Page 21 of New Orleans Rush

He waved off her concern. “I’m figuring it out, but I’ll pay you.”

“No.”

“If you can’t afford a proper lunch, how are you even paying rent?”

Her attention meandered, drawing invisible lines over his head and down the café’s peach wall. A bee flew around close by, then hovered over their table. Instead of answering him, she said, “Bee.”

“It seems to like you.”

She became immobile. “Please make it go away.”

Her stiff posture… The trepidation in her widening eyes… “Are you afraid of bees, Bea?”

“I’m allergic.”

“A girl named Bea is allergic to bees?”

“If I get stung because you’re making jokes instead of shooing said bee, my tongue will swell and choke me before I can tell you you’re being a white-bellied go-away-bird.”

“Is that a real bird?”

“Yep. And it’s staring right at me.”

Amused, he swatted the insect away and it went to annoy another table. “Are you really allergic?”

She petted the purse she’d hung over her chair. “My EpiPen is always close.”

He suddenly wanted to exterminate all bees from the stratosphere. He also wasn’t letting her off from answering him. “How are you paying rent?”

This pause didn’t last as long. “The friend I’m staying with isn’t charging me right now. And if the theater’s in trouble, I won’t accept your money anyway. I’ve booked interviews for later today. I should have a job soon, something with daytime hours that won’t interfere with the show.”

He wondered if her roommate was the same friend she’d pretended to text from the theater. More untruths, possibly. “I still want to pay you. And if things fall through with your living arrangements, I have a spare room. You can crash there anytime.” Except the offer had his blood rushing. Beatrice in his apartment, living in the adjacent room, was as terrifying as it was exciting. The little sleep he did get would likely vanish.

“Thank you for the roommate offer. If things get dicey, I’ll let you know, but I still won’t accept a paycheck.” Her tone turned serious. “Everything happens for a reason, Huxley, including Nick convincing me to move here, him turning into a prick, and my terrible decision to ruin your car. I’m still sick about the car part, not so much the Nick part, but it brought us together. I think I’m meant to be in your magic act. I also think you should consider the music change.”

“Okay.” His quick agreement would have both pleased and shocked the hell out of Axel, but it was Beatrice’s vehemence that drove his consent. As had her comment about fate bringing them together. He felt it, an invisible thread binding them. He’d gradually leaned forward as they’d spoken. A gravitational pull. His heart beat faster, reaching for her.

“Really?” She shifted closer, too. “But you shot me down at rehearsal.”

“I didn’t want Axel to gloat. He’s been pushing to make changes for years. It’s not what my father would have wanted, and I hate the idea of letting him down, so I’ve held off. But I’m running out of options.”

Refusing Beatrice seemed a worse offense.

“Would have wanted?” She reached under the table and placed her hand on his knee. “Does that mean he passed?”

“It was a while ago.” It seemed odd she didn’t know this defining detail of his life. He felt a strange familiarity with her, like they’d grown up comparing parental scars. She also didn’t know about the other scars on his body, marks that often turned women off, or the tiny detail that he played a regular poker game. Considering her father’s issues, the latter fact could cause her to stop touching his knee. He liked her hand exactly where it was.

“If you won’t accept my money,” he went on, covering her hand with his, keeping them connected, “at least let me help with your job search. Fox’s friend Della works at the market the waitress mentioned. Last I heard, her stall was busy. I could put you in touch.”

She pressed her thumb over his, warmth emanating from her brightening face. “I have interviews booked. If they don’t work out, I’ll holler. But thank you again for another generous offer.”

He was learning there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to earn a Beatrice Baker smile.

8

Walking the French Quarter with Huxley after lunch was more fun than the time Bea had attached scrap metal to her shoes and spent a month tap dancing. Moves she dusted off as they passed a busking saxophonist. She shuffled her toes and stomped her heels. Huxley watched her like he’d made alien contact. She grabbed his hand and led him into a vampire shop.

Face pinched, he eyed the shelved fangs and coffin purses. “Why are we here?”