Page 97 of She's Like the Wind
Two young builders shadowed him now. Loyalapprentices. One, barely nineteen and fresh out of high school. The other, a woman from Baton Rouge working toward her license.
“They’ve got the vision,” he told me. “They just needed someone to believe in it.”
We weren’t married.
Not yet.
But we were planning a trip to Paris. To find the little boutique I’d once seen in a photo and fallen in love with—the one that sparked Aire Noire’s naughty displays.
I used to imagine going alone. Now, I couldn’t picture walking those cobblestone streets without his hand in mine.
We spent some evenings at home alone, sometimes we went to Frenchmen Street, to Maison, to listen to Aurelie and others. Sometimes we had smash burgers at Marie’s or drinks at R-Bar. Jonah had become a regular in our group of friends.
“Not too fancy for the little people, enh?” Aurelie teased him.
For Aurelie’s birthday, I threw her a party at R-Bar, and had a birthday cake made that looked like either a guitar or a mutant penis, take your pick.
I leaned into Gage as he held me close, my back against his chest, and we watched Aurelie, tipsy and radiant. Kadisha was dancing barefoot with some tourist. Our other friends scattered around the bar.
Jonah came late with a present for Aurelie that made her scream with joy. He’d told her, he was getting her a gig at Preservation Hall, something she’d been aspiring for.
“She looks happy.” Gage brushed his lips against my ear, swaying with the classic jazz tunes the DJ was playing.
Jonah made his way over, kissed my cheek, and shook Gage’s hand like they’d been on the same team all along. We talked about food and music and his new speakeasy opening at the end of the year.
“Can you come by and look at this building I’m thinking of buying off Audubon?” he’d asked when he purchased the place a few months ago. Gage had readily agreed.
Jonah asked me to help style the staff uniforms at his speakeasy, which had been a fun project.
We were friends, and it wasn’t awkward or weird. It was just…New Orleans.
Gage and I left late, a little tipsy, as we strolled down Royal Street, hand-in-hand.
We walked past tour guides telling ghost stories, horse carriages carrying tourists, and musicians singing.
Laughter spilled out of bars and restaurants.
Gage pulled me close, his arm warm around my shoulders. “You happy, baby?”
I looked up at him—at this man who once ran from love and now held it like a sacred thing. “Yeah, Gage, I’m happy.”
We were not perfect, not polished, but we were happy…together in New Orleans.
Laissez les bon temps rouler.
Let the good times roll.
CHAPTER 35
Gage
ONE YEAR LATER
I hadn’t worn a tux since my brother’s high-school graduation party (Mama insisted on black tie), and even then, I think the bow tie was permanently crooked and the jacket didn’t fit right.
Tonight, though I’d cleaned up…or rather Naomi had made sure I had.
I looked sharp.
