“Next Friday night,” I tell him, swallowing down the flood of feelings. Old and new, all-consuming.
“I’ll be there.”
Smiling, I try to quell the flip in my stomach. “Great,” I reply with a nod as I retreat a step. I need to get back to the gallery. I need to call Trevor, my boyfriend. And I need my old friend, Finley, to stop looking at me with those intense, gray eyes.
Yeah, everything is great.
Totally fine.
Nothing to see here.
I’m practically halfway across the street when I hear Finley callout after me. “Wanna meet me for coffee?”
Whipping around, I glance around to make sure I’m not about to get creamed in the crosswalk and brush rogue curls from my face. “What?”
That’s a rhetorical question, I know what he asked. I’m just not sure what my answer should be.
We’re friends.
We’ve always been friends.
Besides my boss and her family, he’s the only person I know in the state of Louisiana.
Having someone to explore my new city with is ideal.
It’s the safe thing to do, right?
I think even Trevor could agree with that.
“Coffee?” Finley repeats.
It’s not dinner or a date, Georgette. Get a grip.
“Sure,” I finally reply.
His smile lights up the entire street. “Great. Do you know where Neutral Grounds is?”
I nod. It’s Cami’s favorite and her friend, CeCe, owns it. And CeCe is married to Shepard Rhys-Jones, who’s from Dallas. Finley’s grandma worked for his family.
Small world.
I nod my response.
“Meet me there at six?” he asks. “We can talk more about the party.”
Right, the party.
Good idea.
“Sounds like a d—” I almost said date and feel like smacking my forehead, but instead, I force a smile and correct myself. “Deal. I’ll be there.” And then I run across the street like a scared little girl, back to the safety of the gallery.
After unlocking the door and taking the sign down, I lean against the wall and let out a deep sigh. “What are you doing, Georgette?” I ask myself, closing my eyes but then opening them quickly, because behind my lids are only flashes of gray eyes, brown curly hair, and full lips.
Walking over to the desk, I pick up my phone and shoot Trevor a text.
Me: Hey, you.
Hey, you?
God, I’m an idiot, but in my defense, I’m short on things to call Trevor—besides Trevor—because he thinks every nickname is stupid. The first time I called him babe, he looked at me like I’d spilled milk on his alligator loafers.
“Don’t call me that,” he’d said. “We’re not in high school. We don’t need pet names.”
Always so damn serious.
I wait a second for the three little dots to show up, but they never do. Not that I thought he’d reply right away, but I’d hoped he would. Just this once. Because I need him to. I need to get my head on straight.
Why do I have a feeling Finley is going to want to talk about more than the King Cake Party?
Am I ready for that?
Thankfully, the front door opens and a few women walk into the gallery.
“Welcome to 303 Royal,” I greet, getting my mind off Finley and back onto my job. This is where I thrive, where I know my place and I’m confident in my abilities. It’s like the universe knew exactly what I needed. Taking a deep, much-needed breath, I step away from the desk and square my shoulders.
Let’s sell some art.
Chapter Seven
Finley
“How’s Maggie?” Jette asks, taking a sip of her coffee as we sit by the window in the front of Neutral Grounds. I picked this spot before she got here for two reasons. One, I wanted some privacy because I’m hoping to finally broach the topics we’ve been evading since she walked into Lagniappe. Two, I needed somewhere to put my eyes besides Georgette Taylor, and the people watching outside this window is a good distraction.
Sometimes, I still have to ask myself if this is real life.
I’ve missed her so much, more than I’ve admitted to myself in a long time.
“She’s good,” I tell her, picking at the cardboard sleeve on my cup. This week has actually felt like winter here in New Orleans. The temps have finally dropped into the forties at night and mid-fifties during the day. It’s nice. And CeCe is reaping the rewards.
Neutral Grounds is buzzing.
Speaking of CeCe, I catch her watching us and chuckle.
“What’s funny?” Jette asks, glancing over her shoulder.
“CeCe,” I say, shaking my head as she realizes she’s been caught creeping and busies herself behind the counter, engaging a customer in conversation.
Jette turns her attention back to me and her cheeks are tinged with pink. She’s always been so easy to embarrass; her emotions are always on display. “She’s great,” Jette says. “I guess she and Cami go way back. Cami told me when she was in New Orleans for college, CeCe worked here for her uncle. That painting hanging over there is one of Cami’s first pieces she ever sold.”
My eyes leave Jette and go to a beautiful landscape painting behind the counter. It’s full of color and the images seem to be alive on the canvas. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Jette says wistfully. “She’s so talented. I’ve been trying to talk her into bringing more of her own work to the gallery, but she insists the mission of the gallery is to bring attention to local, lesser-known artists.”
“You two seem to be fast friends,” I say before taking a sip of my coffee. Damn, this is good. I played in a lot of coffee bars in Dallas and none of them compared to this. CeCe is a coffee genius, which is why she’s getting ready to start selling her own bulk coffee. The space next door is currently being remodeled into a roastery.
Jette smiles. “Cami feels like the sister I never had, but she’s also my boss, of course. It’s so different from my job in New York.”
Here we go. I’ve been waiting on a segue and this is the closest we’ve come to discussing her leaving, New York, college, and the last five years, so I know it’s now or never.
“Do you miss New York?” I ask, glancing down at the table and then back up at her. She bites down on her lip and then averts her eyes and I hold my breath. I’m not sure what I expect her answer to be or even want it to be, for that matter, but I need it.
Are you staying?
Is this temporary?
Will you come back into my life and let me get used to having you around again, only to leave me?
If the answer to that last question is yes, then I don’t know if I can continue whatever this is we’ve fallen into, or back into. For me, I think it would be better to pretend she’s not even here and go back to how my life was before New Year’s Eve—life without Georgette. I’d finally gotten used to it and was doing just fine.
Lies.
All of it.
“This is going to sound bad, but I don’t… like, nothing,” she says, with a shocked laugh, like she even surprised herself with that answer.
I know she surprised me.
I thought she would at least bring up the boyfriend.
Yeah, I know about him.