Cami

Camille stood at the service door to the tower stairs of St. Louis Cathedral. Her father played the organ for the gospel services occasionally, so she’d nicked his set of keys before she left the house. She clutched her mint green Polaroid camera in her sweaty hands. She didn’t know whether it was nerves or exhaustion getting the better of her. She’d been saving this task from her Goodbye List for a while due to her insane fear of heights.

You’ve got this, Cami. One foot in front of the other.

She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. She turned the knob and quickly slipped through after making sure no one was looking. It was stifling in the stairwell, but Camille climbed the cramped spiral staircase before she could change her mind. When she got to the top she closed her eyes and tried to count to ten. She’d have to walk across a narrow service catwalk to get to the shutters facing Jackson Square.

She moved one foot off the platform and started shaking. All she could picture was that damn skateboard bouncing down the stone stairs at school. If she fell, that’s exactly what would happen to her. But she had a feeling she wouldn’t hold up as well as the skateboard. She’d probably snap like a toothpick.

“This was a dumb idea, Cami,” she muttered to herself.

She took another step, her heart thundering in her chest. She’d written this stupid wish on her wall when she was eleven. She’d been having a good day and her parents took her to have a picnic in the park on Jackson Square. They sat in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral and Camille had noticed a bird land atop the cross adorning the highest tower.

“I wonder what the world looks like from up there?” she’d mused.

“You’ll have to ask the angels,” her father replied.

“I’ll be an angel one day soon, won’t I, Daddy?” she’d asked.

Her father had looked at her sadly. “That’s right, baby girl.”

That night Camille had gone home and written St. Louis Cathedral on her wall. It was a vague enough wish. And she’d been to the cathedral hundreds of times over the years. But she couldn’t put a check in the box until she conquered her fears and saw the view from the tower.

It was one of the things Camille loved most about her Goodbye List. It held her accountable. She was often vague about what she wrote on it. It was usually just a single word or two. St. Louis Cathedral. Mississippi River. Beach. But she knew the true meaning of each wish. And once it was on the wall, it became law.

She took one more shaking step toward the shutters. If she took another she’d have to let go of the railing. You can do this, Cami. It wasn’t just about checking a box on her stupid list, it was proving to herself that there were still things in her life that she could control.

Having cancer had stolen so much from her and maybe it was denial, but she was desperate to cling to the things she could still conquer. Her fear of heights was one of them.

Camille closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. With each step closer to the shutters, she could hear the sounds of Jackson Square wafting up to her—tourists, palm readers, musicians, artists, panhandlers. The square was always alive with sound.

The melody of violin music lured her forward. It was a haunting tune that made her chest swell. Good music always affected Camille that way. Her father said music was in her blood, but she didn’t have a lick of talent for instruments. The only musical gift she had was her voice. Camille could sing. In fact, it used to be her favorite thing to do. But cancer had stolen that, too.

Now she got winded just walking upstairs. It sort of made it difficult to carry a tune. Rather than feel depressed about losing one more battle to her disease, Camille had given up singing. But when she heard music like this, it made her want to sing from the rooftops. The thought made her smile. She would quite literally be singing from the rooftops if she sang along right now.

She listened closer to the song. There was something familiar about it, but she couldn’t name the tune. The tempo of the music increased. Before, it had been as if the song was climbing a hill, but now it spilled down in rapid progression. The violin strings cried so soulfully it made Camille want to weep. It gave her courage. If someone could pour their heart out like that, she could certainly conquer her fear of heights. She let go of the railing and lunged for the other side.

Camille shrieked with relief when she made contact with the heavy shutters. She wrapped her fingers around the ancient iron louvers, sucking in air as the warm breeze carried the vibrant sounds of the square to her. She gazed out the slatted shutter opening to the lush lawn below where she and her family had picnicked when she’d dreamt up this crazy goal. Tourists milled about the square, reading plaques, smiling, posing and snapping photos.

Camille closed her eyes and imagined she was still sitting on the blanket with her parents as an eleven-year-old. She wished she could go back. She wished she had more time. She wished for so many things. But all she could really do, was what she’d come for. Camille held her camera up to the slats and took a photo as she whispered, “Goodbye St. Louis Cathedral.”

