As I lay in bed, the tension in the air slowly dissolved. The guy who seemed to thrive on pressure, who I was convinced hadn’t taken a real break in years, was starting to unwind.
And then, to my surprise, I heard the unmistakable sound of his breathing slowing as he fell asleep. Topher Brodie, the man who probably considered sleep an inconvenience, who once boasted about only needing four hours a night, had dozed off... before me.
11
Topher looked ridiculouslyhappy in his sleep, sprawled on the floor in the morning light with a blanket half-draped over him, like he was dreaming of closing the biggest deal of his life.
It was hard to stay irritated when he looked so adorable. All his sharp edges and arrogance were softened, and he looked kind of cute. Of course, I’d never tell him that. The moment he woke up, he’d be back to his usual, all-business self. But for now? Yeah, he was pretty much impossible to hate.
I slipped out of the room and headed toward the kitchen, where I could already hear the faint sound of classic rock. I wasn’t prepared for what I found.
There was Josephine, in her bright floral robe, quietlygroovingaround the kitchen, her hips swaying to the Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up” playing on low volume. In one hand, she held a spatula; in the other, a frying pan, as she danced her way from the stove to the fridge and back again.
“Good morning, sunshine!” she said in a whisper-shout, throwing in a little hip shimmy as she flipped an omelet. “Topher still asleep?”
“Yeah. You’re having way too much fun for this hour.”
“Honey, if you’re not moving, you’re not living.” She gave the spatula a quick flip. “Alexa, keep it low.”
“Volume at a respectful level,” Alexa responded in its usual robotic tone, which made me chuckle.
“You’ve trained her well,” I teased.
Josephine winked. “Oh, I run a tight ship. She knows not to mess with me, especially not before coffee.”
She gave a little twirl as she whisked the eggs, her moves as fluid as someone half her age. I watched her, wondering where this woman found her energy so soon after leaving the hospital. “Should you be cooking right now?”
Josephine waved off my concern as if it were nothing. “Of course I should! You know, when Topher was a kid, I used to cook for him every morning. He could eat his weight in pancakes.” She smiled, the kind of warm, mischievous smile that made you feel like you were in on some kind of inside joke. Despite everything she’d been through, she looked happy. Stronger than yesterday.
Josephine held up a spatula, pointing it toward me like a microphone.
“Now, what’ll it be? Rock star omelets or scrambled eggs with a side of disco?”
“An omelet sounds great but let me help you.”
Josephine smiled, gave a little twirl, and winked. “Omelets it is. And you can help me by sitting and talking to me.” She grinned as she cracked an egg into the pan, then grabbed a second plate and set it down in front of me without asking, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like I belonged there. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through me.
But almost instantly, I felt guilty. This was all fake. Pretending to be close to Topher, playing the doting girlfriend. It wasn’t real. And the better I got to know Josephine, the worse I felt deceiving her.
As she flipped the omelet, I glanced at her. “You know, Topher told me he’d love for you to move closer to him. But you seem so happy here. What is it about New Orleans that makes you stay?”
Josephine paused, a soft smile crossing her face. “Oh, I know. Topher’s always trying to get me to move. But this city has got a hold on me. There’s just something about it. It’s hard to put into words.”
“I get that,” I said, leaning forward. “What do you love most about it?”
She flipped the omelet with ease. “It’s the rhythm, the people, the places. I’ve been here for years, and it’s always felt like home. There’s a certain magic to New Orleans. You find your spots, your routines, and they become part of your life.”
I nodded. “It’s like every corner of the city has a story, something special.”
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Exactly! That’s what I’ve tried to create at Muses—a place where everyone is welcome. And there’s this little coffee shop I love a few blocks over. It’s called Brewed Awakening. I used to go there all the time when I needed to step away from everything. The regulars are like family, the baristas know your name, and it’s just a comfortable place.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
She plated the omelets and sat down across from me, smiling. “Maybe Brewed Awakening will become one of your spots, too. Plus, they give out free muffins.”
I laughed. “Now you’re speaking my language.” As she plated the omelets, I couldn’t help but glance at her more closely. “You seem to be feeling better today.”
“Oh, I am,” she said, setting a plate in front of me. “You and Topher have been a big help, you know.”
