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Mary Paige took a bite of her omelet and sighed. “Yum. So, your mother wasn’t from New Orleans?”
“She was from Baton Rouge and met Dad at a game. He played ball for LSU.”
“Football?”
“Baseball. He even played some minor-league ball for a few years. Before my mom insisted he come home to help Grandfather with the company. But Dad never gave up on baseball. He was one of the guys who worked to bring a Triple A team to the city. He loved baseball as much as he loved my mother. Or that’s what she said.”
“This almost feels normal,” she said, taking a bite of a cold pasta salad with olives.
“Why wouldn’t it be normal?”
Her brown eyes narrowed. “Because…just because, I guess.”
“Well, Iamon my best behavior. Haven’t rolled my eyes or kicked a homeless person all day. I even hummed along with a Christmas carol while I showered.”
“Wow, that could be, like, a Christmas miracle.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, taking another bite of soup and wondering if the bread pudding was as good as he remembered. Perhaps today was a day of total indulgence. Gym be damned.
“What I meant is you’re intentionally being agreeable, and it feels—”
“Scary?”
She frowned. “No, it feels nice.”
“Well, I’m not the devil incarnate. I am capable of more than holing myself up to count all my gold and plot world domination.”
“Oh, you mean you have a heart?” she teased, scooping a spoonful of soup from his bowl and popping it in her mouth.
“Who said you could have some of my soup?”
Her mouth fell open a little, and she blinked twice. “Oh, I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”
Smiling, he shook his head. “I was teasing.”
“But I didn’t realize I’d even done it. That’s so bizarre.”
He wasn’t sure anyone had ever casually taken a bite off his plate before, but it didn’t bother him for some reason. It felt comfortable, as if it were something they’d done a dozen times. Seated at a table, teasing one another, and scarfing samples off one another’s plate.
He reached over and scooped some of the pasta with the olives and salami. “There. We’re even.”
Mary Paige laughed and turned as the jazz quartet entered the courtyard, playing a Dixieland rag that made diners spontaneously tap their feet. He caught Jonathan Posey’s eye, a guy he’d gone to Newman with many moons ago and gave him a wave. Jonathan hadn’t been in his crowd per se, but Brennan had always liked the kid who played trombone and drew funny caricatures of all their teachers.
Brennan and Mary Paige leisurely finished their meal, interspersed with delicious mimosas, working up a nice buzz and enjoying the experience of dining with live music. He even managed to clap along once, which seemed to please the woman across from him. Her whole face was as readable as the eye-exam chart.... Well, for someone with twenty-twenty vision.
By the time he’d paid the bill—over her protests, of course—he’d fallen half in love with Mary Paige…and didn’t really care that he headed in a direction he’d never wanted, needed, or believed in.
Maybe itwasa Christmas miracle.
* * *
“DON’TTALKTOthe guys who tell you they can guess where you bought your shoes. It’s a scam,” Brennan told Mary Paige as they walked past Jackson Brewery toward Woldenberg Park, which skirted the Mississippi River.
“How is it a scam?” She was stuffed to the point of being uncomfortable. The food had been so delicious she’d kept eating…and eating. Good thing they were walking. Maybe she’d be able to work some of those calories off and manage to stay out of the Spanx.
“Just trust me,” Brennan said, taking her hand and directing her toward the winding walk that paralleled the muddy churning waters of the Mississippi yards away. Big ships lined the banks.
Mary Paige was fascinated with the cruise ships, craning her neck to look at them as she and Brennan passed. She’d always wanted to take a cruise but growing up, there’d never been money or time for a vacation.