* * *

Even with her feet planted on solid ground, Camille still felt dizzy with exhilaration. The high of accomplishing another goal on her list was starting to fade. It was always this way—exciting at first and then depressing.

The view from the cathedral tower had been spectacular. She’d watched the sun paint the Mississippi varying shades of pastel until it looked like a stretch of rainbow taffy. She glanced at the photo she’d taken. Melancholy overtook her, and suddenly she wished she could show someone—anyone.

Camille didn’t know what was sadder, the fact that she didn’t have anyone to share this with, or that she’d never get to do it again. She didn’t usually let herself think that way and was grateful when she heard the violinist pick up a tune again. It was the perfect distraction.

She decided to follow the sound. She wanted a glimpse of the musician who’d helped her accomplish her goal. From the way the haunting notes carried across Jackson Square, she knew the source had to be close by.

Nate

Nate let the music slip around him like a cocoon. He listened to the sound of his strings echo across the streets, mixing with the percussion of feet parading over the slate sidewalks. He smiled, sliding into a song he and Tyler had written together. Nate ran his bow faster across the strings as the memories flooded in. Sometimes there were things he could only say through music. And when he needed to talk to Ty, there was no better way than this.

Applause startled Nate when he finished playing. He opened his eyes, surprised to find he had an audience. He grinned and took a dramatic bow, thinking how much Tyler would’ve loved showing off to a crowd. But as Nate’s admirers slowly melted back into the throng of pedestrian traffic, one remained—and she wore an unmistakable purple wig.

Camille stood before him, eyes blown wide, mouth gaping. Nate’s face quirked into an easy smile. “So, you decided to see the city with me after all.”

It was a statement, not a question, and before Camille could say anything, he slid his bow across his strings until she was trapped in the rapture of another song. This time he played just for her. It wasn’t so much a song, as it was the feeling she evoked from him, put to music.

He closed his eyes, picturing her purple hair, until the image was clear enough that he could paint it. She’d traded her school uniform for yellow tights and a gray dress with the pattern of pale pink tulips on it. She still wore her studded black combat boots, which made him smile. She was like a jagged rainbow. Despite her attempts to repel him, everything about Camille drew Nate in. She was a breath of fresh air and she made him want to breathe deeply.

When he was finished playing, Camille slayed him with a look of admiration.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” she asked with awe.

“My dad.”

She cocked her delicate eyebrows like she didn’t believe him.

“Why do you seem so surprised? They do have violins in California, ya know?”

“I know. But it just doesn’t go together. I mean you have the whole skateboard punk thing going for ya. But the rest . . .”

“What?”

“You and the violin. It doesn’t mesh.”

Nate scoffed. “And purple hair and yellow tights do?”

“Hey, I’m intriguing, remember?” Camille smirked a shy smile and Nate’s heart squeezed in his chest. Shit, this girl made his knees weak!

“You definitely are,” he replied. “So how ‘bout it?”

“What?”

“Let’s go have some fun! It’s a beautiful night. I have my violin, you have some leprechaun-looking camera. I think we can make magic happen.”

Camille laughed. “You can play Bach but you’ve never seen a Polaroid camera?”

“That’s what that is? It looks like it’s made of candy.”

“Play something,” she said lifting the camera to her eye.

Nate grinned and dragged his bow across the strings making his violin sing. He closed his eyes and played ‘Stay With Me’ while Camille snapped photos. When he was done, she handed him one. She’d written, Witnessing Magic, on the wide white section that framed the bottom of the photo.

“Wow, this is magical,” he said, admiring the photo. Camille had captured the wrought-iron balconies of the salmon-colored building behind him. They dripped with hanging ferns and bright cascading flower boxes. And the glow of gas lanterns gave Nate’s image an otherworldly glow. He seemed small in the frame, but the look on his face said it all. Camille had encapsulated the magic of his music on film. He looked at her, handing the photo back. “You should be a photographer.”

She smiled at him, handing it back. “Keep it.”

