Page 79 of Past the Broken Bridges

What the hell are you doing, Dawson?

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The next day, I walk across the hall, knock on the door, and wait for the blond to greet me like she always does. When she opens the door, I instantly offer her the steaming mug of coffee I just brewed and brush her shoulder as I walk inside.

“Please come in,” she says sarcastically.

Her voice is back to normal, not hoarse or raspy, and her face has color again. “How are you feeling?”

“Human,” she answers, closing the door. She brings the coffee over to the couch and sits down, crossing her legs under her. “Or as human as I can feel. You’re up early.”

“We’ve got places to be.”

Her brows move to her hairline. “We?”

I tip my chin toward her cup. “Drink up and we’ll go. We have to pick up two more people along the way.”

Confusion furrows her brows. “What do you have in mind? I’m behind on schoolwork, and I need to catch up on the notes I missed.”

I sit on the opposite end of the couch, draping my ankle over the opposite knee. “Trust me, this is better than homework. That can wait until you’re back.”

When she remains silent, I sigh, knowing she’s not going to let it go until I give her some information. “You want to see a parade. There are four today, all along the same route in the French Quarter. There’s going to be a lot of people, so we’ll have to go early if you want to get a good spot.”

Her eyes widen. “How do you know abo—”

“Dixie,” I answer before she can finish. “She might have mentioned something about your little list.”

Embarrassment heats her face, but I don’t give her time to overthink. “As a local, I’m the perfect guy to help you cross some things off it. It’s going to be a nice day out. And I hope you have a good arm because you’ll need to catch some beads.”

Her answering silence only lasts for a moment. “What exactly did Dixie tell you was on my list?”

The nervousness in her voice makes me grin. “She only brought up a couple things, but there must be some interesting stuff for you to blush that hard. Care to elaborate?”

The hitch to her voice rises. “N-No.”

I chuckle. “Figured as much.”

But I’ll be damned if I’m not curious.

She traces the edge of the ceramic mug as if she’s lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind, Birdie?”

She rubs her lips together, shifting on the couch again uncomfortably. “What exactly…happens at these parades?”

Her expression is almost comical, and I know what she’s really asking. “You mean, how are you expected to get the beads?” When her cheeks darken even more, I can’t help but laugh. “Relax. You don’t have to flash anybody if that’s what you’re worried about. That’s a myth. Don’t get me wrong, some parades get a little crazier than others, but they have become a lot more family friendly over the years.”

She visibly relaxes into the cushions, making my lips curl higher at the corners in subtle amusement. “Okay, that’s…good.”

My eyes go to the framed picture of the golden retriever on her wall. “There’s one in particular that I know you’ll like. It’s a dog parade. Hundreds of people come with their dogs to watch it.”

She perks up at the sound of canine companions, which I can only assume she misses having here. “Who’s coming with us?”

“Dawson and Dixie.”

I’m not sure how to interpret the way her smile slackens at their names. “Have you seen Dawson lately?” she asks, her voice quieter than before. Her fingers wrap snugly around the mug. “He looks a little rough.”

I hate that she’s seen him that way, and I know he would too. “I don’t think he’s sleeping much these days.”

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