Labor of Love

  “Right,” Brady said. “That’s what we both wanted. Just for the summer, just while we’re here.”

  “I just want to make sure that you understand that it’s only while we’re in the Big Easy, even though we’ve sorta moved into actual dating territory.”

  “I get it.”

  Did he?

  “I mean, it’s a set period of time. When one of us leaves New Orleans—whoever leaves first—that’s it, it’s over. No good-bye. Good-bye is understood.”

  “What? You want me to sign a contract? I get what you’re saying. And it’s what I want, too. A hundred percent.”

  “I just don’t want another breakup. I just want an ‘it’s over’ but without either of us saying it’s over.”

  “And you think that’ll make it easier?”

  “Knowing that it’s coming, being prepared? Yeah, I do. We’ll be together five weeks, and then that’s it. We move on.”

  “Okay.”

  I released a long sigh. “Okay.”

  It would be easier. I was sure it would be.

  He absently-mindedly traced his finger across my bare shoulders, back and forth. It felt delicious.

  “Where are you going to go to college?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided for sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why do you say that so much? Just ‘okay.’”

  “So you know I heard you, but don’t have anything else to add.” He nuzzled my neck. “And sometimes just so you know I understand.”

  We were in the shadows. No one was paying any attention to us. He kissed my shoulder, and I thought I might not wear anything that covered my shoulders ever again.

  “You understand a lot without me saying much,” I said.

  “I have three sisters who think I’m Dr. Phil. I’ve heard about every rotten thing that every guy they’ve dated has ever done to them. And they always end with, ‘If you ever do that to a girl…’”

  His voice had gone prissy at the end.

  “As though I would,” he finished in his normal voice.

  “What would they do if you did?”

  He shrugged. “They never say. But knowing them, it’d be a fate worse than death—forcing me to sit through a marathon of romantic comedies or something.”

  Brady had a way of always making me smile.

  “Still, I bet you make a great Dr. Phil.”

  He pointed up. “Especially once I get the bald thing going.”

  I laughed. “You’re really bothered about losing your hair.”

  “Yeah, I think I am. Vain, I guess.”

  I leaned into him. “You really shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  Then he leaned in and kissed me. Being with him without Jenna around wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I’d expected it to be. Actually, it seemed natural.

  He told me funny stories about his sisters. Two were older, one younger, and he finally admitted that he was offended that they’d think he’d ever do any of the jerk stuff guys had pulled on them.

  “Why can’t relationships be easy?” I finally asked.

  He shrugged. “Would they be worth it if they were?”

  “I just wonder how you ever know…this is the one.” I told him about Amber’s reading and the reason she’d bugged out on us.

  “Sean liked her,” he said.

  “You want to hear the really weird thing?” I asked.

  “There’s something weirder than a psychic’s prediction and your friend freaking out because Tank has ink?”

  “Well, maybe not weirder, but…well, the thing is, Amber has always talked about going to Rice. It’s her first choice, and there’s Sean…at Rice.”

  “Mmm. So maybe in another year or so…”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “No.” I leaned back. “You can’t do that. Then you’re influencing it and making it happen.”

  “I’ve got something else I want to make happen.”

  And then he was kissing me again. I stopped thinking about Amber and Sean or Jenna and Tank. Or Sara and her predictions.

  I was only thinking about how much I liked kissing Brady.

  We left the restaurant at ten, which gave us an hour and a half before we had to meet up with Tank and Jenna and head back to the dorm. Neither of us was in the mood for the madness of Bourbon Street, so we just walked along the river. We could see the lights of the riverboats as they traveled along the Mississippi. It was all so romantic.

  “You know, I don’t even know your last name,” I said, when we began walking back to the hotel.

  “Miller.”

  I smiled at him. Brady Miller. I liked it.

  “And yours?”

  “Delaney,” I responded.

  “I thought you’d have an Italian-sounding name.”

  I grinned. “That’s my mom’s side of the family.”

  When we got to the lobby, Jenna and Tank were waiting for us. Tank drove us back to the dorm. While he walked Jenna to the door, Brady and I lagged behind.

  “So being alone together wasn’t so bad,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

  I groaned. “I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, I just feel like I can say what’s on my mind when I’m with you. That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Seriously, though, I had a great time,” I told him.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Then he kissed me good night.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday we only worked until noon.

  Tank drove us back to the dorm with the promise he and Brady would be back to get us in an hour. No way were we going to spend time in the French Quarter without getting cleaned up first. I was going through clothes like crazy. Tomorrow I definitely had to make time for laundry. Or else buy some more clothes.

  Hmm. Buying more clothes might be the way to go.

  I dressed in a denim miniskirt with cargo pockets on the sides so I could carry money and an ID without having to lug around my backpack. I put on a tank with skinny straps, slipped on sandals, and used a banana clip to get my hair up off my shoulders. I picked one string of red beads to wear. I didn’t think I’d be adding to my stash tonight, but I wasn’t completely saying no to the possibility.

