Chapter 4
Genevieve breathed in the rich aroma of garlic, onions, and spices that filled Nola's. The restaurant buzzed with conversation and the clatter of silverware, but she found herself focused entirely on the man sitting across from her.
Abe looked relaxed in his dark blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. When he smiled at something she said about the menu, her stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
This felt like a real date, and the thought thrilled her.
"The jambalaya here is excellent," Abe said, scanning his menu. "And the gumbo is worth trying if you haven't had it before."
"I'll go with the jambalaya, then." Genevieve closed her menu and looked around the restaurant. Couples sat at intimate tables, families gathered around larger ones, and the warm lighting cast everything in a golden glow. "It's nice to go out like this. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like."
Abe's eyebrows rose slightly. "You don't date much?"
"I have dated." Genevieve traced the rim of her water glass with her finger. "But it never seems to work out. Either the guy wants me to tone down my career, or he can't handle the music industry lifestyle with all the late nights, travel, the whole scene."
The waitress approached and took their orders. After she left, Abe leaned back in his chair, studying Genevieve with those lovely eyes that seemed to see right through her.
"What do you mean by 'tone down your career'?"
Genevieve sighed. "You know, make it a hobby instead of a profession. Find something more stable, more normal. Date number three usually includes the suggestion that I could always sing at weddings on weekends."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it, though?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not built for serious relationships. My career always comes first. Maybe that makes me selfish."
Abe was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Can I tell you something about my marriage?"
Genevieve nodded.
"Corina was right to leave me." His voice was matter-of-fact, but she noticed the underlying pain.
"I was completely consumed by police work.
She had to deal with my long hours, dangerous situations, and cases that followed me home in my head.
She needed a husband who could be present, who could give her stability and attention. I couldn't do that."
"But your job is important. You help people."
"So is yours." Abe's gaze was steady. "You bring joy to people, Genevieve. Your music touches lives. That's not something you need to apologize for or diminish."
The jambalaya arrived, steaming and fragrant, but Genevieve barely noticed. She couldn't recall the last time a man had not only understood her passion but celebrated it—if it had happened at all.
"After the divorce, I convinced myself I wasn't relationship material," Abe said, and stirred his gumbo. "I figured it wouldn't be fair to ask someone to live with my job, my schedule, and the risks that go with it. I've spent fifteen years telling myself I was better off alone."
"And now?"
He looked up at her. "Now I'm wondering if I was just making excuses."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while before the conversation shifted to other topics.
Abe told her stories about growing up in New Orleans, about his Creole grandmother who had taught him to cook.
Genevieve shared memories of performing in small clubs when she was starting out and the thrill of connecting with an audience.
She found herself studying everything about him. The way he laughed, deep and genuine. She noticed how he used his hands when he talked. The way he really listened when she spoke, as if her words mattered. She had a sense of being truly seen.
But underneath the warmth, trepidation lingered. She'd been disappointed too many times and had her heart broken by men who claimed to support her dreams but didn't mean it. She couldn't be sure if Abe was different now but would change his mind.
He put his spoon down. "You're thinking awfully hard about something."
Genevieve realized she'd been staring at her plate, lost in thought. "I'm just processing, I guess. I'm having a nice time with you, but I'm not used to that enduring."
"What do you mean?"
"In every relationship I've had, there's been this moment when I have to choose between my music or him." She met his eyes. "I always choose music."
Abe reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "Or maybe you just haven't found the right person yet. Someone who understands that your passion isn't competition, but it's part of what makes you who you are."
She wanted to believe him, wanted to hope that maybe this time could be different. But hope could be dangerous.
Genevieve leaned back. "I make bad choices."
"Well, I'm choosing you , and that's a good choice." Abe squeezed her hand. "Besides…I'm not the type of man you're used to."
"That's a good thing." Genevieve laughed. "I don't like the conservative types anyway. I'll take a rebel any day."
They finished dinner as the restaurant began to empty around them. Abe paid the check and helped her up. He escorted her out like a gentleman, treatment that she was rapidly getting used to.
Outside, the evening air was cool and pleasant. Abe offered his arm as they walked to his car, and she took it, enjoying the solid strength of him beside her.
"I need to ask you something," he said as they reached the vehicle. "The security cameras at your building still aren't working. I'm not comfortable leaving you alone there tonight."
Genevieve's first instinct was to protest. She didn't want to be driven from her own home and refused to feel helpless or dependent. But the memory of recent events made her reconsider.
"What are you suggesting?"
"You could stay at my place for tonight, until we get the fingerprint results back and your building is secured." His tone was cautiously professional. "I have a guest room. You'd have complete privacy."
The offer was tempting, not just for safety but because she wasn't ready for the evening to end. "Okay," she said. "But just for tonight."
*****
Abe's house in the Garden District was exactly what she'd expected—a craftsman-style home with a deep front porch, oak trees shading the yard, and flower boxes under the windows. Inside, it was warm and comfortable, with overstuffed furniture and family photos scattered throughout.
"This is lovely," Genevieve said, taking in the living room. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, and built-in bookshelves flanked the windows. Everything felt solid and permanent, like a real home.
"I've been working on it for years. I bought it as a fixer-upper and have been slowly bringing it back to life." Abe gestured toward the hallway. "The guest room is down there, and the bathroom is right next to it. Make yourself comfortable."
When she had settled in and came back out, they relaxed on the sofa to watch a movie.
It was an old action film that neither of them paid much attention to.
Genevieve was acutely aware of Abe beside her, the way he smelled like soap and something distinctly masculine.
She enjoyed the sound of his quiet laughter at the funny parts.
When she moved, her knee brushed against his thigh. The casual contact sent heat through her, and she had to resist the urge to move closer, to see what it would feel like to rest her head on his shoulder.
When the movie was over, Genevieve said, "I should probably get some sleep."
"Of course." Abe stood and escorted her to the guest room, bringing her a spare toothbrush and a cotton shirt. "I hope that will be okay. If you need anything, just holler."
Alone in the guest room, Genevieve brushed her teeth and slipped into the bed, but sleep wouldn't come. She couldn't ignore the way she felt when Abe looked at her. She was attracted to him—more than attracted. She was falling for him, despite every rational thought telling her to be careful.
But there was too much happening right then.
Jason's threats came at a time when her career was at a crucial juncture, with a potential recording deal.
And now her complicated attraction to a man whose job put him in danger every day.
She needed to stay focused, needed to protect herself from getting in deep too fast.
*****
After midnight, Genevieve finally dozed off. The smell of coffee woke her the next morning. She opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through the windows. She slid out of bed and put on the dress she'd worn the night before.
She found Abe standing at the stove dressed in jeans and a polo shirt with his hair still damp from his shower. He looked up when she entered.
"Good morning," he said warmly. "I hope you don't mind, but I started breakfast. There's fresh coffee over there."
"You don't have to cook for me." But even as she protested, Genevieve was pouring herself a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma gratefully.
"I like cooking. After all, I have to eat too. Did you sleep?"
"A little." She settled at the kitchen table, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "I have too much on my mind, I guess."
Abe seemed to understand without her having to explain. He plated eggs and toast, then served her before taking his seat.
"This is delicious," Genevieve said after her first bite. "Thank you."
She found herself thinking how natural the domestic scene felt. Waking up in his house and sharing breakfast seemed right . She wanted it to be real, and wished for more than just a temporary arrangement born of necessity.
Abe's phone buzzed during their second cup of coffee. He glanced at the screen and answered.
"Stewart." His expression grew serious as he listened. "No usable prints at all? What about the envelope?" A pause. "All right, thanks for letting me know."