She scoffed. “Unique. That’s what people say when they hate your outfit but don’t want to start a fight.” She looked at me pointedly. “Tennessee Williams said there are only three great American cities. New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. The rest? Cleveland.”
My lips twitched into a smirk. She was not letting this go. “New York’s the capital of finance. San Francisco’s the capital of tech. What’s New Orleans the capital of? Sweat?”
Her eyes flared, but then she smiled. Slowly. Dangerously. “Jazz. Ever heard of it? You’re welcome, America.”
I leaned back, but my gaze stayed on her. “Fine. Jazz. What else?”
“Oh, where to start?” she said. “Mardi Gras. Frenchmen Street. Crawfish season. Beignets that taste like happiness. Music around every corner. People who talk to you like they’ve known you forever.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Look, I’m just saying that parades and potholes aren’t exactly my love language.”
She stepped a little closer. “No city’s perfect,” she said, her voice a growl. “But here? We don’t pretend to be. We decorate the potholes and throw parties to make light of an annoying situation. That’s the beauty of New Orleans. We don’t hide our craziness; we celebrate it by throwing a parade. We don’t stuff our family skeletons in the closet; we bring them to Sunday dinner. I wouldneverleave this place.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. I needed to apologize for insulting New Orleans, which she clearly loved.
A lot.
I mean, I like my hometown of Boston, but would I defend it in a duel? Probably not. This hometown loyalty felta bit muchto me. Still, I got the feeling that this waitress would throw me to the wolves if I didn’t apologize. “I didn’t mean to insult New Orleans.”
Her eyes flashed. “Well, you did. Am I getting this right? Your perfect life blew up, and now you’re hiding out here because you didn’t have anywhere else to go?”
Her words about my perfect life struck too close to home, and I didn’t answer right away. My ex-girlfriend Sienna’s voice echoed in my head, uninvited:Everyone thinks you’re perfect, but you’re impossible to love. Impossible.I glanced at the closed door, wishing for an escape route that didn’t involve the crowd waiting outside.
When I finally spoke, my voice was quieter. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I don’t need to. You’re exactly like every guy who walks in here thinking this city owes him something. News flash. It doesn’t. But hey, if New Orleans is beneath you, the door’s right there.”
Her head tilted toward the door, where the muffled sound of voices grew louder. My escape route, as she well knew, wasn’t an option. I couldn’t leave. Not without blowing my cover, because the news had not gotten out that I was hiding in New Orleans.
She was still angry, still defiant. But something softer flickered underneath. Her passion radiated from her in waves. She wasn’t just defending her city; she wasfightingfor it. It was the kind of raw, unfiltered loyalty I didn’t see much of in LA.
“You always talk like that?” I asked, my voice lower now. “Like you’re trying to win a debate?”
Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “Only when someone’s asking for it.”
A beat passed. The air between us shifted. Something electric.
I opened my mouth to say something else, something I probably shouldn’t.
But then there was a knock at the door.
“Anna? Are you in there?” came a bright, teasing voice. “Who was that guy in the baseball cap and sunglasses?”
I froze.
The waitress, who I now knew was “Anna,” sighed, rolling her eyes as if she’d been expecting this. She pushed off the wall and cracked the door open just enough to peek out.
“Oh, hey, Marie Antoinette,” Anna said casually. “It was just some random guy named, uh, Nigel Pimmington.”
“Nigel Pimmington?” The woman’s voice dripped with disbelief. “What kind of name is that? Sounds like he should be sipping tea in a cravat and complaining about the weather.”
Anna didn’t miss a beat. “Well, heisEnglish. They all have names like that.”
“Do they now?” The woman’s voice was filled with mock fascination. “So, thisNigel Pimmingtonjust happened to wander into our humble establishment? What was he doing here? Inspecting the quality of our biscuits?”
Anna shrugged. “It was packed out front, and he was feeling overwhelmed, so I helped him find the bathroom. Not sure where he went after that.”
“Uh-huh,” the other waitress said slowly, clearly not buying it. “And then you stayed in here because…?”
