Jamal bit back a curse. For some reason, she didn’t fully trust him. But they didn’t know each other well enough for her to have formed a genuine opinion of him, negative or positive. Someone else had put that distrustful look in her eye—some boneheaded jackass who probably didn’t deserve to be within the same airspace as Phylicia, let alone close enough to break her heart.
That also meanthewould have to pay for the jackass’s mistakes. As Jamal stared at her across a hodgepodge of brass knobs, he had no doubts that she would be well worth the effort.
They scored several articles to use in the restoration at Belle Maison. When they returned to the truck, Jamal popped the seat forward so he could store their finds in the truck’s cab.
“Is that an instrument?” Phylicia asked, pointing to the case he kept behind the seat.
“A saxophone,” Jamal answered.
Her eyes glittered with surprised humor. “I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, although I wouldn’t have pegged you for the woodwind section,” she said. “Percussion, maybe.”
“Is that a dig at my work with a hammer?”
“You do make more noise than the entire drum section of the Gauthier High School Marching Band.”
Jamal shook his head. “You just love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”
“It is a lot more fun than I ever imagined.” She laughed as she slid onto the seat.
“So why doesn’t it surprise you that I play the saxophone?” he asked as he backed out of the parking lot.
“Uh, let’s see. Could it be because your entire Spotify collection seems to be filled with jazz?” she said.
“Not true. I’ve got some Tupac, a leftover from my rebellious days.”
She barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure which one surprises me more, that you listened to Tupac or that you had a rebellious phase.”
“I was the quintessential hell-raiser,” he said. The look she slid his way told him that she didn’t believe that for a minute. “Okay, so Iwantedto be a hell-raiser. I just never got around to it.”
That coaxed another musical peal of laughter from her. He would never get tired of hearing that sound.
“If you want to listen to something other than jazz, just let me know. You can send me your playlists.”
“No, no,” she said. “I love jazz.”
“Really?” Jamal asked. “Now I’m the one who’s surprised.”
“Why’s that? Were you expecting me to have Tupac’s greatest hits?”
It was his turn to laugh. “No, I just didn’t peg you as a jazz lover, either.”
After a brief pause, she asked, “Have you been to any of the jazz clubs in New Orleans?”
He shrugged. “A few months ago Wynton Marsalis had an exclusive performance at one of the clubs downtown. They only sold fifty tickets, so I was lucky to even get in. But I haven’t checked out any others. I’ve been too busy, first with the renovations on my house, and now with Belle Maison.”
“You live an hour away from the birthplace of jazz and have only been to one club?” She tsked. “That is unacceptable, Mr. Johnson.”
“I know,” he said with a healthy amount of shame in his voice, causing her to chuckle.
After another pause, she said, “Maybe we should go sometime.”
Jamal did a double take. “Did you just ask me out? Like on a date?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said.
“The hell I won’t. You just asked me out on a date!”
“Yes, I asked you out on a date,” Phylicia said with a sigh. She stared at him for several long moments, then, in a voice that held more uncertainty than he’d ever heard from her, she asked, “Should I take it back?”
