The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(9)
Author: Karen White

 

“I’ve got my bike. I’ve already texted Trevor to let him know I’d be late for the drop-off.”

 

“It’s dark, Nola. And the flashlight duct-taped to your handlebars will only give drivers something to aim for when you attempt to cross Esplanade.”

 

Too tired to argue, I let him help me lock up and load my bike into the back of his truck. I kept Beau’s jacket around me the entire drive, shivering despite the heat blasting from the dash vents, aware of the glow of a pipe from my front porch and a pair of unseen eyes following us until we turned the corner out of sight.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4

 

 

Jolene chased after me as I attempted to leave the apartment the following day.

 

“If you’d just hold your horses, I can do a nice French braid. . . .”

 

I turned around, blocking her brush-wielding arm with my own, like we were two fencers getting ready to face off. “Stop it—I’m going to be late. And I’m just going to meet Sam. Beau won’t be there.”

 

“Lorda mercy, Nola. I did not just hear you say that. We don’t make ourselves look good for men. We do it as a form of self-respect. When we know we’re put together, it shows off our most intelligent and confident selves. It’s about winning friends and influencing people, and you can’t do that looking like something swept up on the curb by the street cleaner. Besides, it’s always better to arrive late than ugly.”

 

I stared at her blankly.

 

“That’s an expression, Nola. You couldn’t be ugly if you tried. And you do seem to try quite a bit with some of your outfits, but we don’t have time for that now.” She held up her brush again and I turned, resigning myself to her ministrations.

 

“So, what does Sam want to discuss with you?” she asked, pulling my hair back so tightly it made my eyes water.

 

“I have no idea. She couldn’t have a bone to pick with me. My relationship with Beau has been strictly platonic.” Except once, but that wasn’t something I was going to share.

 

At the word “bone,” Mardi lifted his head from the sofa pillow that Jolene had embroidered with his name and a cute paw motif.

 

“Strictly platonic,” Jolene repeated in her slow Southern drawl.

 

“Exactly. Just like your relationship with Jaxson.”

 

She gave an extra-hard tug on my hair. “Sorry. Your hair needs extra taming today.”

 

I tried to turn to face her, but she kept such a firm grip on my braid that I was afraid of scalping myself if I moved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

 

“You shouldn’t apologize for pointing out the truth. I deserved that. And I’d much rather hear it from a friend than anyone else.”

 

Jolene relaxed her hold on my hair, and I breathed a sigh of relief that my eyes had stopped watering. When she was done, she grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. “Much better, but there’s still something missing.” She regarded me critically. “Where are your pearls?”

 

“Seriously? I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. I don’t think . . .”

 

“Perfect,” she said, unclasping her own set from around her neck before settling it on mine. “All you need now is a bit of color. . . .” Jolene reached into her pocket to pull out her ever-present tube of lipstick.

 

At that, I stepped away from her, grabbing the worn and grubby backpack that had seen me through a lot of things. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

 

“Hang on—I have something for you!”

 

I hoped it wasn’t another big Barbie head. Or another monogrammed anything. My room and closet already looked as if a monogram machine had run amok, spewing my initials like beads from a Mardi Gras float. Jolene ran to the kitchen and emerged with a gift bag exploding with metallic tissue paper and extravagantly tied bows. I knew better than to ask if she’d done them herself.

 

Jolene handed it to me with a bright smile, keeping her hand on the bottom. “Careful—it might spill. I wanted to make sure it was good and hot before I gave it to you.”

 

Curious now, I moved the bow-festooned handles aside and parted the paper to reveal the top of a travel coffee cup. I carefully pulled it out, then read what had been printed on the front and smiled.

 

Californian by birth, Southern by choice.

 

 

 

“I thought when you learned to drive, you’d want something to put in the cup holder of your car. But for now, you can take it on the streetcar on your way to work.” Beaming, she added, “And I already spoke to Trevor about finding a cup holder to attach to the handlebar on your bike. He said he didn’t think it would be safe, but I assured him you wouldn’t take a sip unless you were at a full stop. And that you’re more dangerous to society if you’re caffeine deprived.”

 

I grinned. “This is perfect—and so thoughtful. Thank you.”

 

“I was going to get one that said ‘Bless Your Heart,’ but I figured you wouldn’t want people to think you were cussing them out.”

 

“Good choice. Thank you—really. For the hot coffee, too.” I hugged her, careful not to tilt my new cup. “Why are you so nice to me?”

 

“Because you’re my friend. And because you deserve it. Probably more than most people.”

 

I pulled back, unable to speak past the frog in my throat. She followed me through the French door at the top of the stairs, tugging on my backpack briefly. “I’m just sticking in a tube of my favorite lipstick in case you change your mind.” Leaning over the banister to watch me descend past the landing, she called after me, “Don’t forget to be polite.”

 

I paused on the bottom step to look up at her. “Of course I’ll be polite. Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Her eyebrows rose, but I didn’t stick around long enough to hear anything else.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

• • •

 

I stood outside the small bungalow that housed Horn’s Eatery on the corner of Dauphine and Touro, not far from my cottage in the Marigny. Despite the cooler air of fall, the sidewalk was full of diners with their dogs sitting outside and enjoying coffee and breakfast.

 

A sign over the glass double doors read the garden of eatin’, and a chalkboard stand in the middle of the sidewalk read Wisdom says that if you’re hungry, you should eat. Although the thought of having a private conversation with Sam had stolen my appetite, the delicious smells of the food on diners’ plates made my stomach grumble. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped inside.