Page 98 of She's Like the Wind
Collar straight.
Cuffs with cufflinks. A gift.
Regardless of how I dressed, I felt completely out of my depth.
The Preservation Society of New Orleans was honoring me for my work restoring several 19th-century structures across the Quarter. I’d been featured in a handful of architectural journals over the past year. Even got my first national commission.There were some in New Orleans who’d started calling me an “artisan”.
What bullshit!
But…no matter the reason, it was glorious walking into the ballroom with Naomi LeBlanc on my arm.
She was a vision in black silk and diamond drop earrings, her hair swept up, her orange blossom perfume making it hard for me to think straight.
She wasn’t just beautiful, she was radiant.
This past year of being part of the Walker family, of feeling secure, had freed something inside of her.
“Feels weird, baby,” I whispered.
Naomi looked at me like she’d known this version of me was possible all along. “It’s going to be fine. Hell, Gage, it’s going to befun.”
It was, and it wasn’t.
People gave lots of speeches.
I ended up shaking more hands in two hours than I had in the last ten years.
Before they presented my award, they showed slides of the Lafitte House, the Chartres cottages, and a few others I’d worked on.
My parents gushed, even Dad, who usually shrugged most things off, was impressed as hell. He took a gazillion pictures and sent them to everyone in the family and all his friends.
When my name was called, and the applause rose like a wave, I nearly froze.
Naomi squeezed my hand, pride in her eyes. “Go on, darlin’, go get what’s yours.”
I no longer felt the need to be strong and stoic with her.
I could be vulnerable.
I could be scared.
I could be weak.
Because she loved me no matter what.
I kissed her knuckles and walked to the podium, heart in my throat. I didn’t say much when they handed me the award and offered me the microphone.
I thanked the people who trusted me to restore history, my father who taught me everything, Naomi who stood by me, and finished by saying, “New Orleans taught me that the past doesn’t need replacing—it just needs restoring. If you give it care, give it vision, the old starts breathing again. You just have to love it enough to try.”
I looked at her then, and she smiled.
I swear the room faded out like an old record ending on a single, perfect note.
After dinner, while my parents danced, Naomi and I slipped into the courtyard, away from the champagne and the cameras.
The trees were strung with LED lights.
Gas lamps hissed softly.