  “Nice,” Brady said to me when he and Tank picked us up.

  We parked at their hotel, then started making our way through the French Quarter.

  “I know just the place for lunch,” Tank said. “The home of the original muffuletta.”

  Central Grocery had been housed in the French Quarter for nearly a century. As we walked inside the red emporium, the tantalizing aromas of salami, cheese, and garlic wafted around us. The worn floor creaked as we made our way around the aisles—displaying various containers of olives, pickles, and spices—to the counter where they took the food orders. The menu was pretty simple. Only one thing was served—the muffuletta. We ordered two to share, because the round sandwich is huge and piled with salami, ham, provolone, olive salad, and other special ingredients.

  “Want to split a Barq’s root beer?” Brady asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you grab us some chairs?”

  Off to the side was a counter with stools where people could eat. The store was small, the eating area even smaller, but we found four seats together.

  “It smells really good in here,” Jenna said.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “I am so hungry.”

  Brady took the stool beside me and unwrapped the sandwich. It was huge, cut into quarters. I had a feeling that one piece was going to be enough for me, and I wondered if we should have just ordered one for the four of us to share.

  But Brady and Tank had monstrous appetites, and in no time the sandwiches were gone. They were delicious, and the root beer just topped it off.

/>   I felt incredibly stuffed as we walked out of the store. I didn’t think I could have eaten a pecan praline if it was given to me free. Okay, I could have. My theory is that sugar melts, so it doesn’t fill you up.

  Once we were outside, Jenna pulled me aside.

  “Tank and I were thinking of going off and doing our own thing, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with that, with being alone with Brady.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “You sure?”

  “We’ve been alone before,” I reminded her.

  “I know. I just didn’t know if you wanted a lot of alone time, because I was thinking we wouldn’t hook back up until later tonight.”

  “I’m fine, Jenna.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll catch up with you at the ghost tour.”

  She took Tank’s hand and led him away.

  “What was that about?” Brady asked.

  I shrugged. “Just Jenna being silly. They want to do their own thing.”

  “I’m not surprised. He’s got it bad for her.” He suddenly looked guilty. “Don’t tell her I said that. I mean, it should come from him.”

  “But it would give me a chance to play psychic,” I teased.

  “Don’t. Please.”

  I pretended to think it over for a bit. Then finally I said, “Okay.”

  “You were never going to tell her, were you?”

  Smiling, I shook my head.

  Holding hands, Brady and I walked to the French Market. It’s a covered flea market, so we were at least out of the sun. There were so many vendors.

  “This probably isn’t the place to be if we’re going on a ghost tour tonight,” I said, thinking of hauling anything I bought around all day.

  “If you find something you want, we can always take it back to my room,” Brady said.

  “Do you like shopping?”

  “Not particularly, but I really like people-watching, and this is a great place for that.”

  “So you’re okay if I stop and look at stuff?” The one time I’d taken Drew shopping with me, he’d moped around and totally spoiled the day. He said guys had a gene that prevented them from having patience at a mall. I didn’t buy into it, though, because my dad always went shopping with my mom.

  “Look all you want,” Brady said. “I’ve got no appointments to keep.”

  “Except for the ghost tour,” I reminded him.

  “Well, yeah, but that’s not for a while yet.”

  We strolled up and down the aisles. A lot of the vendors were craftsmen, displaying various items they’d made. Some of the vendors had really inexpensive products—knockoffs, trinkets.

  Like Brady had said, the most fun was just watching the people, seeing their excitement when they discovered a find, listening to them haggling over prices.

  “Hey, I was wondering if you’d do me a favor,” Brady said after a while.

  I gave him what I hoped was a sultry smile. “Depends what it is.”

  “I want to find something to take back to my youngest sister. I was hoping you could help me figure out what would be a good thing to get her.”

  Did he think all girls liked the same things? I didn’t have a clue what his sister might like.

  “How about a box of pralines?”

  He shook his head. “She’d yell at me for screwing up whatever diet she’s on when I get home.”

  “She yells at you?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “And you want to buy her something?”

  He shrugged. “It’s what brothers do.”

  “Not mine.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yeah, but he’s twelve.”

  He grinned. “He’s probably too young to appreciate you.”

  “Maybe.” I squeezed his hand. “There’s so much we still don’t know about each other.”

  It was weird, because we hadn’t grown up in the same town or gone to the same school. I didn’t know all the details of his life, but I felt like I knew him.

  “What’s there to know? I have a mom and a dad and three sisters, one who likes to get presents. I go to Rice, majoring in architecture. And I like you. A lot.”

  He made it all seem so simple, and I knew that he probably wanted me to say back that I liked him…a lot. But I couldn’t. Even if it was true. So instead I asked, “Why the Kansas City Chiefs?”

