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Thankfully, no one recognized Brodie with his shades on, his hair tucked up under the cap, and his jacket and scarf covering his tattoos.
I almost reached for his hand a time—or three—but caught myself.
He walked closer to me than usual, our bodies occasionally brushing against each other. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
And it would have to do for now.
For lunch, Brodie had us walking uptown to a place called the Oyster Shack. And it was, literally, a bright blue shack at the end of the block. But the smells, fuck, the smells were so good. Deep-fried goodness and spices.
Lennie lined up to place our order, along with two dozen people, most of them locals.
It was well worth the half-hour wait.
We ordered po’ boys and muffuletta sandwiches and split them amongst us, washing it all down with the sweetest tea I’d ever tasted.
Then, we made our way down to a place off Bourbon Street, which was particularly crowded for a Monday afternoon. Then again, it was the day before Halloween, so the party was getting started early.
“That’s the place Armand was talking about,” Brodie pointed across the street to a red neon sign that read “Stoney’s Jazz.”
“Who?”
“The concierge at the hotel. I called down before we left to get recs on the best music joints.”
“And this place is good?”
Brodie nodded. “So he said. Let’s find out.”
We stepped inside a dimly lit room filled with an eclectic range of colorful antique furniture and a mahogany bar that was already packed with patrons.
“There’s a table in the corner.”
He turned and grinned at me.
“Great minds, I was thinking the same thing.”
A hostess greeted us and steered us toward that very table.
I sat at the back beside Brodie, with Dawson and Lennie on either side of us. We ordered a round of IPAs and sat back to enjoy the crisp brew.
A jazz trio—stand-up bass, drums, and singer—took to the tiny wooden stage in the opposite corner.
With our hands hidden under the table, Brodie slid his left over my right, and we interlocked our fingers tightly.
I wished he could take off his sunglasses so I could see his eyes, but he had to leave them on.
So far, he’d gone under the radar, and we wanted to keep it that way. Then it occurred to me that wearing sunglasses indoors might attract questions, too, but no one paid us any mind.
That was the great thing about New Orleans. Eccentric was normal.
“Is there anything better than live music?” I asked him, my eyes lingering on his mouth.
“I can think of one thing, but it’s a close call.” He smiled. “This is just what I needed. This singer is amazing.”
I nodded in agreement and sat back, the soulful strains of the music settling into me. The singer’s voice was smooth, sultry, and with just a hint of a gravelly undertone. I let it carry me away to another time and place as she switched between English and French.
The song spoke of longing and love and put to mind silky sheets, glistening bodies, and heated kisses.
Brodie rubbed his thumb against mine, and it was all I could do to sit still and not lean over and take what I wanted.
