Chapter Eighteen

‘You didn’t have to do this, you know.’

My arm is linked through his, and we’re walking down Bourbon Street towards the hotel and my warm, safe, lonely bed. ‘I know,’ Jack says. ‘But better safe than sorry, right?’

Well, I can’t argue with that; as long as he doesn’t mind, it’s not like I’m going to complain. It’s not as though I have anyone else to keep me company. Lauren and the rest of the girls are a good two hundred yards ahead, keeping themselves to themselves in a tight little bundle, with me and Jack way behind, bringing up the rear. Every now and then one of them turns around to keep an eye on us, usually with a glowing smile on her face, and whenever one of them seems like she’s lagging behind – for some reason, it’s usually Danielle, who can’t seem to keep her eyes off my escort – Lauren is quick to hurry her back into step.

It’s almost like they’re trying to give the two of us some alone time.

See, I know exactly what they’re thinking. Part of me is thinking it too. And not the part that I usually like to be in control, thank you very much. Blame it on the Sazerac, I guess.

‘And I’m not pulling you away from work?’ I ask.

Jack smiles. ‘You’re not pulling me away from anywhere.’

‘You were there later the other night.’

‘Yeah, we do that sometimes. You know, hang out at the bar, have a couple of drinks, mingle with the customers.’

‘Trying to earn a few more tips?’

He frowns. ‘You know, as hard as you seem to find it to believe, I actually really love my job. I love the music. I love the freedom of it. I love being able to hang around with people from all over the world, even if they’re usually liquored up by the time I get to talk to them. It’s not all about the money, Ella.’

Way to go, El. Open mouth, insert foot.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I probably just seem like some drunk asshole tourist, eh?’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘That’s not a no.’

He grins. ‘No, it’s not. Drunk tourist, maybe. Asshole… I think you’re probably OK there. For now, anyway.’

‘Oh. Good.’ I pause, swaying slightly. ‘You know, I’m not usually like this. Back home I’m a lawyer. I’m responsible.’

He steers me out of the path of an approaching lamppost and smiles. ‘I bet you are.’

‘I am. For real. I’ve got all my shit together.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Mm-hmm. In a big ol’ pile. Mostly. This is just me…’

‘Blowing off some steam?’ he suggests.

‘Exactly. Blowing off some steam. Just blowing off everywhere.’ I take a deep breath, pucker my lips, and make the face of a cartoon storm cloud from a weather report. ‘Whoosh. See?’

Jack smiles, probably despite himself. ‘Oh, I see. You’re a hard woman to ignore, Ella… what was your name again?’

‘Mossberg. Eleanor Elizabeth Mossberg.’ It always sounds so clunky when I say it out loud – the sound of a young girl in trouble for breaking something. It’s a name to be yelled down stairs and out into parks. It never really seemed to fit somehow. Even less so tonight.

‘Eleanor Elizabeth Mossberg,’ he says, letting the words trip over his tongue, rounding out the vowels, embracing the sibilance and shaking hands with the plosives. It sounds a lot better in Jack’s voice than it does in my own. ‘Well, you managed to make quite a splash this evening, Miss Mossberg.’ He pauses. ‘Miss, right?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Miss Mossberg?’

‘Oh. Yeah. Definitely.’

Jack smiles again. ‘Oh good.’

‘Is it indeed?’

He shrugs. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to feel like I was stepping on anyone’s toes. You might have gone for the jealous type, I don’t know.’

‘Jealous of you walking me home?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

Yes… yes, they have. God only knows what Carter would make of it if he could see me walking down the street, arm in arm with a man who – let’s not mince words, here – is definitely in the top-tier of attractiveness. I’m even grateful for the chill in the air, and the fact that Jack took the opportunity to slip his jacket around my shoulders. It’s slim-fit on him, perfectly tailored, but so loose on me that I look like a little girl who’s playing dress-up in daddy’s wardrobe.

Then again, what Carter thinks doesn’t make a damn bit of difference now. He made his choice. Perhaps it’s the drink, but the thought doesn’t sting quite as much as it did earlier. Neither does the back of your head, I think to myself, but you know as soon as the booze wears off they’re both going to sting like a bastard.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow. The night is still young.

‘It was nice of you,’ I say. ‘Really nice.’

‘What was I going to do, just leave you there?’ He grins. ‘You’re a paying customer, after all. We can’t go letting the clientele come back all broken and bruised. Bad for business.’

‘Oh yeah? So walking me home is all just part of the package?’

He shakes his head and smiles. ‘Nope. Platinum service, for our most esteemed guests.’

‘Like who?’

‘Oh, responsible people. Lawyers. Folks who really just have their shit together, you know?’

I furrow my brow. ‘You’re mocking me.’

‘A little.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Yeah, you do.’

‘Yeah, I kind of do. Is that weird?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s a good look for you, Eleanor. Shows you’re letting your hair down a little bit. Letting your guard down. Maybe New Orleans is rubbing off on you after all.’

I snort, despite myself. ‘And look where that’s got me? Robbed in a street. I almost lost pretty much everything I had with me, and God knows what I would have done then.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘Only because you were there. You and your big Dark Knight schtick.’

‘I thought we settled on Superman in the end?’

