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“Are you going to compliment my bag now? How about my shoes?” I said, deflecting attention away from the bracelet.
“I’m not throwing out compliments for nothing. I’m serious. I’m liking it all,” he said, eyes on the road now.
“Well, thank you. But I didn’t wear this for you. This is my ‘I’m a Good Mother Despite my Demanding Job’ outfit.”
He laughed softly.
After a moment of silence, I changed the subject. “Anyway. So how’s the food truck business?”
“You know … business is really good,” he said, with some hesitation. “We’re ordering up another truck. I take delivery in a few weeks. This one’s going to the Freret Street Market. We’re hoping—”
“Be careful not to expand too fast, Jules. That’s happened before and you went bust.”
I immediately regretted my words. It was his money, his business, his risk. I had no stake in this. And as long as he continued to pay child support on time, without complaint, I had no right to give unsought financial advice. Or any advice.
But instead of defending himself or shutting down, he simply said, “I understand your concern, Solange. I haven’t had the best track record. But I know what I’m doing this time. I’m taking all the right steps. I feel good about this.”
I said nothing more about the business, and during the parent–teacher meeting I let him do a lot of the talking while I took in his profile, marveling at the way love can change into something else, something different and yet so very familiar. I listened to Julius ask pertinent questions about Gus’s ability to finish his homework. Julius felt he was overloaded with take-home work and asked the teacher to reduce it a little so he’d have more time to relax and just be a kid once school was done for the day.
“His pediatrician doesn’t think he has attention-span issues,” Julius said in the meeting. “A healthy mental bandwidth can just be stretched too thin sometimes.”
“Oh, I concur,” the teacher said. “This is a good plan. We’ll make it work.”
Afterwards, Julius dropped me off at work.
“Thanks. That was good,” I said, patting the back of his hand.
“We did well. Listen, I’d like to pick up Gus tomorrow morning a little earlier. Take him golfing.”
“I didn’t know you golfed,” I said, slotting that with a bunch of other new stuff about Julius I seemed to be discovering.
“I don’t. But I think Gus should try it. It’s harder as you get older to learn new things.”
“Yes, but not impossible.”
“That’s true,” he said, leaning over to kiss me good-bye, his goatee tickling my cheek.
I almost turned my face to meet his lips. I almost changed the peck to something else. What the hell is going on? Is it his smell? Is it all the sex I’m having? Sometimes, too long in close proximity to this man, his smell would mess with my rational mind, making me take leave of my senses.
As his Jeep drove away, I checked my phone messages: there were two from the office and one from Matilda. I listened to hers first.
Solange. Call me. I have news. Pierre—he’s agreed to be … recruited this one time. But there are conditions. Call me.
Holy hell. She came through. Curiosity indeed! I immediately hit “call back.” Matilda picked up on the first ring.
“What are the conditions?” I said, before even uttering “Hello.”
“Well, Solange, he doesn’t want a camera there for the interview portion of the fantasy,” she said, her voice sounding as though this might be a deal-breaker.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll just sell it as a cover story for New Orleans Magazine. They owe me, after all.”
“The other condition is that the fantasy has to happen in Paris, where he’s been living ever since our event at Latrobe’s.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had never been to Paris!
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
