Chapter 8
Genevieve looked forward to what Abe had planned for tomorrow. For hours they'd relaxed and talked. She breathed the sweet scent of jasmine in the air, wafting over the patio. She took pleasure watching Abe check his garden plants and adjusting the outdoor lights before they went inside.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty, but here in Abe's backyard sanctuary, she felt safe in a way that went beyond physical protection. It was emotional safety, the kind she hadn't experienced with any man.
He caught her watching him and smiled, that slow, warm expression that made her stomach flutter. "What's on your mind?"
"I'm just enjoying the view," she said, then realized how that sounded.
Abe chuckled and settled into the chair next to hers. "I was thinking," he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him, "about what you said earlier. About feeling like you have to choose between your music and relationships."
Genevieve turned to study his profile in the evening light. "That's been the story of my life."
"I've been wondering if maybe the problem wasn't your priorities. Maybe it was just that those men didn't understand what it means to love a woman with that much passion."
He'd said love so casually, but the word hung in the air between them, charged with possibility.
She smiled. "Now you're a poet."
"I'm just saying that when you care about someone, really care, you want to see them succeed at what makes them happy," Abe said. "I'm speaking for myself."
She reached over, took his hand, and laced their fingers together. His hand was warm and strong, calloused from years of physical work. "Thank you for saying that."
They sat in comfortable silence as the sky deepened from gold to purple.
Fireflies began to dance among the trees, and somewhere in the distance, jazz music drifted from a neighboring house.
It was quintessentially New Orleans, and Genevieve felt a deep sense of belonging that had nothing to do with the city and everything to do with the man beside her.
When the first cool breeze stirred the leaves above them, Abe squeezed her hand. "It's getting chilly. Shall we head inside?"
When they entered the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and began pulling out containers. "I hope you don't mind leftovers," he said. "I made jambalaya yesterday, and it's always better the second day."
Genevieve perched on one of the barstools, watching him work. "You really do cook."
"My grandmother would roll over in her grave if I couldn't feed myself properly," he said, then transferred the jambalaya to a pot on the stove. "She was Creole through and through. She taught all her grandsons that a man who can't cook is a man who can't take care of a family."
The casual mention of family made Genevieve's heart skip a beat. She tried to imagine Abe as a little boy, standing on a step stool in his grandmother's kitchen, learning to make roux and season gumbo. "What else did she teach you?"
"That good food shared with good people is one of life's greatest pleasures," he said, then pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. "That music is the language of the soul. And that when you find someone worth keeping, you fight for them."
He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one, their fingers brushing in the exchange. The touch sent electricity up her arm.
"That's a lot to take in," Genevieve said, then tasted her wine. "She must have been a smart woman."
"The smartest." Abe stirred the jambalaya, then turned to face her, leaning against the counter. "She would have loved you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you have music in your soul, and she could always recognize that in people." His expression was filled with emotion. "And because you make me happy in a way I'd forgotten was possible."
Genevieve looked at her wine glass, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. "Abe…"
He stepped close, and she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I just want you to know how I feel."
The timer on the stove chimed, breaking the moment, and Abe turned to check the food. But the intensity of his gaze lingered in Genevieve's mind as they moved to the dining room.
The jambalaya was delicious, rich with spices and tender shrimp and sausage. They talked easily over dinner, sharing stories about their childhoods, their dreams, and their fears. Genevieve found herself opening up in ways she rarely did, sharing memories and thoughts she'd kept private for years.
"I used to think I was meant to be alone," she said. "My music was all I needed."
"And now?"
Genevieve looked across the table at the strong, gentle man who'd appeared in her life at exactly the moment she needed him most. She reached up to touch his cheek. "I've changed my mind."
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Abe had a sophisticated sound system that filled the space with rich, warm tones. He scrolled through his music collection, finally settling on a classic B.B. King album.
"Good choice," Genevieve said, curling up on one end of his leather sofa.
