We part ways with a promise of getting together soon to start our explorations. Jette also mentioned needing to find a more permanent place to live, so I’m going to help her do that too.
Even though she’s all grown up, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t need someone to look out for her. New Orleans is a great city, but all great cities have their downfalls. And like any city, there’s always someone trying to take advantage of an easy target.
Georgette Taylor might’ve lived in New York for the past five years, but she’s still the sheltered girl who grew up in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Texas. With her blonde hair and blue eyes and bubbly personality, target could very well be her middle name.
After she leaves, I walk over to where CeCe is cleaning up after a recent rush of customers and grab a towel to help her.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she says while eyeing me over her shoulder.
“I know I don’t but I like feeling useful around here. It’s the least I can do to thank you for my low rent.”
CeCe chuckles as we make quick work of the tables. “I’m just thankful you’re here in New Orleans. Knowing you’re living in my old apartment is a bonus and gives me and Shep peace of mind.” It’s basically the same thing she tells me every time I bring up my cheap-ass rent. There’s not a place in the French Quarter, unless it’s a cardboard box, that would be cheaper.
“Now,” CeCe says, tossing her rag on the counter before turning toward me with her hands on her hips. “Enough small talk, give me all the dirt.”
I should’ve expected this.
Since marrying Shep, CeCe has quickly become like an older sister to me, taking me under her wing without a second thought. She’s also a nosy motherfucker, just like her husband.
“Come on, spill it!” I swear to God she stomps her foot and then points her finger at me. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Laughing, I mimic her stance and answer, “What? I was having coffee with a friend.”
“Bullshit. Try again.”
I roll my eyes at CeCe, knowing it won’t do me any good to play games with her. “It’s not bullshit, she really is a friend. We were best friends in high school.”
“But not just friends,” she hedges. “There was more there.”
It’s not a question; it’s a statement. And it’s true. We were so much more.
“Yeah, but that was years ago,” I finally say, straightening a couple of chairs as I try to avoid CeCe’s stare and the growing ache in my chest.
“Doesn’t mean it can’t be more again,” CeCe says, making her way back around the counter. “Shep said you two were really close, like each other’s shadows. He also mentioned he thought he was going to have to stage an intervention when she left for New York.”
I sigh, glancing out the window. “It wasn’t my best moment.”
After a few seconds of silence, a new customer walks in and puts an end to our heart-to-heart.
“My only piece of advice is don’t have regrets,” CeCe says, lowering her voice. “She’s obviously back in your life for a reason, take advantage of the opportunity. If nothing else, get some closure, because you, Finley Lawson, deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, CeCe.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder, hugging her to me, before kissing the top of her head. “I’m gonna go take a nap before my set tonight. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Finn. Let me know if you want to bring Georgette to dinner one night. I’ll need some advance notice so I can make sure Shep is on his best behavior.”
“Will do,” I reply, laughing as I make my way to my apartment upstairs.
Chapter Eight
Georgette
Walking into the gallery this morning, I feel like I’m bouncing on air. Since my talk with Finn yesterday, I feel lighter. I guess I didn’t realize how much the past was weighing me down. Clearing the air a bit with him was the best thing I’ve done in a while. It was a long time overdue, like five years overdue, and now that it’s over, I feel like I can breathe better. Regrets try to creep in when I think about being out of touch with Finley for so long and how things ended with us, but I push those thoughts out of my head. Finn said we should leave the past in the past and I couldn’t agree more.
We can’t go back.
But we can go forward.
And having Finley back in my life is exactly what I needed. I’ve missed him and his friendship so much. I actually woke up this morning and the first thought in my head was I wonder what Finely is doing today? We have plans to meet up tomorrow. It’s his day off and he’s going with me to look at a few apartments.
I can’t live at the hotel forever. It was fine for the first few weeks but I’m ready to have my own space and eventually, I’d like to get the rest of my belongings from New York, what little I have, and bring them here too.
That thought brings Trevor to mind and I glance down at my phone and the text message I sent him last night that he still hasn’t replied to.
What will he say to me wanting to move the rest of my things to New Orleans?
What would that mean for us?
Why hasn’t he texted me back?
As I flip on the lights, I glance around the space and inhale deeply.
God, I love this place.
The pristine white floors and equally white walls are the perfect backdrop for the colorful art we’re beginning to amass. There’s a new artist coming in today to show some samples and I have a good feeling about him. He’s a local and got his start painting in the Quarter, exactly what Cami is looking for.
Speaking of Cami, she was supposed to be here early this morning because she has a doctor’s appointment later today, but I haven’t seen her yet. Leaning over the desk, I check the message book and calendar to see if she left a note but there’s nothing new.
I grab my phone and send her a text to check on her. This pregnancy is getting down to the wire and apparently, she’s been having Braxton Hicks contractions for a while, which is why her husband, Deacon, is so worried about her all the time. Plus, I think he’s just really protective of her. It’s sweet. The couple times I’ve seen them together I do nothing but smile. But it also makes my heart ache.
I want what they have.
As I’m daydreaming about my future, my phone dings.
Cami: Sorry I’m a no call no show! Carter left his backpack at home and I had to go back and get it. Then my mother-in-law made me come in for cinnamon rolls when I dropped Cash off.
I laugh out loud. No one makes Cami do anything, except carbs.
She is weak to their demands.
Cami: Good news though, I’m bringing you one!
What I let out next is something between a moan and a groan. First, I’m sure the cinnamon roll is amazing. I’ve sampled Annie Landry’s cooking and it’s all been phenomenal. Her boys definitely got their food skills from her. Second, Cami is constantly leading me into the arms of the devil with her King Cakes and beignets, and now, cinnamon rolls.
If this baby doesn’t hurry up, I’m going to be living my best six-hundred-pound life.
An hour or so later, Cami arrives at the gallery, cinnamon rolls in hand.