“You’re such an asshole.”
I arch a thumb toward my chest. “Not doing a damned thing except for actively being myself.”
“Yeah.” He nods, grinning at me. “That’s the problem.”
This is his way of offering me an olive branch. I take it by returning his smile. I can’t be on the outs with Luc. Need his help with the house. Need his help getting through the shit that’s happening with my head.Definitelyneed his help with Maggie andThe Plan.
As if thinking of her conjures her, she says, “Knock! Knock!” as she pushes through the front door, the outside light limning her in a soft white glow.
It happens again. I’m struck dumb at the sight of her. At all five feet, two inches of black-haired bombshell and man-eating femininity. God, how I want her.
“My gosh.” She turns a complete circle in the center of the room. “Would you look at this place?”
I peel my eyes away from the way her jeans hug her curves and let them wander over the space instead. The walls separating the main living areas are gone. The kitchen is gutted except for the sink, one tiny cabinet, and the old avocado-green refrigerator. And the pile of debris that was in the corner is now sitting at the local dump.
“It’s really coming along, isn’t it?” she muses.
“Hard to say,” I grumble. “All I see are floors that still need to be sanded and refinished, molding and windows that still need to be replaced, a fireplace that still needs to be stripped and refitted, and—”
“Sure,” she interrupts. “I mean, you’ve taken it down to the bare bones, but look at whatprettybones. Cash, it’ll bephenomenalonce you and Luc are finished.”
Counting on it. I want this to be the house she’s always dreamed of. The house she talked about when we were teenagers.
Now that her inspection is complete, she claps her hands. “So let’s go adventuring, shall we?”
“We shall.” Luc stands. “But I wanna warn you right now, this one’s in a mood.” He hitches his chin my way.
I flip him off by scratching my eyebrow with my middle finger.
“See?” He laughs.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re driving through the Seventh Ward, headed toward the St. Roch neighborhood. The heavy rain has turned the streets into water parks, but Smurf, with its chunky tires meant for the dirt roads leading to the bayou, plows along just fine.
Which makes me wonder what the hell Luc’s doing.
“Why are you driving like an elderly turtle?” I ask him.
“I can’t see the potholes in the road with all this water. I don’t wanna ruin my suspension.”
“Great,” I mutter, impatiently tapping my fingers on my knee. “And in the meantime, I’ll just sit here and try not to die from the tedium of it.”
“Luc’s right.” Maggie frowns. “You’re crankier than a wet hen in a tote sack today.”
“You Southerners have such a way with words.”
She ignores that. “I thought hitting this chapel wasyouridea.”
It was. Itis.But between my screaming head and the sweet smell of her—not to mention the warm feel of her arm against mine—I’m feeling twitchier than the time Luc dared me to piss on an electric fence. And then there’s thereasonI chose this place. Now that we’re almost there, I feel foolish.
“Just a little cabin fever from the last few days.” Figure a half truth is better than no truth at all.
Her expression softens. “Well, take a deep breath. The rain’s stopped, and the sun is shining.” When she points out the window at the bluebird sky, I realize she’s right. I’ve been so deep inside my own head that I haven’t noticed.
“We’re here.” Luc slides Smurf next to the curb and cuts the engine.
I take in the big wrought-iron gate with its white side posts. Each column is topped by a statue of a robed woman looking very serious and reverent. I guess that’s appropriate given the aboveground cemetery on the other side of the fence.
New Orleans is built atop a swamp. Dig down more than a few feet and the hole will fill with water. If someone tried to actuallyburya casket, the sucker would float.
