Page 17 of She's Like the Wind
I waved a hand at the open boxes of silk and lace. “I have to?—”
“I’ll help,” she interrupted smoothly.
And she did. Two hours later, we walked up Royal Street to R Bar, our spot where the regulars ranged from street performers to gallery owners to off-duty chefs. The bar was special—everyone knew everyone, and you could always hear music thrumming from the nearby Frenchmen Street. If you were lucky, someone would bring a trumpet and start an impromptu jam on the patio.
The bar, strangely, had a barber’s chair right smack in the middle, and on Monday evenings, you could geta haircut and a shot for twenty bucks. You were encouraged to tip the bartender and barber.
On Fridays, you could partake in crawfish and shrimp boils during the season and jambalaya cookouts, while on other days...well, there was always something going on around there.Guaranteed.
The bar was now famous as it had made an appearance onNCIS: New Orleans—Pride’s bar, where the team always went to regroup. Aurelie joked it was our safe house, too.
Gage had gone with me a few times, usually when our groups of friends crossed paths. I could still picture him, leaning against the bar, an Abita in hand, watching me with an intensity no one else ever had.
Now, I couldn’t be here without seeing him, which was why I hadn’t come since we ended.
“I miss him,” I finally admitted to Aurelie, raising my Sazerac in a toast.
Aurelie didn’t say I shouldn’t. She didn’t say he didn’t deserve me. She just clinked her glass against mine. “I know.”
“He kissed me good morning,” I whispered. “Sat on my balcony like he was part of my world. He made space for me. And then…he didn’t.”
I hadn’t meant to cry, but a tear slid down my cheek, hot and silent. I wiped it away before it reached my jaw.
“I don’t regret loving him,” I added. “I just hate that he made me feel like it was a mistake.”
“You know it wasn’t,” she soothed.
I nodded. “I know.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “His T-shirt is still hanging in my bathroom. I don’t have the heart to get rid of it.”
“Then don’t.”
I regarded her thoughtfully. “No command to get rid of everything that’s his and move on?”
A flicker of compassion crossed her face. “No, baby.” She put her hand on mine. “You do you. You fell in love. And…honest to God, Naomi, I thought….”
A broken inhale slipped past my lips. “Yeah. Me, too.”
I had thought we were building somethingreal.
I had, foolishly, believed that he was in love with me or well on his way to being so.
The way he called mehis, the way he made time forus, the way he….
And yet, he walked away when I told him what was in my heart. He took another woman to his bed, showing me how unimportant I was to him.
I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t even accuse him of anything.
Had it been cruel, kissing another woman right in front of me, knowing how I felt?Yeah.
But I understood how he’d justify it to himself. It was just him saying—loud and clear, the way he always had—that what we had was casual.
Except when we made love.
Except when he held me like I was anything but temporary.
“I’m not a ball and chain kinda guy, Naomi,” he told me early on.
We were having dinner at Café Amelie down the street. They made a damn good confit de canard and their wine list was excellent. A little Paris in the middle of the Quarter.
