“So y’all shopping for a costume?”
“I was hoping to find something affordable. I’m on a budget.”
Ines leaned against a skeleton mannequin wearing a top hat. “It’s rough, ain’t it? Kids don’t understand being broke. Especially if they weren’t before.”
“I’ve explained it to her, but sometimes she doesn’t get it.”
“Mine are the same. I tell ’em we’re having ham sandwiches for dinner and they whine about wanting a Happy Meal. I ask ’em if they got Happy Meal money. They know what’s up after that.”
A dull pang throbbed in Rosalie’s chest. Her thoughts landed on the voice mail. She watched Remi walk up to a bin of costume hats and begin trying different ones on. She was going to choose an expensive costume and cry if told no. If Clyde were in the picture, he would be able to buy it for her, give her what she wanted as always. What if…?
She shook that line of thinking away. She concentrated on the searing anger. The outrage and bitterness that fueled her to stand her ground.
“If you’re strapped for money, we have a loaner program,” Ines explained. “Our selection isn’t the greatest, but it’s something. We’ve got the basic costumes for both children and adults. You never know, you might find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks, but I doubt it. My daughter’s stuck on a specific costume.”
“Little girls and their love for a Disney Princess,” predicted Ines with a low cackle. “We don’t have any loaner princess costumes in girls’ sizes, but we do have a queen costume in women’s if you’re looking for yourself too.”
Rosalie humored the clerk with a small smile, but she was saved from providing a response. Remi screeched for her from two aisles over. She rushed over a stride ahead of Ines.
The aisle teemed with children’s costumes on peg hooks. On the left were the boys’ costumes, arranged by size and age. The right featured the girls’ costumes, many glittering and embellished with tulle. Remi had wrangled the Princess and the Frog costume off the hanger and held it in her arms like fine gold. Her ponytails, one by each ear and two in the back, swung as she bounced on her feet.
“This is it! My princess costume.”
Rosalie’s stomach sank to the floor. Even at a glance, she knew it was expensive, priced well beyond her twenty-dollar budget. The detailing on the gown was ornate even for a child’s costume. Delicately sewn leaflets orbited the skirt like a lily pad, the pastel yellow petticoat peeking from underneath. The top half was equally decorated by a sparkly waterlily-cut neckline. She eased the ornate gown out of Remi’s grasp. The price tag jumped out at her. As predicted, the costume was triple her budget.
“Isn’t it pretty, Mommy? Look at the sparkly beads!”
“Remi…” Rosalie rattled out a breath. “It’s beautiful, but we can’t afford it. Why don’t we look at another costume?”
The tears were immediate. They brimmed in Remi’s eyes, glazing over like glass. Her chin trembled and her nostrils flared, on the verge of eruption. Rosalie hung the costume on the peg and knelt to envelop Remi with a hug. The tantrum came anyway, exploding free in a shrill cry that was heard up and down Main Street.
“How about this cool bumblebee costume? It’s from our loaner program and only five bucks to rent it out for two weeks.” Ines swooped in with the assist, holding out the striped fuzzy costume complete with stinger tail.
But Remi was a runaway train of emotion. She wailed loud enough to give anyone a headache, mouth hanging open wide for maximum volume. Her dark brown skin flushed over, tears pouring down her cheeks. She wasn’t ready to stop anytime soon.
What started out as guilt and sympathy transformed into frustration. Short spasms of tension shot through Rosalie, muscles clenching all over. Her lips pinched shut much like Ma’s. She grabbed Remi’s hand and bolted for the door. Behind them, Ines called out and said something about being around if they needed help.
Rosalie was on autopilot, too fed up for basic niceties. She strapped Remi into her car seat, ignoring the girl’s cries and the stares from townsfolk on the sidewalk. For the moment, she’d had enough.
The next morning over breakfast, Ma volunteered to chip in for the costume. It wasn’t that the gesture wasn’t appreciated. More so that she didn’t talk to her about it first. Remi had been upset with her for the rest of the night, pouting and sulking even during playtime. In Remi’s five-year-old eyes, Grandmommy Lacie rescued her from her mean, stingy Mommy. She became the bad guy.
This flew over Ma’s head—or if it didn’t, she acted obtusely. She sipped her tea seated at the breakfast table, Remi dancing excitedly in the background, and asked what Rosalie’s long face was about.
“Nothing.”
“Have some tea. It’ll calm you.”
Rosalie rubbed her eye, expression empty. She wanted to say more than curt one-word answers, but thought better of it. With Ma, arguing was futile. She had learned that lesson as a teenager. Ma’s stubbornness made any level of mutual understanding impossible. It was best to evade and avoid whenever given the chance.
She stood from the table. “I should get to work.”
“But it’s only eight? Why’ve you been headed over to that place so early?”
“I already told you. We’re doing renovations.”
Ma blew on her mug of tea with pursed lips. “I forgot about your little project. Well, you go ahead. I’ll whip up breakfast for my precious grandbaby. You weren’t gonna fix her anything but a bowl of cereal. See you after work.”
Rosalie bit her tongue and headed for the door. She needed time to cool off. Between Clyde’s voice mail, Remi’s tantrum, and Ma’s condescension, her heart felt heavy. Her mind murkier than the morning fog at the bayou. Her feet carried her to her Honda Civic parked outside. She zoned out for the entire drive to Ady’s.
When she arrived, Nick was waiting for her. His smile greeting her as she walked through the door was the first uplifting feeling she had for the day. By the looks of it, he had already done much of the work required for opening, prepping the dining area and kitchen.
“You’re early,” she said, shrugging off her men’s denim jacket. She couldn’t explain the sudden flutter in her stomach, but when Nick grinned wide, the nerve-racking feeling intensified. His dimples were prominent and his wavy golden-brown hair begged for fingers to run through its strands. She looked at him and tried to ignore how the muscles in his arms flexed under his shirt.
Nick Fontaine was no longer objectively handsome. He was flat-out, undeniably fine as fuck.
Rosalie wanted to cringe at the thought. She couldn’t pinpoint when she had stopped thinking of him as a boss—a boss who she thought was unqualified and out of his depth—and began thinking of him as a man she was irrefutably attracted to. When had that change happened? What was going on with her today?
She tried to shake it off, but Nick interrupted her by tossing an apron at her. She caught it and stared at him with brows raised high. He laughed.
“Apron up, chef,” he teased in his throaty timbre, deep and smoky like a fine whiskey. “We’ve got some cooking to do.”