapulted to the front of my brain. My gaze darted from the fountain to the live oak to the back doors of the café. “Did you want another order of beignets?”
“No, thank you,” she said sweetly and leaned forward, dropping her tone. “Now spill it.”
I dragged in a breath through my nose and released it, resignation stooping my posture. “There’s a temporary librarian filling in.”
“And...” She rested her elbows on the table, interlacing her fingers.
“He happens to be a ... sort of a childhood friend. We at tended the same school and church from kindergarten through high school. Though we never hung out socially.” My gaze glided across the mansion. “But he did always come here every year for my grandma’s Mardi Gras Day parties.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“He was also my first kiss.”
“Ew.” She leaned back. “I bet that was awkward seeing him again. First kisses are the worst.”
“Not mine,” I mumbled.
She perked.
Shivering schnauzers. How could I have let that slip?
“What’s his name? Does he give you the zings?”
Landry Mask. Landry Mask. “Micah Guidry.” I folded my discarded napkin a little too carefully.
She inhaled a gasp more appropriate for a TV melodrama.
Ugh. I held up my hand. “I honestly think my reaction to him was the stress from Mardi Gras.” I picked at invisible lint on my sweater. “A Mardi Gras sickness.”
She eyed me skeptically.
And she was probably a smidge right in doing so because I couldn’t help but imagine that Micah had only improved in the kissing department. Especially with those manly arms of his. And his firm chest. And the air of confidence that swirled around him.
A knowing smile stretched Julia’s face. “The way you’re blushing, I think you still have that illness. Perhaps it’s a type of lingering Mardi Gras fever?”
I tipped my chin up. “As a woman in my forties now, it could very well be a hot flash.”
“Or a Micah flash. Has Hayley been to the library this week?”
My chin lowered. “No.”
“She’s had the entire week off and hasn’t visited her favorite place?” One of her brows quirked.
“We’ve had a lot going on.” I nudged my plate aside. Hayley had asked to go today, but I’d given her busywork in the café and paid her for her time. “But she’s going tomorrow.” My cheeks warmed again at the thought of seeing Micah.
Julia tossed me a smug grin. “I think your Mardi Gras fever is back.”