But Nate noticed the tightness of her mouth. He reached a hand out just as she swayed on her feet. “Whoa. You alright?” His hand wrapped firmly around her frail elbow to steady her. She felt too cool for the humid weather and her pale features were nearly transparent.

“Yeah.” She tried to laugh it off. “I think I just need some sugar. I forgot to eat dinner.”

Nate didn’t let go. “Okay. Where can we get you a sugar fix?”

“Um,” Camille looked around flustered. “I-I work at the café around the corner. I guess we could go there. They have donuts.”

“Donuts it is.”

Cami

Camille was mortified that she’d nearly fainted in front of Nathan. What the hell was wrong with her? She was used to the crash after her adrenalin wore off, but the climb to the cathedral tower must have exhausted her more than she thought. She was trembling by the time Sweet Thang’s Café came into view.

If Nathan noticed her unsteadiness—and she was sure he did—at least he didn’t mention it. He just kept his hand steady at her lower back, steering her to a hot pink chair once they entered the café. Nate pulled up a chair and joined her at the little bistro table.

“So you work here?”

She nodded.

“What’s good?”

“Everythang, sugar.”

Camille looked up as Ronnie walked around the counter. He owned Sweet Thang’s Café, where Camille had worked forever. He was one of her favorite people in the world, and probably the closest thing she had to a real friend. Despite him being a forty-something gay black man with a touch of clairvoyance, they had a lot in common—namely a fabulous wardrobe and great taste in men. Well, at least Ronnie did. Cami never saw the point in dating.

“Hey, Ronnie,” she greeted.

“Hey, baby cakes. Whatcha doin’ here? You’re not working tonight.”

“We’re on a date,” Nathan replied happily.

Camille wanted to crawl into a hole. “No we’re not.”

Nathan winked at Ronnie. “Yes we are.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Camille likes to play hard to get.”

Ronnie’s perfectly drawn on eyebrows looked like the golden arches as they climbed up his forehead. His eyes practically devoured Nathan. This was not something Ronnie would let go.

“Well, it’s a pleasure,” Ronnie purred, his southern accent deepening. He always laid on the charm when he was feeling flirty.

Ronnie turned toward Camille giving her a ridiculously unsubtle wink.

“I’m Nathan. But everyone calls me Nate.” He stuck out his hand.

Ronnie shook it. “Jeronathan, but everyone calls me Ronnie. Although you can call me anything you want, bebe.”

Nate laughed. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie.”

“Enchanté,” Ronnie crooned. He turned to Camille letting his mouth drop open into his token ‘How cute is he’ face. “So, me amours, what can I get ya?”

“Well, my date is in need of some sugar,” Nate replied.

Ronnie cocked his head seeming to notice Camille’s pallid complexion. Her expression begged him not to say anything to Nate about her cancer. That was the great thing about working with someone for years. Especially in food service, where you had to wear a smile no matter what you were thinking. Camille and Ronnie could read each other’s looks. And Ronnie understood her current plea perfectly. He turned back to Nate. “Well, you came to the right place, bebe. Go on up to the case and pick out what ya like.”

Nate stood up and walked the short distance to the case filled with sugary goodness, while Ronnie quickly whispered in Camille’s ear. “You okay, baby cakes?”

“Yeah. Just over did it a bit today. But please don’t say anything to him, about . . . ya know.”

Ronnie pretended to zip his lips and toss away a key. “He’s delicious.”

Camille’s face flushed, but she couldn’t disagree. Nate was growing on her. She glanced over at him. He was practically drooling over the donut case.

“Holy hell,” Nate yelled. “You make donuts with Cap’n Crunch and bacon on them?”

Ronnie flounced over to the counter to help Nate pick out one of the fantastical creations Sweet Thang’s was known for.

“Camille, what kind do you want?” Nate called.

“She always has the sugar bomb,” Ronnie replied.

“What’s that?” Nate asked, but Ronnie was already putting the colorful confectionary on a plate.

The sugared donut was filled with buttercream frosting and had pink icing on top, smothered in Fruitloops, Fruity Pebbles, Lucky Charm marshmallows and rainbow sprinkles.

