Page 5 of The Charmer

I looked around the shop with a smile. It was cozy and quaint and authentic to the time. Not much had changed since Grandma set it up. and that’s what made us so popular.

The wooden shelves were older than I was. We'd updated the ones displaying the beads and other accessories a few years ago, mainly because I'd found others that better showcased our merchandise. We were one of a kind, even in the Quarter. People trusted us. We had a great reputation. Still a family-owned company, and we had prominent customers. Well, at least we used to.

Now, because Julian LeBlanc had canceled with us, our other big customers had followed his lead.

Sighing, I went to one of the bookshelves, grabbed my favorite book, and sat in Nana's armchair. The leather was worn but still intact. It smelled like jasmine—her favorite fragrance—and it comforted me.

She'd been a midwife as well, and she often said that she smelled like babies. I hadn't been around many to confirm that, but in my memory, she'd smelled heavenly.

As soon as I started reading, my entire body relaxed. This was hands down my favorite way of spending Saturday night: with a good book and wine. I got up and opened the cabinet, taking a small bottle of red from under the counter, where I kept snacks too. After uncapping it, I poured myself a glass.

Resituating myself, I took a sip. Yum. This was perfect. Mom once joked that I was twenty-eight going on forty-eight, but that was fine by me. On days like this, I truly missed my mom. She’d moved out to the bayou after retiring, and I didn’t want to stress her out with the goings-on here. She'd asked how things were after the flood, but I assured her I could manage.

I finished my glass after reading only ten pages but decided not to pour a second one, since I hadn't eaten much today and didn't want to get drunk or even tipsy. I loved the French Quarter to bits, but on Saturday nights, one had to have their wits about them. Especially since I had to cross most of it to get to St. Louis to take the bus. I lived in the Gentilly neighborhood, renting the world's tiniest home. The bus ride took thirty minutes, but I didn’t mind my commute because it gave me time to wind down.

Time to go home, Georgie, before the wine gets to your head.

I got up from my armchair, then washed and put away my glass. After straightening things up, I went to grab my bag. Before leaving, I checked the back door—and a good thing I did, because it wasn’t locked. Then I went back to the front. I always left out the front door, as the back alley was a bit too dark for my taste.

Stepping out of Books & Beads, I took in a deep breath. The January air was cold and fresh. Jazz music and a cacophony of voices resounded through the streets. What an evening! I loved that I got to walk a bit through the Quarter every night, just to take it all in.

What if I make a pit stop before heading home? The wine was giving me dangerous ideas—and a lot of courage.

So, instead of going to the bus station, my feet took me another direction altogether. I knew Julian LeBlanc had several bars here in the Quarter—I'd stalked him a bit, thinking I’d give him a piece of my mind, but promptly chickened out. Apparently, he was often at the bar on Dumaine. I could take a look and see if he was there. Maybe I would even find an opportunity to talk to him.

I stopped short as droves of partygoers moved around me, realizing I hadn't even bothered to check my appearance. Ugh, I probably looked like something the cat dragged in. I was wearing jeans and a light sweater, and my blonde hair was piled up in a messy bun. I usually used black eyeliner because it made my blue eyes pop, but I hadn't managed to apply any today, as I didn't have time.

Oh, whatever. I wasn't going there to impress “the” Julian LeBlanc. I simply wanted to understand why he’d canceled our contract without a second thought when we’d promised we could deliver everything he needed for the float on time. But there was no swaying him—or his lawyer, at least.

I carefully waded through the Quarter, avoiding Bourbon Street. Not just because it was crazy on Saturday evenings, but because my ex-boyfriend, Kyle Deveraux, owned a large club over there. He was one person I hoped I never saw again.

Hard as I tried, I couldn't remember why I’d started dating him in the first place. He was different from the guys I usually went out with. Kyle was from an old, established NOLA family, and he never let me forget it. I made myself a promise after we broke up that it was the last time I'd date a powerful man.

I shook my head, determined to forget about Kyle. I’d always been good at recognizing the good in my life, so no need to dwell on the bumps in the road.

Instead of getting lost in my thoughts, I entertained myself by looking around. I loved the Quarter. I couldn't wait to live here one day. Right now, it was out of my budget, but it was on my vision board. I liked the architecture and how steeped in culture this area was. Most of all, I liked that everything here was old. I preferred old buildings to new ones. They had a soul of their own and a story.

Granted, lots of the stories told of the French Quarter homes were a bit creepy. Though I was born and raised here, I’d never seen a ghost or anything remotely similar. That didn't mean I didn't believe in them, though. All good Southern girls did. At least that's what my mom always said.

I was surprised by all the Carnival-themed decorations they had up already. I couldn’t remember ever seeing them up so early. That was good in my opinion, as it should get people in the celebratory mood, and that meant possibly more business for Books & Beads.

The smell of beignets reached me from a passerby. I was starting to get even more dangerous ideas. After I spoke to Julian, I could head to Café Du Monde and indulge in a beignet before catching my bus. And I could also pass by my favorite Italian deli and buy a muffaletta sandwich. That would make an excellent dinner. I was a lousy cook, and I had nothing waiting for me at home.

I quickened my pace, and a minute later, I turned down Dumaine.

The bar was in one of those houses I loved—red facade and colorful shutters. It was chock-full, and the second I stepped inside, I could see its appeal.

Oh, sweet Lord. It was crawling with even more people than I’d expected. The French Quarter had no shortage of evening establishments, but there was something different about this one. It was huge but cozy at the same time. The lighting was inviting, but not so dim that you couldn't see where you were stepping. And the music was truly amazing. They had a live jazz band in one corner that didn't take up much space, and they played wonderfully. I was tempted to enjoy it for a bit, but I'd come here for a reason. I needed to find to Julian LeBlanc.

I headed to the bar, intending to sweet-talk one of the bartenders into introducing me to him. I assumed the man was in the back, working on the books or something. But I quickly realized this might take longer than I thought, as there were tons of customers lining up for drinks, and I didn't want to push my way forward.

I glanced at each bartender, and my gaze fell on one exceptionally good-looking man to the left of the bar. He was exquisitely handsome, with vibrant blue eyes, dark hair, a muscled body, and tattoos on his forearms.

Well, well, well. At least I have something to feast my eyes on while I wait.

He was chatting with two guys who resembled him a lot.

"Julian, I need another one of your Sazeracs,” one of them said.

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