Page 16 of Absinthe Minded

I had nowhere to go and no one to see, but I couldn’t go home. I’d rather sit in my car eating cheeseburgers than share my latest disaster with Gabe.

I’d loved him once upon a time. Heck, I thought we’d eventually end up married. For a year, we were the couple everyone envied, if a couple is what you call a whirlwind romance with a scorching hot older man that ended with him giving me a lecture on chasing my dreams, followed by him ghosting me.

I hurried to my car and did what any woman would do in my situation. I called my best friend.

Shanna picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, Maggie. I thought you had a date with the Mr. Short, Pasty, and Boring?”

“I did…” I’d called for advice, but now that I had her on the line, I didn’t know where to start. “Can I come over?”

“Sure, but you hate the French Quarter. Want me to come to you?”

“No. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I disconnected before she asked me any questions. Some things needed to be discussed face to face.

Thanks to traffic and drunken tourists, it took me a half hour to reach Shanna’s condo on Chartres Street. She was right when she said I hated the Quarter, but it wasn’t the crowds that bothered me—it was the memories. I’d avoided the area as much as possible since Gabe and I had broken up.

“There you are!” Shanna called from her postage-stamp sized balcony.

I trudged up the flight of stairs and met her at her door. “Sometimes I hate my life.”

She took one look at me and covered her mouth, much in the same way the hostess at the sushi bar had. “Oh, honey. You’ve got a little something…”

“What?”

Shanna pulled bits of tissue from my forehead.

I bit my lower lip to stop it from quivering. That’s what the receptionist was laughing about! Justin, the jerk had let me sit through dinner with bits of Kleenex hanging from my eyebrows?

She draped an arm over my shoulder and guided me to her couch. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“I have to drive home.”

“Okay, but alcohol is why God created ride shares.” She plopped down beside me. “What’s going on?”

“Justin dumped me because I wouldn’t go home with him.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the guy you said had a tongue like an oversaturated sponge?”

“No, that was the one before Justin.” I grinned despite my crappy night.

“I can’t keep up with them all.” She wiggled her brows. “What’s there been? Ten?”

“Three since He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named dumped me, and two of them never got past the first date.” I kicked my shoes off and drew my knees to my chest.

“Don’t let it get you down. This is New Orleans, there are almost as many men as there are rats.” She waved her hand. “You were obviously too good for him.”

“I won’t miss introducing him.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Too bad he didn’t look like the other Justin Trudeau.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Dating sucks, but at least you got back on the horse.”

“I guess.” I hadn’t ridden anything, equine or otherwise, in four years—a fact that brought me to my next problem. “Gabe Marchionni is babysitting.”

Shanna laughed as if waiting for the punchline. When I failed to deliver, she said, “At your house? Gabe, the man who we both hate, is at your house with your kids?”

“They’re his niece and nephews too.” The defensiveness in my voice surprised me.

She stood, went into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of wine. “Spill it.”

I told her everything—well, almost everything. I left out the part about how certain body parts had practically melted at the sound of his voice. “I should go home, right? I mean, it’s crazy to leave him alone with the kids.”

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