  “What?”

  “Your hat.” He wasn’t wearing it today. “Why that team?”

  “My oldest sister lives in Kansas City now. I went to visit her, went to a Chiefs game.”

  “So you’re not necessarily a fan?”

  “Nope, Houston Texans all the way. So, you and I have something in common.”

  “Uh, actually we don’t. That first night at dinner, I just said that to have something to say. I’m not really into football.”

  “That’s just un-Texan.”

  I knew what he meant—in Texas, football is king.

  I grimaced. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Might have to do an intervention here. Take you to a Rice game.”

  It was the first time he’d said something—anything—that hinted at us seeing each other when our time here was finished.

  My concern must have shown on my face, because he said, “Sorry. Forgot. We’re just summer buddies, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, just for the summer. That was our agreement.”

  He studied me for a minute. “Okay. Let’s go souvenir shopping.”

  We stopped at a table of handcrafted jewelry. He spent about twenty minutes looking over the various selections, asking me my opinion. My favorite piece was a delicate silver chain threaded through a fleur-de-lis charm.

  He decided to buy it for his sister.

  “I trust your judgment. If you like it, she will, too,” he said.

  “She might not.”

  “She will.”

  “Do I remind you of your sister?”

  He scoffed. “No. No way.”

  “So our tastes might not be the same.”

  “I can tell you they’re not. You have better taste.”

  He always made me feel good about myself.

  “My pockets are a little roomier,” I said. “Want me to carry it for you?”

  “Sure. Thanks. Good thing I didn’t get her a box of pralines, huh?”

  I laughed. “Yeah.”

  We spent some more time walking by the stalls, looking at the various offerings. Then we slipped on our sunglasses and walked back into the sunshine.

  It was hot and muggy so we went to the aquarium, to cool off in the air conditioning as much as to view all the exhibits. When we were walking, we’d hold hands. When we were simply standing, looking at something, Brady would slip his arm around me and hold me against his side.

  Needless to say, I found an excuse to stand and watch a lot of things.

  I loved the way that I fit up against him. My head nestled right into the little curve of his shoulder. His arm would come around me and he’d rest his hand on my stomach or my hip. And sometimes he’d kiss the curve of my neck and shoulder.

  It all seemed so natural. So right. I couldn’t imagine not being with him.

  We rode the streetcar down to the Garden District, famous for its mansions. We got off the streetcar at one end and began walking back up toward the French Quarter. The nice thing about walking through the Garden District was that the area had so many trees we were almost always walking in the shade.

  “I think that’s Anne Rice’s house,” Brady said when we got to the corner of First Street and Chestnut.

  It was a white two-story house with a balcony on the second floor.

  “She lives in California now,” I said.

  “But doesn’t this seem like the perfect place to write about vampires and witches?” Brady asked.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Wonder if it’ll be on the tour tonight.”

  I shrugged. “Have you ever been on a ghost tour?”

  ??
?Nope. How about you?”

  “No. I’d say I was skeptical, except after Sara’s reading, I have a feeling that after tonight, I’ll believe in ghosts.”

  Brady chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  We were walking along, holding hands again.

  “I didn’t think you believed in psychics,” I said.

  “I don’t…or at least I didn’t. But yours seemed to be right on and the one I had—”

  I stopped walking and pulled him back to face me. “You had a reading? You didn’t say anything. When was this?”

  “The day I met you.”

  “Was it with Saraphina?”

  “No, someone else.”

  I grinned broadly. “Come on! Spill it! What did she tell you?”

  He removed his sunglasses and held my gaze. He looked so serious that I got a little worried. What could she have told him? Was it bad news?

  He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. “She said, ‘For you, I see life is good.’ Which didn’t make any sense at the time, because some stuff was going on in my life that wasn’t good, so I figured it was a con, something she probably said to everyone, but then…”

  His voice trailed off, and I realized where this was going.

  “My ‘Life Is Good’ hat,” I whispered, goose bumps erupting along my arms, in spite of the heat of the afternoon.

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  “Spooky. Way spooky.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What was bad in your life?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing important, nothing that matters anymore, anyway. Now, life is good.”

  And he drew me close and kissed me. No doubt a ploy to stop me from prying into his past.

  It worked, because when he kissed me, I could hardly think at all.

  Chapter 16

  We caught up with Tank and Jenna a little before nine in front of Sara—Saraphina’s. It was hard to think of her with her psychic’s name now that I knew her as a normal person. Almost normal, anyway.

  As long as she didn’t give me any secretive, off-the-record readings.

  Amber was coming back, just as she’d predicted. But she’d also predicted some hurt when that happened. I didn’t like the idea of that. Not at all. Although maybe it would be something simple, something not too painful—like another splinter, or a sunburn. Something small. But then, why bother to mention it?