“Yes, but it’s different now. He went to college in North Carolina and ended up staying there, trying to ‘make it’,” she says, making air quotes with her fingers. “Then realized that was harder than he thought it would be. Now he’s back where being popular is easier for him, but he’s trying to change things in Rebel, and I hate that. I want someone who loves it the way it is.”
Right. Of course. This is very clear—I’m not her type.
“The other was a guy who moved to town andheeven thought he was going to stay,” she tells me. “We got serious. But then, after a couple of years, he got restless. Bored, I guess. Realized the small town life wasn’t as charming as he thought it would be. So he left.”
Small town life isn’t for everyone. That’s not a character flaw.But maybe wanting to be a big shot in a big city where there are endless amenities like twenty-four-seven food delivery and people to hire to do things for you is…okay, not acharacter flawexactly, but also not that admirable.
Yes, I’m a big shot in a big city. Definitely not her type.
“And the third guy was part of a tech company that relocated their headquarters and all their employees to Rebel,” she goes on. “They got a big tax break because they brought people to town which helped our local economy and they were able to give their employees a quieter, more affordable lifestyle. They invested in building houses, a couple of restaurants, even some things like a spa salon and a golf course. They seemed so excited, but it only lasted two years. Their employees didn’t fit in at all and didn’t like it here long-term, so they moved the company back to Tennessee. Including my boyfriend who was a Vice-President. It was a mess.”
Yeah, I’m…just like all of those guys.
I left my home country for bigger and better things. Just like Sean Patrick did. I’m here in Rebel now to help build something, but I don’t fit in. At least, unlike the second guy, I already know that Rebel is not going to be a long-term thing for me. But I’m sure Nora sees pieces of all of her boyfriends in me pretty clearly.
“Wow,” I finally say.
“Yeah, not dating seems like a good choice.”
I shake my head. “You’re going to have to getreallygood at saying no.” I glance over. “I imagine you’ll be asked out a lot no matter what.”
She smiles. “A lot of people in town try to set me up with guys they know.”
That doesn’t surprise me a bit.
We arrive at the restaurant a few minutes later. Driving through the French Quarter is not for the faint of heart, but my GPS is, thankfully, very helpful and we find parking on the street just a block from the restaurant. The evening is pleasant so the walk is easy and we arrive exactly on time for our reservation.
Nora is smoothing the front of her dress again as we approach the tall wooden french doors in the old stone building on the corner.
I grab her hand, again entwining our fingers. I love the feel of her hand in mine. Her skin is soft but she has a few calluses on her palm which is a surprise. But this woman is always busy with her hands and clearly isn’t shy about getting into the dirt—or probably paint, drywall paste, or otter dung—if needed. She was covered in mud from picking flowers when I met her, after all.
“Relax,” I tell her. “You look beautiful.”
She smiles up at me. “Thank you.”
I usher her through the door into the restaurant.
It’s small, maybe twenty white linen tablecloth covered tables in total, with a light wood bar to our right and multiple tall, thin windows all along the wall to our left.
There are softly lit sconces spaced out along the brick walls and each table has a center glimmering candle giving the room a golden glow. The floor is polished wood, the ceiling soars high overhead, and the air is filled with a tantalizing combination of Italian spices.
“Oh my gosh, this is gorgeous,” Nora says in a hushed voice, looking around.
“Welcome,” the hostess greets us warmly.
I give her my name and she escorts us to one of the small tables near a window.
A server arrives within a minute, bringing water, a bread basket, and menus. He also sets the wine list in the center of the table. “I’ll return soon,” he promises.
Nora is still looking around, taking in all the details of the restaurant. It’s just getting dark outside and the lanterns on the poles along the street come on. A car drives by, followed by a horse-drawn carriage. There are people sitting at tiny bistro tables along the sidewalk, laughing and talking.
She turns her gaze back to mine, a smile on her lips. “This place is sopretty. And oh myGod, it smells good,” she says enthusiastically, looking down at the menu.
“I’m so glad you like it.” I point to the silverware next to her empty wine glass. “And only two forks.”
She laughs. “I feel better already.”
Fuck, she’s beautiful. And I love her laugh. And I love bringing her to a place like this. I love that things like tablecloths and extra forks are an adventure for her.
