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The conversation had been mostly one-sided and exhausting, but it had all been worth it when they’d finally gotten to the jazz club that evening. The pleasure on Cain’s face at the first strums of the bass had done funny things to her stomach.
“Is Edith a jazz fan too?” he asked, and she thought she heard a note of hope there, as though he thought it might be something he and his grandmother had in common.
She hated to disappoint him, but she wouldn’t lie. “Not really. She doesn’t mind it, but she won’t seek it out either.”
“Then who introduced you to it? Forgive me if I thought you were more of an adult hits kind of listener.”
“I like all kinds of music,” she said. “But jazz is a family love. My grandfather actually played at some of the local clubs back in the day. Sax.”
“No kidding.”
She took a bite of pizza and nodded. “He died when I was little. Kindergarten. But he passed the love onto my dad, as well as dozens of really great albums. When he died…” Violet shrugged. “I guess it was a way to connect to that side of my family. My grandma wasn’t quite the fan I am, but she always loved when I put on Coltrane or Mellé…”
She fell silent as she chewed, and for a moment they walked side by side without saying a word as snowflakes whispered around them.
“A lot of death in your story, Duchess. Grandfather. Parents. Grandmother…”
She picked at a piece of crust on her plate. “Yeah. But plenty of joy too. I’m lucky in a lot of ways.”
Cain stared at his pizza for a minute, then set it on the plate without taking another bite.
“What about you?” she asked. “Where’d your jazz obsession come from?”
“It’s not as old as yours. After my mom died, I needed a change of scenery. I moved from the middle of nowhere to New Orleans. I lived in a shithole with two roommates I barely knew. One of them played sax and invited me one night to tag along to his set. I did, and I just…”
“Fell in love?” she finished for him.
He smiled a little. “Don’t romanticize it, Duchess.”
“Why not? Jazz is romantic.”
He shook his head and took a bite of pizza. “Yeah. Sure. Fine. I fell in love.”
“Have you ever been in love for real? With a woman, I mean?” Violet didn’t mean to stop walking, but somehow they’d come to a halt, facing each other on the quiet, early morning Harlem sidewalk.
“No,” he said without hesitating.
“Ah. I get it. Too tough and strong to do something as silly as falling in love?” she teased.
He didn’t smile back. “Not quite like that.”
“Then what?” She was surprised by how much she wanted to hear his thoughts. And uneasy about how much she liked the fact that he’d never been in love.
His gaze fixed on a point just over her shoulder, the wind pulling some of his hair out of his ponytail, the snowflakes sticking to his beard just for a moment before melting.
“As a general rule, I try to avoid doing stupid shit.”
“Falling in love isn’t stupid.”
His eyes came back to hers. “Speaking from personal experience?”
Violet swallowed at the uncomfortable reminder of Keith, at the even stronger discomfort of realizing she hadn’t thought about him all night. But now, she was suddenly very aware that she was out with another man at 1 a.m. They weren’t alone—there was no such thing in New York City. There were always cars, people, sirens.
But the snow dusting the roads and sidewalks created a sort of fairy-tale land that made her feel alone.
Not alone. With Cain.
“Well?” he said.
She let out a nervous laugh. “For someone who thinks falling in love is brutal business, you’re certainly curious about the details.”
“And you’re certainly evasive.”
“Fine, I love Keith, and no, I don’t think love is stupid,” she said a little stubbornly. “Happy now?”
His gaze narrowed, and he stepped closer, hand lifting toward her face.
Violet’s breath caught in her throat, then released again, when his paper napkin scraped roughly over her chin, and he held it up for her to see. Violet tried valiantly not to grimace in embarrassment at the streak of neon orange pizza grease that had been smeared on her chin.
They began walking again, their footsteps muffled by the snow.
“No,” Cain said curtly.
She glanced up, puzzled. “No, what?”
“No to your question.” He didn’t look her way, his tone deceptively bored. “No. I wouldn’t say I’m happy now.”
Ten
Silverware scratched lightly over delicate china plates.
A sound that generally indicated a dinner party gone horribly wrong, that the conversation wasn’t just boring, it was nonexistent.
At this dinner party, however, the silence was a vast improvement over the conversation that had preceded it.
Dinner party, perhaps, was misleading. Party implied a good time among people who liked one another, or were at least capable of faking it. This was a five-course nightmare starring Cain and Keith having some sort of masculine showdown, with Edith and Violet as annoyed spectators.
