Chapter 3
Gage Toussaint exhaled a groan at the same time he slowed the SUV to just under the city’s speed limit. He was past tired. In fact, he was exhausted and had stopped short of cursing out his brother after Eustace left a voice mail message asking him to pick up Tonya Martin at DuPont House Sunday morning at seven in the blasted a.m.
Not only had he been up early Saturday morning helping Eustace prepare dishes for his cousin’s wedding to Hannah DuPont, but he also played several sets later that night. He had left the restaurant and then rushed to Jazzes to rehearse several new numbers with the house band for a surprise birthday celebration that was to be held at the club. If the guest of honor had not been an old friend and an elected official, Gage would have looked for another horn player to take his place. After rehearsing, he had just enough time to return to his apartment, shower, and change before returning to the jazz club to set up for the party.
Gage felt old, completely drained, although at forty-six he would not have thought of himself as old. However, he knew for certain he had to decide whether he wanted to be a full-time chef, full-time musician, and/or high school music instructor, because he found it more and more difficult to combine two careers. If he joined Chez Toussaints full-time, then that meant he had to be at the restaurant at six in the morning to prepare for the lunchtime customers and fulfill ever increasing catering orders. That was nearly impossible when there were nights he did not leave Jazzes until just before dawn. Although he loved cooking, it still was not his passion. Music was.
He continued driving along a wide avenue lined on both sides with large, imposing homes with magnificent gardens that had given the neighborhood its name: the Garden District. DuPont House was a plantation-style house built in the late eighteenth century by free people of color when Louisiana was still a territory. Gage turned off through the open gates, maneuvered up the winding drive to the antebellum mansion, and stopped. He shut off the engine.
The figure of a woman rose from the shadows from where she sat on the porch. Gage had not realized he’d been holding his breath until she came closer. Galvanized into action, he got out. The first thing he noticed was her dimpled smile. Unconsciously a smile parted his lips as he mounted the stairs, his gaze fixed on her beautiful face. It was impossible for him to pinpoint her age because he did not see a single line or wrinkle in a face without a hint of makeup. The women who worked at Jazzes and some female patrons wore so much makeup he doubted whether he would recognize them without it. Everything about Tonya was refreshing, from her stylishly cut, short, lightly graying hair and bare face to her white camp blouse, navy-blue cropped slacks, and navy deck shoes.
He extended his hand. “I’m Gage Toussaint. My brother asked me to pick you up and take you to the restaurant.”
She stared at his hand for several seconds before offering her own. “Tonya Martin. I hope your coming here so early didn’t inconvenience you.”
“Of course not,” Gage said, much too quickly.
He had gotten home from the club at four, picked up the voice mail, and then set his smart phone to wake him at six. He lay sprawled on the recliner in the living room rather than go to bed because he did not want to oversleep. After a cold shower and a cup of strong, hot black coffee, he felt alert enough to drive.
Tonya reached for the leather tote on the rocker. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
Cradling her elbow, Gage led her off the porch to the Audi, the subtle scent of her perfume wafting to his nostrils. He leaned in as she slid onto the passenger seat, wondering what it was about the woman his brother wanted to bring to Chez Toussaints that made him feel slightly off balance when he knew nothing about her other than her name.
He noticed she didn’t wear any rings, but that was not an indication whether she was married or single. One thing he knew for certain was she had not grown up in the South. Within seconds of introducing herself, he recognized a Northern inflection in her voice. Gage took his seat behind the wheel and then secured his seatbelt. He punched the start-engine button, shifted into gear, and headed for Tremé.
Tonya glanced at Gage’s profile in an attempt to see the resemblance between him and Eustace, but there was nothing in the younger man’s appearance to indicate they were even remotely related. When Eustace said he would have his brother pick her up and bring her to his restaurant, she never would have expected him to be the man she recalled playing trumpet with the band at the jazz club she had visited during her first trip to New Orleans.
Nydia and Jasmine had remarked on his good looks, while she had merely stared, finding him breathtakingly attractive. Seeing Gage on stage was very different from sitting a few feet away from him. Large gray-green eyes framed by long black lashes, a palomino-gold complexion, and delicate features, cleft chin, and cropped straight black hair with flecks of gray made him drop-dead gorgeous. And to add to the total package was a rich baritone voice with a distinctive Southern drawl.
“When Eustace told me he would have his brother pick me up, I never would’ve thought it would be you,” she said after a comfortable silence.
His right hand resting on the gearshift while he steered expertly with his left when he turned a corner, Gage smiled. “Why would you say that?”
“You don’t resemble each other.”
Gage smiled. “We’re brothers from different mothers. Eustace’s mother died when he was still an infant. Pop waited almost ten years before marrying again. And what do you mean you didn’t think it would be me?”
Tonya stared at his profile, then moved downward, her gaze lingering on the tiny musical notes tattooed on his right forearm. She was not overly fond of tattoos and men wearing earrings but found the ink and the tiny hoops in his pierced lobes fitting for a musician. “I saw you playing at Jazzes.”
Taking his eyes off the road, he gave her a quick glance. “When was that?”
“It was late June, when my friends and I came down to hang out with Hannah.”
“How long were you here?”
She paused, counting the days. “We’d planned to stay two weeks, but it got so hot that we just stayed a week. I met Eustace for the first time when I volunteered to help him at your family’s reunion.”
Gage’s eyebrows lifted. “So you’re the cook he talked about.”
Tonya’s mouth tightened in frustration. She lost track of the number of times people referred her as a cook when she had worked and sacrificed so much to become a professional chef. “I’m not a cook.”
Gage looked at her again. “What are you?”
“I’m a chef.”
“Are you kidding?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m a graduate of Johnson and Wales.”
