“Hey, stranger. Fancy seeing you again. Two days in a row.”
The unfamiliar voice jerks me out of my head—back to the here and now—and to the All-American blond guy from yesterday.
How did I not notice him? Jesus Christ. I’m usually a lot more aware of my surroundings, but Celeste’s reading and the past twenty-four hours have me all out of sorts.
I wave at him but keep walking. But he doesn’t take the hint and jogs to catch up.
“Thanks for the directions yesterday. Café Envie was great. Any other places I should try?”
I pause and stare at a guy who absolutely can’t take a hint. “There’s a visitor center not far from here. They can help you out.”
“Nah,” he says with a huff. “I don’t want touristy stuff. I’m a local now. I need to find the local hot spots.”
Grinding my teeth, I glance behind me. “Yep, just as I thought. I forgot my neighborhood welcome wagon. Sorry. You’re going to have to find someone else to show you around town. I’m busy.”
“What if I buy you dinner?”
I’d like to buy him a fucking clue. “I’ve got my dinner covered. Good luck.”
Then I clip along down the street, but something tells me not to go to my gate until he’s out of sight again. I don’t want this guy knocking on my door every other day, asking for restaurant recommendations, which dry cleaner to use, or if I have a preference of florists.
“Maybe I’ll run into you again next week and change your mind. Have a good one, stranger!” he calls after me.
I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t want to encourage the guy. I’ve never had a thing for Wonder bread, and that’s exactly what he is.
Basic. Plain. Ordinary. No flavor. No panache.
I’ll change my mind? In your dreams, you overconfident asshole.
It pisses me off all the same that he’s just moved in around the corner. I pause and bend down like I’m shaking a rock out of my shoe, and he disappears from sight. Finally.
As I unlock my gate, I’m filled with annoyance that my new sanctuary is already tainted. First by the blood last night, and now by a guy who doesn’t understand when his attention is completely unwanted. After the amount of money I’ve sunk into this place, it’s disappointing.
Rocco is inside, working hard and singing off-key to Joan Jett.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, I debate what to do next. I could start hanging my clothes up in the closet . . . but from Rocco’s belted-out notes, I can tell he’s upstairs, no doubt trying to get the master bedroom finished like I asked.
He’s almost done. Just be patient, Mags. It’s all going to come together.
The cards from my reading shuffle through my mind. Change is coming. Change that’s bigger than Rocco finishing the caulk work around the tub and knocking out the final items on the punch list.
I step back outside and drop into a patio chair from the set I had delivered last week.
You’re stronger than this, Magnolia. You can handle whatever’s coming. Have you stopped to wonder if it’s you that’ll be coming? That big hunk of Creole muscle is still looking mighty tasty.
I jerk my head up and look around, as if trying to figure out where the hell that thought came from. Ho-It-All, clearly. Apparently, I named my contrary inner voice well, because she’s advocating for Moses now. And if he was the Devil card Celeste dealt me yesterday . . . who knows what’s coming next.
Death.
It’s a card that doesn’t usually frighten me, but after the last twenty-four hours, I’m not myself. Maybe I should meet Moses tonight. Hear what he has to say. Do what Celeste suggested . . . let him show me.
As I take a minute to myself, sitting in a ray of sunshine, the damn Chariot card pops back into my head too.
Make a decision. One way or the other.
I have to choose. So I do.
Without even letting Rocco know I was here, I slip out of my gate once again.
If I’m going to face Moses, I need some shiny new armor first.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or am I really seeing Magnolia Maison step into my shop?” Yve Titan, the wife of billionaire Lucas Titan, says to me as I cross the threshold of Dirty Dog, my favorite dress shop in the Quarter. In the last couple of years, she’s expanded, and her offerings have gotten even more unique and varied.
“How’s it going, Yve?”
She smiles broadly. “Oh, you know, just another day in paradise.” Yve moves like a dancer as she gracefully gestures to the fixtures holding scores of beautiful dresses. “To what do I owe the pleasure today? It’s been a while.”
Yve and I struck up a friendship of sorts over the past few years since she took over the place and turned into one of the hottest boutiques in New Orleans. She and I don’t exactly come from similar backgrounds, but she’s no idiot or asshole, and I respect her drive. When she married Titan, she never had to work another day in her life, but she didn’t let that change her hustle. If anything, she’s even more ambitious now.
“I need a dress. Something . . .” I pause, trying to decide exactly how to describe the reaction I want Moses to have. “Something to make a man ache.”
Yve’s lips purse together in an intrigued pout. “Oh, girl. Please tell me you’re going to fill me in on this story while I find you exactly that.”
“Maybe,” I say as I shrug like it’s no big thing. But one of Yve’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rises, and I have to wonder if she can see right through me.
“I just got a shipment in from a brand-new vendor, and her pieces are to die for. No one has seen a single one yet. We’re almost finished steaming them in the back, but . . .”
I sense where she’s going. “But you’ll let me have first dibs if I tell you who I’m wearing it for?” I ask, sure I’m on the right track.
Her guilty grin makes her even more stunning. “Damn, you’re sharp. No wonder you’re one of my favorite customers.”
“Mm-hmm. I can smell the bullshit from here, Yve. Show me the dresses, and I’ll think about telling you.”
She studies me for a moment, her tongue tapping her teeth. “Fine. Only because I like you.”
Yve leads me into the back, where one of her employees is adjusting a dress’s skirt with one hand while gripping the steamer handle in another.
“Oh, that looks divine, Kayleigh,” Yve says. “Want to take the floor so I can show Magnolia our newest beauties?”
The girl, probably in her mid-twenties, jerks her head around when Yve says my name. Her face is easily readable, and I find the proof of my infamy stamped on it. She definitely knows who I am.
I used to find it amusing that my reputation preceded me wherever I went, but now . . . it’s getting old. As Kayleigh smiles my way, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have complete anonymity again. For no one to know who I am or what I’ve done. It’s the most indulgent thought I’ve had in a long time, but I don’t get to dwell on it long.
“You’re gorgeous. Jesus. Wow.” Kayleigh blinks and lifts a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t exactly professional. It’s really nice to meet you.”
She holds out her hand, and I shake it. You’d think I’m a celebrity from the awestruck look on her face.