“Gentleman Jack.” He takes the decision out of my hands. “Straight up.”
I try not to cringe as I pour the drink.
“Miss Bea’s been driving me crazy with phone calls this week,” he tells me when I set the whiskey in front of him. “I didn’t know I had to wear a tux to this thing. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Uh.” I blink. “Maybe because I had no idea you were going to volunteer? And also because I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in days?”
He ignores this last part. “And a wrist corsage? Why do I have to buy a wrist corsage?”
“You’re supposed to give it to the woman who wins you. You know…” I make a rolling motion with my hand. “To make it official and whatnot.”
He shakes his head, and the lights from the bar catch all the colors in his hair. “I regret this already,” he mutters.
I point to his nose and narrow my eyes. “It’s too late to back out now, so don’t even think about it.”
Jean-Pierre wanders over and says to Luc, “I saw you brought your guitar with ya. Thinkin’ of joinin’ me up on da stage?”
I shake my head. “Luc doesn’t play for a crowd and—”
“You might not have noticed,” Luc interrupts me, “but I’m not that shy, scrawny thing you knew in high school.”
“I’ll take dat as a yes.” Jean-Pierre claps his hands. “You still got dat extra amplifier in da back, Maggie?” When I nod, he squeezes Luc’s shoulder. “You and me, let’s show dese folks what real pickin’ and grinnin’ is supposed to sound like,maisyeah?”
After handing Luc’s guitar back to him, and after he and Jean-Pierre disappear through the door leading to the storage room, I turn to Cash in astonishment. “Is he really going to get up onstage?”
Cash smiles. “Our little Luc is all grown up, Maggie.”
“I guess so.” I jerk my chin side to side, unable to imagine the Luc I knew playing for anyone but me and Cash.
“Do you still play?” he asks. “I noticed the guitar hanging on the wall in your living room.”
I twist my lips. “I can strum chords. But I’ve never learned to fingerpick like Luc. What about you? Was he ever able to teach you?”
He holds up his hands—they’re beautiful hands, broad-palmed and long-fingered. “I’m still all thumbs. These things are completely useless.”
“Not true. If memory serves, they’re talented inotherways.”
Oh, son of a biscuit. Did I say that out loud?
Embarrassment feels a lot like eating a habanero pepper. It sets the back of my throat on fire and makes my eyes water. Lucky for me, someone shouts a drink order and gives me an excuse to slink away without seeing Cash’s reaction.
Ten minutes later, I’ve worked up the courage to go back to him. But when I open my mouth to say…heck, I don’t know what, he beats me to the punch by handing me a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” I frown.
“It’s Luc’s list. If you think of more, add them.” Glancing at the sheet, I see the names of several places of interest in and around New Orleans.
Oh, right. Our grand scheme to visit the sights.
“But don’t go too crazy,” he adds. “I’m not sure we’ll have time to hit them all as it is.”
I cut him a glance. “Is the remodeling keeping y’all that busy?”
“Something like that,” he says, and I frown because…vague. Then he adds, “Hey, Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“I like what you’ve done with this place. It’s exactly what we always talked about. Not too flashy. Not too trashy.” He reaches across the bar to chuck me on the chin. “You did good, kid.”
