Page 93 of February

“Yes,” Bridgette said as she took in Monica’s approach to their first official date.

They’d woken up together that morning, had breakfast, walked around the city, and then eaten lunch together before Bridgette had dropped Monica back off at the hotel, kissing her goodbye before she’d gone home. On their walk, they’d stopped off at the tourist shops, and Monica had forced her into some of the more expensive brand-name stores as well, showing Bridgette that big bags like hers were very popular right now. They’d also held hands throughout the entire day. Sometimes, they would separate to take something off a shelf or to open adoor, but they’d always found their way back to one another as if they’d done that for years. In one store, Bridgette had been right behind Monica as Monica pulled a ridiculous T-shirt off a rack and held it up for her to see. That had allowed Bridgette to take in the scent of her neck, and her arms moved of their own accord around Monica’s waist from behind, pressing her front into Monica’s back. They’d ended up standing like that for a few minutes before someone cleared their throat behind them because they wanted to get to the shirts, too. The whole day had felt like a date, which meant that thiswasonly a continuation of that, and for some reason, that helped with Bridgette’s nerves.

“So, should we go?” Monica asked.

“Yeah, let’s,” Bridgette said.

She turned around and took Monica’s hand in hers as they began walking out of the building.

“Why is the car here?” she asked when she saw the town car in front of the hotel. “I thought you were letting me plan tonight.”

“I am. This is the Four Seasons, Bridge. Not every town car is mine,” Monica replied with a laugh.

“Oh,” Bridgette let out. “Right.”

“You are really cute right now,” Monica told her. “You had this look of consternation.”

“Consternation? Who even uses that word?” she asked as she turned them on the sidewalk and continued walking.

“I do,” Monica said.

“Youwould.”

Just like that, they were in their groove, and it was as if they’d gone on a hundred dates before. Monica only grunted once when Bridgette stood at the bus stop, and it was pretty entertaining to watch her cross her arms over her chest in protest. Still, Bridgette wanted Monica to experience New Orleans how the locals usually did, and people in this city mostlywalked, took the bus, and when they had the need or the cash, they took a shared ride or a cab. Driving through some parts of the city was fine, but in other parts, it was a recipe for disaster. Parking also wasn’t readily available, and they risked spending more time in traffic waiting for pedestrians than they’d actually spend driving.

The bus was packed, as usual, and Bridgette found herself enjoying it because it meant that they had to stand and that Monica had to be very close to her. After the third time they were bumped into one another, Bridgette just wrapped her arms around Monica’s waist and pulled her into her.

“You made us take the bus so you could cop a feel?”

Bridgette laughed against Monica’s neck and said, “If only you knew what some people get up to on these buses. I’m behaving myself.”

The look Monica gave her as she pulled back to check what Bridgette had just said only made Bridgette laugh harder and pull her back in against her. She held Monica like that until they reached their stop, but she thought about pretending like they had another few to go before it was time to get off in order to keep holding her like that.

The barbeque place was more quick-serve than an actual restaurant, and when they walked in, they had a few people in front of them, which gave her time to show Monica the menu behind the counter and explain it to her. The restaurant offered meat plates with sides, and Bridgette usually got the brisket, and a lot of it, with macaroni and cheese and cornbread. She planned to do the same tonight.

“Is the cornbread of the jalapeño variety here?”

Bridgette laughed, and they took a step to the counter.

“They have both. Do you want me to order for you?”

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much,” Monica replied, resting her head on Bridgette’s shoulder. “But, yeah, go ahead.”

Bridgette laughed under her breath and said, “Can we get a two-meat plate with pulled pork and sliced brisket, regular cornbread, mac and cheese, and another two-meat with the same sides and brisket? Burnt ends.”

“Drinks?” the woman behind the counter asked.

“Sweet tea,” Monica said.

“Same,” Bridgette added, liking that Monica was ordering a true Southern beverage.

The woman handed them two cups, which they’d fill on their own, and a number to take to their table. Having filled their cups, though, Bridgette watched Monica squeeze two lemons into the tea and set another one inside. So, she still wasn’t totally prepared for the sugar, it seemed. They walked down a long hallway that wasn’t lit well. It wasn’t dimmed on purpose or anything; it just wasn’t lit well. The hallway was so thin that Bridgette had to walk in front of Monica and pull her through it. When they reached the door, she pushed it open, and they were in the small courtyard of the restaurant. It was probably only two hundred square feet and had about ten tables squeezed into it.

She took Monica by the hand to a small table in the corner, where they’d be relatively alone and away from the group of people who had two tables pushed together in the other corner. They sat down then, and Bridgette removed her coat, hanging it over the back of the chair.

“It’s so quiet,” Monica noted, looking around and up.

“It’s all made of stone, so that helps. I love it here because it’s cut off from everything. The walls go up so high that you can’t really see what’s on the other side.”

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