Page 91 of New Orleans Rush

“Outfit?”

“A netted one. It has a face mask and everything.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m determined.”

To keep her safe. He didn’t need to say it. His crumpled brow spoke of his vulnerability, and warmth engulfed her chest. She wasn’t sure she’d get used to being worried after and cared for. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get used to it.

Plate of beignets in hand, she joined him in the kitchen and traced the long scar down his abdomen. “Life is unpredictable. You could get hurt. I could get hurt. But we can’t walk through the world bubble wrapped. Or in a net suit.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Then how do I protect you?”

She leaned into his touch. “By eating beignets outside with me and dancing in jazzy clubs and painting and performing together. Loving me is protection enough.”

He inhaled deeply, his breath rushing out on a sigh. “I can do that.”

Pac-Man T-shirt on, he joined her outside. They sat on the curb, side-by-side, enjoying their beignets, after they’d both searched the scene for bees.

“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Yarrow waved from her garden. She bent forward, her cleavage ready to make a getaway.

Huxley waved distractedly. “Roses look great.”

But he hadn’t taken his attention off the pastry in his hands. He finished it in four large bites. Bea nibbled hers. It was too good to inhale, crispy and chewy, sweet and rich, bits of cloud-light powder sticking to her lips. She couldn’t keep from moaning. Before she popped the last morsel in her mouth, Huxley stole it, barely chewing his prize.

She went to swat him, but he grabbed her wrist and licked the powdered sugar from her fingers. “You’re right,” he said, crowding her space and jostling her too-full heart. “They taste better outside.”

Everything tasted better with Beatrice Baker. On Beatrice Baker, specifically. Huxley also couldn’t imagine facing his father’s safe-deposit box without her at his side. The sterile room felt small with five of them inside. Fox and Della were at one end of the steel table, Beatrice and him opposite.

Axel drummed his hands on the left side. “Remember that diamond heist when we were kids? I always wondered if Dad had something to do with it.”

Huxley fit the key into the box but didn’t turn it. “There aren’t diamonds in here. It’s probably another riddle.”

Axel bounced on his feet. “It could be his stash of ruby rings. We never found those.”

Stolen by their mother, likely. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

For Huxley’s ninth birthday, his father had sent him on a scavenger hunt through the theater. It had taken him a month to figure out the clues. He was sure the Wolverine comic he’d coveted lay at the end. Instead he’d found a picture of a dove. Irate hadn’t begun to describe his nine-year-old self, who’d expected his long-awaited comic. Max had told Huxley the real dove would be his if he mastered a flying card illusion. Huxley grumbled, but eventually gave in and learned the magic trick. Two weeks later, he became the proud owner of a dove. And had become addicted to magic.

Huxley didn’t expect ruby rings from Max Marlow, or an oyster world, or answers to impossible questions. He expected games. Eccentric keepsakes.

Still, Huxley didn’t twist the key.

Beatrice smoothed her hand along his lower back. “You don’t have to open it today. It’s been nine years, another few days or weeks won’t matter.”

“No freaking way,” Axel said, impatient as always. “I wanna know what he left.”

Fox rolled his eyes. “It’s your call. I’m good either way.”

So was Huxley. For the first time in too long, he looked ahead and saw a life with possibility. Not a daily grind of bills and obligations.

The court hearing yesterday had gone as expected. They had a fine to pay and had thirty days to repaint and fix the façade. Together, they’d make it work, and gradually repair the interior. His brothers would share the theater burden from here on out. He also had a watermelon girl who filled his days with sweetness. What he didn’t want was for this mysterious box to throw their newly ordered world off-kilter. He liked his current kilter just fine.

He released the key and crossed his arms. “The theater’s doing better, but we’re still short cash.” Beatrice’s hand tensed on his back. Before she could pull away, he tucked her into his side. “Gambling is out, as is picking pockets.” He aimed a glare at Fox, who stared back blank-faced. “But I have another suggestion.”

“I suggest we open the box,” Axel said again. Considering he always opened his Christmas presents early, his impatience wasn’t surprising.

“I’ll get to the box. But whatever’s in there, it changes nothing. We need more cash flow, and I think we all enjoyed our time at the hospital.”