Page 52 of No Place Like Home
He glanced at Rosalyn, then back at Bruno’s fist-clenched anticipation, and released a sigh. “You’re in.”
Bruno let out a whoop. “Mais, yeah. You’ll not be regretting it.”
Cade already regretted the look Rosalyn was still giving him. He watched as Bruno gathered their dirty dishes. “How did you hear about Magnolia Days, anyway, up here in New Orleans?” Maybe some of his advertising had actually paid off.
“Oh, that comedian that comes in.Sha, she’s a funny one.” He shook his head with atsk. “Can’t get her to try the frogs, but she’ll nab a beignet now and then before a show.”
“Comedian?” Cade tilted his head. “I’m not familiar. But hey, I’m glad word is spreading in different circuits about our festival.”
“She’s got a show going now, if I’m not mistaken.” Bruno pointed down Decatur. “Right down the way, few blocks. Came in for a tea and dessert a bit ago, before you folks arrived. Go check her out.”
“I’ll have to do that.” Cade stood, and Rosalyn did the same, adjusting her ponytail. “Nice to meet you in person.”
“See you at the festival.” With another hearty clap on Cade’s back, Bruno took the dishes and whisked back inside.
“Why didn’t tell you him no?” Rosalyn immediately asked.
“It’s not that easy. Did you see how happy he was?”
Rosalyn pushed her chair under the table. “But you know he won’t sell much. That’s not doing him any favors.”
“Probably not. But…” Cade shrugged, checking his back pocket to make sure he still had his wallet. “Maybe the good people of Magnolia Bay will surprise us.”
“I hope so.”
Thunder boomed. Cade jerked. He and Rosalyn both looked up as the gathered clouds parted and giant raindrops began to pelt their empty table. “Looks like that storm from the bay made it here after all. Want to make a run for it? Or wait it out inside?”
Rosalyn glanced over her shoulder at the restaurant, then back up at the sky. She shot him a grin. “Race you.”
Cade watched as she took off through the patio gate, ponytail flopping. Man, he hated running. Yet, as he futilely attempted to stop the smile stretching across his cheeks, he realized something perhaps even more detrimental than unsold frog platters.
Bruno Guidry wasn’t the only person Cade couldn’t tell no.
eleven
Cade sprinted down Decatur, laughing as Rosalyn’s lithe figure moved like a gazelle past the rows of stores, easily staying out of his reach. Shop owners hurried outside to move tables and chairs under their entryways and out of the rain. Cars splashed through rapidly forming puddles.
He finally caught up to her and they jogged past the French Market Inn. “You trying to show me up, Ace?” Cade paused to bend and brace his hands on his knees. Linc would never let him live it down if he knew Rosalyn had trounced him at something fitness related.
“Don’t have to try, do I?” She was barely out of breath. Not fair.
“I thought your knee was an issue.”
Her grin faded and she looked down at it, flexed her leg, as if surprised. “Huh. That didn’t bother it at all.” Then her grin returned and she tugged his arm, leading him across St. Louis Street. “Come on, slowpoke. I think the comedy club is down this way. I saw a sign back there.”
“Oh, you mean back when you Olympic-sprinted past it?” But losing to Rosalyn didn’t bother him now like it had in school. Not if meant she smiled like that.
Then a jagged bolt of lightning cracked the sky.
“Whoops. Over here.” Cade ducked for cover under a nearby shop’s awning, his chest still heaving from their run. Water dripped off the ends of his hair, tickling his cheeks. The rain roared harder.
Rosalyn tucked into the narrow alcove next to him, soaking wet. Her ponytail clung to her bare arms, and she untied her hoodie from around her waist. She started to push her arms into the sleeves, but the material was already sopping. She shivered.
Before he could consider the ramifications, Cade pulled Rosalyn closer and rubbed her arms. Water sluiced off his palms. “Want me to run over there and buy us a towel?” He gestured toward the store across the street, only half-joking.
“Might need to make it a beach towel at this point.” She grinned, mascara forming dark smears under her eyes. He reached over and wiped one of the smudges away. His fingers lingered on her cheek, and he forced his hand back to his side. She’d drawn the line earlier that morning with her friend declaration, and as much as he wanted to cross it—or rather, broad-jump it—he wouldn’t.
“Cade?”