‘Pssh. Gotham. Metropolis. New Orleans. Same difference. Say what you want, Bruce, but nothing good happens when you let your guard down.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Mm-hmm. Bad things sneak in. Every time. It’s just asking for trouble.’

‘Well, you ain’t wrong there,’ he says. ‘But in my experience, a lot of good does too – and the good almost always outweighs the bad. That’s just the way it tends to work out.’

‘Ever the optimist, aren’t you?’

He shrugs. ‘Seems to be working out for me so far. Got me here, didn’t it?’

‘Flatterer.’

‘Always.’

‘You know, you’re really very nice, Jack.’

He grins, and presses a wounded hand against his chest. ‘Just what every guy wants to hear.’

‘It’s true. You’re nice. You didn’t have to walk me home, but you did. Because you’re nice.’

‘Knock it off before someone hears you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. You know how many muggings I’m going to have to stop to keep my street cred now?’

‘Nice, nice, nice. Nice.’

‘Stop.’

‘Nice, nice…’

‘No, Ella. Stop. Stop walking.’ He points upwards, and I see the ornate doorway of the Hotel Belle View looming over me. ‘We’re here.’

Well, shit.

‘This is your hotel, right? You’re staying in the same place as the others?’

I look around, but Lauren and the girls are nowhere to be seen – although I’d give good odds that if any of them have a front-facing room, they’ll be staring through the window, jostling past each other to see just what me and Jack are getting up to.

Nothing. We’re not getting up to anything. Everything’s perfectly normal, thank you very much.

‘If I say no, do we get to walk around a bit more?’

Jack smirks at me. ‘You really think you’ve got it in you? Ten minutes ago you couldn’t even get up off a couch, and now you want to go walking around the city at night?’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t you have wedding stuff to do? You and the blushing bride?’

‘Eurgh. Don’t remind me.’ Tomorrow – today, technically – is the rehearsal dinner, and everything that entails. Drew and his family, Lauren and hers, interminable speeches…

‘You sound thrilled.’

‘I know. I am, really. It’s just…’ It’s just that every time I think about Lauren and Drew, I think about me and Carter, and the absence of my ring seems to burn. ‘It’s nothing. Just me being a sap, that’s all.’

‘I hear that’s contagious around weddings.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Sure. One person starts getting all romanced-up, and then it spreads. Before you know it, the entire wedding party has broken out in floral displays and ugly bridesmaids’ dresses.’

‘How do you know the dresses are ugly?’

‘Because they’re supposed to be. That’s the golden rule of weddings, see: no one is allowed to look better than the bride.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about weddings, Mr. Robichaux.’

He shrugs. ‘Sure, a little. You pick stuff up. Little bits here and there.’

‘Any personal experience?’

‘Is that you asking me if I’m married?’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘That’s a very forward question.’

‘Well, I’m in a very forward mood.’

It all slips out before I’m even sure what I’m trying to say. Am I… am I flirting with him? Really? No, I can’t be. I haven’t flirted with anyone new in years. I should be out of practice, but…

But it’s easy – too easy. Is it that it’s with Jack, who has a strange way of making me feel at ease while he still manages to keep me forever on my toes? Or is it just that it’s not Carter? Would anyone do? If I hadn’t turned down that asshole at the bar, would it be him I was standing with here right now, pressed up against in the dim glow of the streetlights outside the Hotel Belle View? Would it have been him I found myself praying would give me the answer I was hoping for?

‘No,’ he says. ‘No, I’m not married. Never have been.’

‘Not the marrying kind?’

He shrugs. ‘Never figured that the juice was worth the squeeze, if you catch my drift.’

‘Not even a little bit. But that might be the booze.’

Jack smiles, softly. ‘I never found anyone that I really clicked with,’ he says. ‘Turns out, playing jazz in dingy bars isn’t really a lifestyle choice that’s conducive to healthy, stable relationships. Who would have thought, eh?’

‘Pssh,’ I say. ‘That’s not so bad. Better than being a lawyer, anyway.’

‘You reckon so?’

‘Mmm-hmm. Burned out by the time you’re twenty-five, always in the office. You try having a relationship like that.’ Let alone one that lasts and lasts then falls apart at the last minute for no good goddamn reason, leaving you to realise just how pointless it all is and how alone you are. I didn’t mean to snap, but the words come out with a salt-rim despite myself. ‘Sorry. Rough night. Rough week.’

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You doing OK?’

‘Yeah. I’m fine.’

‘Touchy subject?’

‘Something like that.’

My mind drifts back to Carter, and how he’d react in a moment like this: Carter, who could never let anything drop, who always had to know everything. We were so alike in that respect; a perfect match, in fact. He’d needle away at me until I told him what was wrong, and then – if it didn’t match his definition of important enough – dismiss it entirely as me being too sensitive.

Jack just leans forwards, gentle puts his arms around me, and gives me a reassuring squeeze. It only takes a second, but there it is: a moment of simple human contact, just enough to make me feel better without a single word being uttered.

God, I could use some better right now. No matter where it comes from, some better would go down real smooth.

Now or never, I think. Say it. Say it before you lose your nerve.

‘Do you want to come up?’ I ask.