Page 41 of Passion’s Song

“What, we can’t go inside for few minutes? Didn’t your mother teach you to at least offer your guests a drink of water?”

“We’re going to get all the food and drink we need on our tour,” she said. “Come on.”

She took him by the hand, paying no heed to how much this all felt like a date, instead of two friends just taking a casual stroll. But since he didn’t seem to mind, neither did she.

They walked three blocks up to St. Claude Avenue.

“So, where does this tour start?” Damien asked.

“First, we’re going to get that drink you talked about.”

“I was only kidding about the drink, April.”

“No, you were stalling, but that doesn’t matter, because I’ve been thinking about this all morning. Not only will we have the best coffee you’ve tasted in a while, but you’ll also get to see one of the most charming additions to the neighborhood.”

They walked a couple of blocks east to Clouet Street and came upon a tiny building, no more than eight by ten feet. The sign bearing its name, The Coffee Shack, sat tilted to the side.

“Well, they got the shack part right,” Damien said.

“I’ll have you know that this little shop happens to be one of the best places to get coffee on this side of the city. We’re lucky that the morning rush hour is over, because on any given workday the line is at least twenty people deep.”

“For coffee?”

“Actually, it’s for the owner’s homemade cinnamon rolls, which are quickly becoming legendary.”

April walked up to the counter of the orange-and-white shed and bought two tall coffees and one massive cinnamon roll. She gestured for Damien to take a seat at the single wrought-iron table and chair located just to the left of The Coffee Shack.

She set the cinnamon roll between them and handed Damien one of the forks she’d grabbed.

“Dig in,” April said. “Breakfast is on me, since, you know, you paid a thousand bucks for last night’s dinner.”

His mouth tipped up in a smile. “Thanks for being so generous.”

“Anytime,” she quipped.

April waited, watching him as he broke off a chunk of the cinnamon roll. The moment he did his eyes slid closed and he released a moan that made her belly flutter with too many naughty sensations to name.

“Damn,” Damien said. He looked over at her, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. “That’s good. That’s so good.”

“I told you,” April said in a singsongy voice. “We’re actually lucky there were any still available. These usually sell out by 10:00 a.m.”

“I want to buy a dozen and bring them back to my car.”

She shook her head. “You can’t. They limit four cinnamon rolls per person.”

“What? That’s crazy. Why would they limit what they sell?”

“It’s not crazy, it’s fair. Do you know how many people would buy them up? There would never be any left for others to enjoy.”

“I guess that’s the difference between us, huh? You actually think about other people besides yourself.”

“You’re not as selfish as you claim to be,” she said. “There’s a good heart in there. I remember it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that,” Damien said. “That heart may have taken one too many punches to be any good to anybody.”

April reached across the table. “Don’t say that. You’ve always been so hard on yourself, but I know you. You are a good person, Damien Alexander. And not just because you have a fancy house and drive a fancy car and have a fancy office overlooking Canal Street. You were a good person when you lived in the shotgun house on Desire Street, and stocked shelves at that little store that used to sit at the corner across from the church.”

“You remember that, huh?”