Nate’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Holy diabetes, Batman! Is that much sugar even legal?”

Ronnie chuckled. “What doesn’t kill ya, makes ya stronger. You want one, bebe?”

“Absolutely.”

Ronnie grinned, shaking his head. “It’s our specialty, but I don’t know how you kids eat these things.”

“You only live once,” Nate replied.

Ronnie threw Camille a knowing look. “Ain’t that the truth?”

Nate tried to pay, but Ronnie wouldn’t hear of it. Instead he brought out three bowls of gumbo, pulled up a chair and joined them. “Ya’ll can’t live on sugar alone,” he said, passing a bowl to each of them, but it was clear to Camille that he brought it for her. She gave him a grateful nod. Somehow, Ronnie always knew what she needed.

“So,” Ronnie said turning to Nate. “Tell me everything, Nathaniel.”

Nate laughed good-natured. “It’s just Nathan, and please, call me Nate.”

“I’m sorry, bebe. You’re just too delicious to be a Nate. I’m gonna keep Nathaniel. So anyway, what are your intensions for my Camille?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m madly in love with her, so I plan to woo her until she’s mine.”

“Hells bells, sugar. If she won’t date you, I sure as stars will.” Ronnie cocked an eyebrow at Camille. “This boy is charming as hell.”

Nate grinned his toothy smile at Camille with pride. “Told ya.”

“Don’t encourage him,” she said rolling her eyes. She ate her gumbo, trying to pretend she wasn’t mortified that Ronnie was playing matchmaker.

“Honestly, Nathaniel. Where’d a tall drink a water like you blow in from? You clearly ain’t from ‘round here.”

Nate playfully looked around. “Is my California showing again?”

Ronnie clicked his tongue. “Cal-i-forn-ia.” He dragged out the word into too many syllables the way only Ronnie could. “That explains it.”

“He’s going to NOAH,” Camille added.

“Ooo-wee!” Ronnie swooned. “Cute and rich.”

Nate laughed. “Nah, my mom just feels bad that I had to switch schools my senior year.”

“Yeah, why is that?” Ronnie asked.

“My mom’s a doctor and she got offered her dream job in London.” Nate shrugged. “I didn’t want her to give up such a great opportunity, so I decided to come here and move in with my dad.”

“He’s selfless, Camille. That’s an important quality in a man.” Ronnie turned back to Nate continuing with the barrage of questions. “Alright, Nathaniel. This is the rapid-fire round. Who’s your daddy? Got any siblings? Crazy ex-girlfriends? Ever been arrested? Gotten anyone pregnant? Are you gay, straight, other or all of the above? Any weird quirks we should know about? And what’s your biggest fear?”

“Ronnie . . .” Camille shot him a warning glare. At first she’d been into Ronnie’s playful questions. It was nice to have someone asking everything she wanted to know, but in true Ronnie fashion, he’d gone too far. “You don’t have to answer, Nate. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“I don’t mind.” Nate’s easy smile said he was speaking the truth.

He tapped his fingers on his chin. Camille was starting to notice it was something he did when trying to be clever. “Let’s see, my father is Charles Hawthorne, but he goes by Charlie, and he plays a mean guitar. I had the world’s best older brother, Tyler Hawthorne, but he was killed three years ago in a car accident, therefore I don’t drive. You can put that in the quirks column. No crazy ex’s, no kids, I’m straight, and my biggest fear is not living enough.”

It was silent enough to hear a pin drop in the café. Ronnie was speechless. Camille didn’t think that had ever happened before. He always had a witty comeback or some kind of remark. But he was currently staring at Nate like he was a ghost.

“Did I pass?” Nate asked eagerly.

Ronnie snapped out of it, taking Nate’s hand. “I’m sorry about your brother, bebe.”

“Me too.”

“Well, those are all good answers, son.” Ronnie patted Nate’s hand. “You have my permission to date Miss Camille LaRue.”

Ronnie gave Camille a pointed stare and stood up, pushing back from the table. “Be nice to this one, baby cakes. I got a feelin’ ‘bout him.” Then he sashayed to the kitchen leaving Camille and Nate to themselves.