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“Yes. I want that. We will do that, and Pumpkin will dominate because she is fucking amazing.” Paige emphasizes her point by chomping down on a chip covered in melted cheese, jalapeños, and all the other variety of fixings her nachos are overflowing with.
I watch her chew, enjoying the way she attacks the food with gusto.
“Eat.” She pushes the plate across the bar toward me.
“I don’t want to take your food.” I play the gentleman and hope she doesn’t hear the way my stomach growls over the music. The peanut butter sandwich I made myself earlier is not filling me up the way I wish it would.
“Dash, if you don’t help me with these nachos, I will eat all of them. Not because I’m that hungry, but because they are sitting in front of me.Temptingme.” Paige nudges the appetizer even closer until I can smell the cilantro and green onions sprinkled across the top. “So please, for the sake of my ever-fluctuating waistline, eat some. Sharing is caring.”
I give in. The first tortilla chip hits my tongue in a glorious combination of salt and spice. I try to restrain myself from chewing like a maniac and swallowing quicker than a vacuum cleaner. To save some extra cash, I’ve been cutting back on my groceries. Hunger has become a constant companion that I do my best to ignore.
Paige gifts me with a sweet curl of her lips as she picks up the little cup of sour cream and places it closer to me. I dip the next chip and enjoy the cool freshness paired with the heat from the peppers.
A little happy hum emanates from Paige’s throat as she goes back to eating her food.
“You said you’re looking for a job, right? What did you say you do, again?” My brain kind of short-circuited the first time she told me, too focused on her parents’ professions. I’ve promised myself to stay far away from beautiful cars and trouble with the law.
Paige traces her finger through a puddle of condensation on the bar top. “I was a book editor at a publishing house in New York. I still want to do that, I just need to figure out where.”
A book editor. Now the way she originally gave me her cell number seems less odd. But only slightly.
“What, exactly, does a book editor do?”
“Oh, it’s great. For the most part. You get to work with authors and their babies!” She clutches her hands to her chest, eyes shining with excitement.
“Their babies?”
“Books. Their books. Which are like their babies. And you get to see them at all levels of their developmental stages. It really is like kids going to school. Some of them send in chapters and they’re basically asking, ‘Is my kindergartner ready to go to college?’ And you have to figure out how to tell them no. But gently, so they don’t spiral into a pit of devastation. Authors do that a lot. Good editors know how to avoid it.”
“And you’re one of those good editors?”
Paige smiles and rests her chin in her hand, staring at me as she talks. “In the beginning? Not really. I’ve gotten better. And how you handle each author is different. Some need a light touch and others need blatant honesty. You just have to figure out the person you’re working with. Some of my authors…” The happy expression on her face fades, leaving behind a wistful frown. “Well, they aren’t mine anymore. I guess they’ve been re-assigned to other people on the team.”
“What happened? With your job?”
Paige gazes out over the crowd of people gathering closer to the back of the bar.
“I asked my boss if I could work remotely when I decided to move here. He agreed, but then a few weeks before I was set to leave, he told me that wasn’t an option anymore. I either had to stay and keep my job or leave and lose it.”
“That sucks.”
Paige grimaces, then downs her beer.
I’m about to ask why she was so set on moving back to New Orleans when the band lets out the first few notes of a rumbling song. My companion squeals and reaches out to clutch my arm.
“I love live music. Have you heard these guys play before? Are they any good?”
I nod, as I restrain myself from eating any more nachos, having already devoured close to half the plate. “They’re popular around here.”
Paige finishes the last swallow of her beer and flags down the bartender to ask for another. The alcohol brings a ruddy flush to her cheeks and neck. I bet if I leaned in close, heat would radiate off her skin.
The sound of a trombone brings a jazzy edge to the guitar and drums blaring from the back of the room. People all around us cheer and start dancing. A new kind of life pulses through the bar. A beat of enthusiasm and barely restrained insanity. Everyone laughs louder, and the lights shine brighter.
This is a taste of the real New Orleans.
Paige has fully turned around in her seat, leaning back against the bar as she sips her beer and watches the musicians enchant the room. She’s as enthralled as everyone else. Her eyelids sink slightly as her head nods and sways with the rhythm.
While everyone else is focused on the entertainment, I can’t look away from the woman next to me. If someone were to simply glance at Paige, they might make the same mistake I did on first meeting her. They’d see the pretty face, blonde hair, nice clothes, simple makeup, and conclude she’s an average beautiful girl, who probably fits nicely into a cookie-cutter mold.
