Chapter 3 #2
“I’m still looking for someone who’s a good fit for it.
” The thunder of approaching motorcycles drowns out the rest of her words.
The noise grows louder until two riders cruise down Main Street.
From a distance, I can make out black vests covering each of their chests, confirming they’re likely members of the same club.
My pulse throbs loudly in my ears, my palms grow clammy.
I’d bet my life that’s Mr. Red Light closest to me.
His head is covered with a helmet, but there’s something about the set of his shoulders, the firm but somehow comfortable grip on the bike.
I watch enchanted for one pounding beat of my heart, then another, my body feeling like I’m vibrating.
It’s definitely Jude. He’s the only person who has ever garnered such a visceral reaction out of me.
It’s the thousandth reminder of him in the twenty-four hours since we met.
The woman’s apologetic tone wakes me from my daze. “That’s just our Bayou Dogs. Noisy as all get out, but good neighbors.”
“Don’t believe I’ve seen you around before,” the woman remarks. “I’m Fern Breaux.”
“I’m Greer, and that’s because I’ve just moved back. Dad’s active duty military."
“The new nurse at the clinic,” Fern exclaims. “Why just this morning Jenn was telling me all about you.”
I’ve just left my job intake, and the word’s already gotten around. Small towns. Gotta love it. “That’s me. I start on Monday.”
“Well, it sounds like it would be convenient if things work out. Would you like a tour of the apartment?”
“Yes, please, if you have time.”
Fern gives me a long, assessing look. She seems to find me suitable, I guess, because she looks over to the teenage girl cleaning the espresso machine and says, “Delia, I’m going to show the apartment. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She grabs an oversized keyring and gestures for me to follow as we walk outside. “It’s been available for a while, I’m afraid. I’ve had a few applicants, but everybody backs out when they discover the rules about noise.”
“And those might be?”
“No music that can be heard in the café, and there’s a limit of two visitors at a time. I don’t want people running off my customers because of the noise.”
“That shouldn’t be an issue for me,” I answer. A fat drop of rain falls onto the pavement, then another, but the eaves of the building are keeping us dry.
Fern looks through the key ring in her hands instead of in the direction she’s walking. As we turn the corner into the alleyway, she urges, “Watch your step. I really need to get on to Lamont about fixing it.”
Bypassing the half sunk piece of cement in question, I ask, “Oh, is that your husband?”
She stops at a door marked “residents only” and scowls at the dusty porch light hanging to its right. “No, that’s the mayor. He comes in every morning for his breakfast sandwich. Between him and some of the Bayou Dogs visiting, it helps keep trouble away.”
“Do the men in the club come in often?” I ask uneasily.
“Yes, the president is marrying my employee’s sister, so they’re in here a bit, watching after things.” She gives me a ‘you got a problem with that’ look before I try to dismiss her concerns with a smile.
This doesn’t mean Jude will be here. There’s probably a bunch of club members, right? “It’s so peaceful here. I can’t imagine there being too many issues.”
She wiggles the knob while turning the key. “Every once in a while we get a random tourist throwing a hissy fit because their latté isn’t hot enough, but for the most part it’s quiet.”
Fern gestures for me to walk up an enclosed staircase tight enough to make someone claustrophobic until we reach an interior door.
I fall in love with the apartment as soon as I step inside.
After a lifetime of living in cookie-cutter base housing, the thought of somewhere with so much character is a breath of fresh air.
The living room is painted a deep sage, including the arched bookshelves that take up most of the wall.
There’s even a beautiful bay window for Hank to people watch.
The two bedroom apartment feels like a one-in-a-million find.
I follow behind Fern as she points out the large master bedroom with ensuite bath (as if I wasn’t already sold).
There’s washer/dryer hookups hidden behind accordion doors in the hallway, but no appliances.
I’ll have to visit the laundromat until I can wrangle up the money to afford the appliances.
While not exactly modern, the kitchen has all the basic amenities.
Normally, I would take my time to mull things over. But I’m being impulsive, and this just feels right.
Since I’m not an idiot, I iron out the details with Fern and promise that there will be no excessive visitors or noise during business hours.
I’m able to e-sign the lease from my phone, as well as pay the deposit and first month’s rent.
She doesn’t bother with a credit or reference check, but that's how things are sometimes in small communities.
Looking pleased, Fern says, “Well, that’s over and done with. You can move in whenever you’re ready.”
As Fern moves to leave, I say, “If it’s okay, I’d like to look around some more.”
She works a brass key off of the ring and hands it to me. “Just remember to lock up.”
As the door closes behind her, I do a dorky little excited dance, in disbelief of my unearthed treasure.
I open the fridge and closets, making a mental list of things I’ll need before moving in.
The counters are white Formica that look like granite.
I’ll need a bleach based cleaner. No ice maker, so I’ll need to buy a bag.
I poke around for a few minutes, my excitement blooming with each room I explore.
With notes in my phone, I lock the door, tramp down the stairs, and lock the exterior door as well.
As I turn the corner from my apartment, something on the opposite side of my car catches my eye.
Polished chrome, shiny even in the gloomy weather.
A shiver runs down my spine when I make out the handles of a Harley.
It’s parked at the perfect angle to keep me from pulling out.
I know who it belongs to on sight. I can feel it deep down in my bones.
I move to the candy striped awning over the coffee shop’s front and look around.
Any doubt is answered when the coffee shop door closes behind me.
Booted feet make heavy steps on the cement, and my skin starts to prickle.
My heart is thundering at a dangerous cadence.
I feel like a high school freshman, and the prom king just smiled at me, all girlish blushes and simpering glances.
There’s no mistaking him for a high school senior, though.
Jude’s all man in denim and leather. His dark hair gelled back with a fresh undercut.
Some rich shade of brown. His skin is bronzed by the sun, giving him a healthy glow.
It’s more than his appearance that makes me weak in the knees.
It’s his presence, the way he moves with such nonchalant grace, like he either isn’t aware or, more likely, doesn’t care he’s causing palpitations in every woman within walking distance.
Every move toward me is downright cocky, the prowl of the hunter once the prey is in the snare.
It’s not too far off. He’s caught me again.
It should piss me off, but I can’t be mad. Not when those hazel eyes are twinkling with boyish delight. It makes these happy little butterflies dance in my belly.
A lazy grin grows on Jude’s face as he brings a paper cup of coffee to his lips. “Hi, Baby Doll.”