Cami smiles widely. “Have I told you how great you are at this job?”
“Thank you?” I’m never sure what the appropriate response is when she gets like this.
Pulling off a chunk of King Cake with her bare hands like a savage, Cami adds, “You should take a piece of this to Finley and invite him to our party.”
I pretend to ignore her suggestion but inwardly, I make a mental note to do what she says. It’s what a friend would do, right? And Finley and I are friends, right? We were, and despite everything, I still feel that instant connection and pull.
After we hammer out some quick details, the King Cake Party is now officially on our schedule, happening next week. Since this is Cami and Deacon’s third baby, they didn’t have a baby shower, so according to her, everyone owes her.
Not gifts or anything, just cake.
Later in the day, after Cami and I go over some potential new local artists, she’s out of steam and Micah drops by to pick her up on his way back to French Settlement. The Landrys all live about an hour outside the city and have restaurants in New Orleans, French Settlement, and Baton Rouge. I’ve only been to Lagniappe, but I have plans on going on a Landry food tour soon.
My stomach growls just thinking about it, so I slice off another sliver of King Cake. Eventually, I’m going to have to add some additional nutrients to my diet, but this will have to do for now. I’m on my own until closing time, but since we don’t have any appointments this afternoon, it should be relatively quiet.
As I’m licking the icing off my fingers, my eyes drift back to the cake and Cami’s suggestion of taking Finley a piece and inviting him to the party. And then I glance over at the door, wondering if he’s on his corner playing.
Slicing off a decent-sized piece, I place it on a paper plate, stick a plastic fork in the flaky pastry, and head for the door before I can change my mind.
It’s not that I don’t want to see him.
We’re friends.
Old friends.
At one time, we were best friends.
But I have to admit, after Finley walked me back to my hotel, I went straight to my room and sent Trevor a text. There wasn’t anything romantic about mine and Finley’s time together, but somehow, I still felt guilty.
But then my text went unread for an entire day and took the edge off.
If Trevor wasn’t concerned with who I’m spending my time with, why should I feel the need to assuage my guilt? Besides, Finley and I are just friends and there’s nothing to feel guilty about.
Except there was a time when we weren’t just friends.
And we never really got over that.
At least, I didn’t. I just moved to New York and buried my feelings, chalking them up to that old adage—you can’t have your cake and eat it too.
Back then, I couldn’t have New York and Finley. It wasn’t fair to either of us, so I took one for the team and left, with no forwarding address or real way for us to stay connected, because if we had, I would’ve run back home—back to him—the first time it got hard.
Of course, Trevor finally called this morning and apologized profusely for being busy, and of course, I forgave him. I even told him all about my evening at the club and he said it sounded like a very New Orleans thing to do. He might’ve meant it as a dig, but he was right. It was the most fun I’ve had since I’ve been in this city. Getting a real glimpse into the culture and nightlife was exactly what I needed and it left me craving more.
After locking the door and flipping a sign to let everyone know I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, I turn toward the road and look both ways before jogging across. Finley sees me the second I step onto the opposing sidewalk and even though his lips are on the saxophone, his eyes light up with a smile.
There are a few people standing around listening, so I join the crowd and enjoy the show, losing myself in the moment, almost forgetting for a second that I’m on a sidewalk in New Orleans listening to my oldest friend play a song as old as time in a city that feels more right than anything has in a long, long time.
When the song is over, the crowd applauds and Finley dips his head in humble appreciation. They toss change and bills in an open case and I stand back, just watching.
“Is that for me?” he asks, gesturing to the cake in my hand.
He’s now standing a mere few inches from me, adjusting his sax to the side, letting it hang from the strap around his neck. For some reason, my heart pounds a little faster at the sight. It reminds me of a sunny day in a public park in Dallas. Finley had invited me to come while he played. I laid under a tree on a blanket and read an assigned book for my Senior AP English class and we’d steal smiles and hot looks, letting the connection zip between us. Even though we were surrounded by people, it was like we were the only people on earth.
I miss that.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt so wholly seen and understood.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head and bring my attention back to the present. “Yeah, I, uh… Cami’s pregnant,” I blurt out, like he didn’t know that bit of information and it explains why I’m standing here with this piece of cake. “She has a problem. Actually, we have a problem because she buys at least one King Cake a day and there’re only so much baked goods two women can consume in a day. So, I thought I’d bring you a piece.”
Finley squints an eye, looking down at me.
Have I mentioned how tall he is?
So tall.
Taller than he was the last time we kissed.
What the heck?
Where did that thought come from?
“Thank you,” he says, reaching out and accepting the plate and saving me from my inner monologue and the off chance those random thoughts come flying out of my mouth.
Crazier things have happened.
“I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so…” He holds up the plate and offers me a wide Finley Lawson smile, full of bright, white teeth and so much charm it makes my stomach drop.
“Good,” I say, smoothing my hands down the front of my skirt to dry my palms that are suddenly sweating. New Orleans, man. I’d never be sweating like this in the middle of January in New York.
Finley steps back and cuts off a bite of the flaky, sweet goodness. Popping it in his mouth, he moans his appreciation and I avert my eyes, searching for something else to distract me.
Anything.
“Oh,” I say, remembering the other reason for me coming over here. “Cami wants me to invite you to our King Cake Party. It’s going to be at the gallery next week and if you’d be interested, we’d love for you to play. She even mentioned something about playing with her brother, Tucker.”
“Right,” Finley says, nodding as he takes another bite. When he’s finished chewing, he licks lingering sugar off his lips. “We talked at the New Year’s Eve party. I have his number. I’ll give him a call. When is the party?”
Stop, Georgette.
Stop this right now.
Of course, Finley still affects me like this. I can’t help that.
I’ve always been attracted to him. Even when I first met him and he was lanky and awkward, I still thought he was beautiful with his caramel-colored skin, dark eyes, full lips… and that thick, wavy hair.
Most women would kill for his features.
Time hasn’t changed any of that, only improved.