"I've been educating myself," he said, sitting beside her. "I figured if I was going to understand what makes you tick, then I should understand your music."
"And what have you learned?"
"That blues isn't just about sadness. It's about honesty. About taking pain and transforming it into something beautiful." He reached for his phone. "Actually, I have some of your recordings."
Genevieve sat up. "You do?"
"I bought them after I heard you sing that first night at the club." He found the track he was looking for. "This one is my favorite."
The opening notes of one of her original compositions filled the room. It was a song about heartbreak and hope, about learning to trust again after betrayal. Hearing it with Abe gave it new meaning.
"I wrote that after my second divorce," she said.
"I can hear it in your voice, the pain, but also the strength." He turned to face her fully. "You took something that could have destroyed you and turned it into art."
Without conscious thought, Genevieve moved closer to him on the sofa. "You really understand, don't you?"
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin. "You're remarkable, Genevieve. Your strength, your talent, your heart… I'm in awe of you."
The words broke down the last of Genevieve's defenses. She leaned into his touch, then reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I'm falling for you," she said. "I tried not to, but I can't help it."
"That's good to hear," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Because I fell for you pretty fast."
When he kissed her, it was different from the gentle kiss they'd shared the night before. This was deeper, more urgent, full of all the feelings she had held back. Genevieve melted into him, fisting her hands in his shirt as she kissed him back with equal passion.
They lost themselves in each other for long, sweet minutes. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
"Genevieve," Abe said, resting his forehead against hers. "I want you, more than you can imagine. But…"
"But we should wait," she said, "until this is over and I'm safe." She spoke the words yet felt disappointed.
"I want our first time to be about us, not about escaping from fear," Abe said. "You deserve that."
She appreciated his restraint, and his desire to protect her heart. "This can't go on forever," she said, trying to sound hopeful.
"It will be over soon." Abe pulled her into his arms. "I promise."
*****
Genevieve woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of birds singing outside Abe's guest room window. For a moment, she lay still, savoring the peace of the morning and the memory of the evening before.
When she emerged from the bedroom, dressed in yoga pants and a light sweater, she found Abe in the kitchen wearing running shorts and a tank top that showed off his muscled arms and chest.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said, handing her a cup of coffee. "Are you ready for an adventure?"
"What kind of adventure?"
"The outdoor kind. I thought we'd go hiking at Couturie Forest." He checked his watch. "I'll have you back by early afternoon, in plenty of time to get ready for your show tonight."
Genevieve pulled out her phone to check her messages. There was a text from Cadie confirming that everything was set for their performance at Maple Leaf Bar. The venue was popular with both locals and tourists, known for its intimate atmosphere and excellent acoustics.
She replied: All good here. See you for soundcheck at 6 .
Abe poured her coffee. "Is everything okay?"
"Cadie has everything under control." She grinned at him. "And I love the idea of hiking. Give me a couple of minutes to get changed."
Twenty minutes later, they were in Abe's car heading toward the park. Genevieve had changed into hiking boots, shorts, and a moisture-wicking top. She controlled her wild hair with a headband and felt more like herself than she had in days.
*****
Couturie Forest was a hidden gem within the park, a natural area that felt worlds away from the urban landscape surrounding it. Ancient live oaks draped with Spanish moss created a canopy overhead. Trails wound through wetlands and small clearings where wildflowers bloomed.
"This is beautiful," she said as they started down one of the main trails. "I can't believe I've never been here."
"Most locals don't know about it," Abe said. "It's one of the best-kept secrets in the city."
They walked side by side at a comfortable pace. Genevieve found herself stealing glances at Abe in his hiking shorts and fitted t-shirt. His legs were strong and muscled, his movements fluid and confident. He was definitely eye candy.
After they'd been walking for about twenty minutes, he said, "You mentioned that you work out a lot to stay in shape for performing, so I figured you'd be up for a hike."