“No worries. Are you going to make it to dinner, or do we need emergency snacks?” he asks, threading his fingers through mine as we start across the square, taking in the elegant blue spires of St. Patrick’s Church reaching toward the blushing sky.
The sun sets later now than it did earlier in the winter, but it’s still going to be dark long before we arrive at the restaurant for our seven o’clock reservation.
After further investigation, it became clear that not only did Naomi intentionally book one hotel room for two nights to play cupid, she also made reservations at her favorite New Orleans restaurant, The House of the Four Brothers. The concierge slipped an envelope under our door with the details while we were asleep. Inside was the time and location of our dinner reservation, as well as a gift certificate for a nearby clothing store. Naomi thought of everything, even our clothing—or lack thereof.
At first, I balked at the idea of accepting any more of his sister’s generosity, but Mick insisted Naomi would be insulted if we rejected her gift.
So, with reluctance, I allowed myself to be coaxed into a black sundress from the store’s sale section, while he selected khakis and a blue button-down that makes his eyes look even more stunning than usual. Then we’d asked the shopkeeper to refund the rest of the money to Naomi’s credit card.
Honestly, I still feel weird about letting someone I barely know spend so much money on me, but Mick’s comment about letting Naomi do what gives her joy makes sense. If I were rich, I’d rather spoil the people I love with my money than use it all up myself. I’d rather make sure people I know who are struggling have groceries and nice Christmas presents for their kids than drive a fancy car or own a mansion.
Besides, it sounds like Naomi can afford to do both—spoil us and herself—so who am I to tell her she can’t treat her brother and his girlfriend after a brutal drive.
His girlfriend.
I’m Mick’s girlfriend—it’s still so weird, and awesome, that I kind of want to pinch myself every time he threads his fingers through mine.
“How about some peanuts?” He pauses in front of the cathedral, where food vendors, fortunetellers, and people selling crafts fight for space to spread out on the paving stones.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I can make it until dinner.” I let my gaze drift over the colorful mix of people, my eyes lingering on an old woman with bronzed skin and a purple scarf knotted in her brown-and-gray-streaked hair. A deck of tarot cards rests on a battered trunk in front of her beside a sign that proclaims “Tarot Readings Here.”
I’ve never seen a fortuneteller in real life before, but that isn’t a big surprise. I haven’t seen much of anything, really. I went to Pensacola, Florida, once with my mom when I was little—long enough to fall head over heels in love with the ocean—and camping near Hilton Head half a dozen times with my cousins, but that’s the extent of my world travels.
“You want to?” Mick nods toward the fortuneteller.
I wave a hand. “Nah, I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Me, either.” He grins. “But it can still be fun. Let’s do it.”
“I don’t know,” I say, but when Mick starts toward the woman, I don’t put up a fight.
I’m curious and when I’m with Mick that feels okay. Like it’s safe to wonder about things, try things I haven’t before.
“Good evening, lovers,” the fortuneteller says in a thick drawl more honeyed than the Georgia accents I’m used to. She smiles widely, revealing rows of very white teeth. “You two bebs interested in a reading?”
“It depends on how much it costs,” I say before Mick can reply. I’m all for trying something silly, but only if it isn’t going to cut into our dessert budget.
“I do an eleven-card reading for thirty dollars,” the woman says. “Or a single question, three-card spread for ten.”
I cast an uncertain look Mick’s way. Ten dollars is a little steep in my opinion. That’s several cans of food for Captain Snugglepants.
I’m about to tell him I think we should pass, when the fortuneteller speaks again.
“How about a quittin’ time special? I’ll do a single question for five, and you’ll be my last read of the day.”
“Sounds great. Thank you, ma’am.” Mick reaches into his wallet and pulls out a five-dollar bill that he sets on the woman’s makeshift table.
The trunk looks old and heavy, making me wonder how this relatively frail-looking woman—she can’t be more than five-three and a hundred pounds—is going to get this thing out of the square when she’s ready to leave.
Hopefully she has some strapping kids or grandkids to help out.
If not, Mick and I can probably carry it for her.
I’m wearing sandals but…
“All right, cher.” The woman tucks the five-dollar bill into the pocket of her long, multi-colored caftan with one hand as she plucks the deck of cards from the table with the other. “While I shuffle, I want you two young ones to focus on a question, something you want to know about your future together.”
Mick glances my way, seeming a little unsure.
Which I totally get.
Our relationship is so new; it’s intimidating to think too much about the future.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Something low-key?”
I’m tempted to agree with him, but my gut says low-key isn’t us.
Hell, the fact that I’m comfortable thinking about us as “us” after a few days is proof of that.
“Nah, go big or go home, right?”
He smiles, seeming pleased with the answer. “All right. Let’s ask if we’ll still be having this much fun together this time next year.”
Chapter Fourteen
Faith
My eyes go wide.
Wow, so Mick’s already thinking ahead.
Pretty far ahead.
But as someone who was just thinking pretty seriously about the “L” word, I really have no room to talk.
I nod. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
“An excellent question.” The woman sets the cards on the edge of the table. “Let’s have one of you cut the deck, and the other will pick the cards.”
I reach for the deck. “I’ll cut, sounds like less responsibility.”
Mick laughs. “Thanks a lot. Does that mean I get blamed if the cards are bad?”
“There are no bad cards.” The fortuneteller smiles as she reclaims the deck and fans it into a horseshoe on top of the trunk. “There are only cards we understand, and those we haven’t figured out yet.”
I resist the urge to sigh. This is starting to sound a little New-Age—something I confess I’ve had a distaste for since Mama’s “love spell” phase, when she was positive that burning the perfect candle or wearing the right pink crystal around her neck would ensure her latest loser stuck around—but I push the wave of irritation away.
This is just for fun, after all. No reason to take it too seriously.
Mick selects three cards, and the woman arranges them in a row. She turns the middle card over first.
“The Knight of Batons.” She nods, smiling as if this is what she was expecting. “The card symbolizes readiness for a journey. You are both young and strong and prepared to embark on the coming exploration. You are filled with confidence, and eager to discover the secrets adventures always hold.”