“Down to the edges on her hair and the loud ass colors,” I laughed.
We bought that one too.
As we kept walking, we passed a man freestyling. He was smooth with it, too. As we got closer, he caught sight of us holding hands, and like he’d been waiting on us to arrive.
The whole crowd was clapping. I walked up and dropped a few bills in his jar, and without missing a beat, he rapped:
“She tip like she healed, walk like she know,
That everything good take time to grow.
Vibes so rich, they don’t need no bling,
But her man bought it anyway, just for the swing.”
Maison and I were both grinning like damn fools.
I loved the city. I loved it sooooo much. The spirit, the sound, the people… it was a city that didn’t just welcome you. It made you a part of it.
Before we knew it, we were carrying so many bags with paintings, jewelry, candles, journals, and some handmade soap I swore smelled like sensuality itself, that we had to make the trip back to his car to unload.
“That’s how they get you,” I joked. “They hit you with vibes, then take your whole check.”
He laughed, popped the trunk, and helped me load everything in carefully.
On the walk back toward Frenchmen, he slid his hand around my waist and kissed my temple. “You hungry?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “I’m always hungry for some New Orleans food.”
He grinned and said, “Bet. Say less,” then turned us right toward a cozy, dimly-lit place across from one of the art galleries.
He pulled the door open for me and the second he opened that door, I felt the warmth and soul.
The space was dim-lit with golden glows bouncing off brick walls. A small stage sat tucked in the front with a live band already playing. I’m talking real instruments. Trumpet, sax, trombone, upright bass, drums, and keys. All of them grooving together. Just the perfect mix of laughter, candlelight, and live music hugging every corner of the room.
He guided me to a table near the stage with a flickering candle in the center.
I sat down and looked around with a smile.
“This is perfect,” I whispered.
Before he could respond, our waitress walked up.
“Can I get y’all started with anything?”
I glanced at Maison, then back at her. “Just a glass of red wine for me. Surprise me.”
Then I turned to him and raised my eyebrows, giving him that silentyou got it, daddylook. He caught it with a grin.
“We’ll do two entrees,” he said. “Red beans with fried catfish, and the smothered turkey necks with gravy over potato salad.”
The waitress chuckled. “You got good taste, baby.”
He winked. “I know.”
She walked off and the band slowed down. A few of the horns played an opening, and by the time the drums tapped in behind them, my whole body froze.
It was “Nice & Slow” by Usher.
