Page 94 of She's Like the Wind
Kadisha waggled her eyebrows. “Mr. Construction Worker came by.”
Excited, I opened the package and gasped. It was a first-edition print ofThe Architecture of Old New Orleans—a book I’d mentioned once in passing when we were walking down Royal and I’d pointed out an old mansard roof I loved.
Tucked into the front cover was a blueprint of the Lafitte House, the one he’d taken me to when I’d wanted to learn more about what he did. I wanted to see beauty the way he did.
I stared at the photo, my throat tightening. On the back was the date of when he’d taken me there, nearly a year ago. The day I fell in love with him—the day he has told me he felt a connection with a woman he’d never felt before.
I opened the book. Folded neatly inside was a letter, written in French.
His French was better than mine, even though it had a Cajun accent, while mine was from three years of high school.
Je t’ai vue. Je t’ai entendue. Tu m’as bouleversé. Tu as réveillé en moi quelque chose que je croyais avoir enterré depuis longtemps. Je ne veux plus vivre un seul jour sans cette lumière.
I saw you. I heard you. You moved me. You woke something in me I thought I’d buried long ago. I don’t want to live another day without that light.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
“Naomi?” Kadisha asked, concerned.
I shook my head as I wiped the tears.
I showed her the book, and she sniffled after she read it. “Well hell, that’s not just violins, it’s the entire orchestra.”
I let out a watery laugh. “I…can you close up today?”
“Sure.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to forgive him.”
“I know,” I said, and I meant it.
I texted him and asked him to come over to my apartment when he could. He said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. I told him the door was open.
There was a knock on my front door before it opened.
His face dropped when he saw I was crying. “Baby.” He came to me as I sat on the couch andhauled me into his arms. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“About what?” He wiped my tears but it was futile because I couldn’t stop crying.
“I want us…but, I’m scared.” I buried my face in his chest.
He held me, rubbing his chin on my hair.
After the crying jag passed, he poured us some wine, and we sat in the nook by the window, surrounded by silence, now waiting to be rewritten.
“Thank you for the book…and the note…and…everything.”
For the past months, Gage had been the perfect boyfriend. The irony was that when he hadn’t been perfect, I gave him everything I had, and now, when he was the best boyfriend any woman could want, I was holding back.
“You’re welcome.”
I drank some wine. He drank some wine.
We sat in silence for a long moment and then he asked, “What are you scared of, baby? Of loving me again?”
His eyes held mine.
I nodded.
