I tilted my head. Big Country’s inflated ego stemmed from this very reason. No consequences! The guy ran out so quick I almost questioned all my life choices. Now, Virginia filmed and chuckled. Montana signed his name. Big and loud. And Darius was that same old record. Asking abouthiscake baby. Again.
montana
. . .
“If you andMémèresee any floats, I swear, y’all better not touch them,” I said, squatting to Little Dude’s level.
“Aww, I want a cake baby.”
“My boy!”Did I say that?
After the way his momma and me connected in Paris, I had plans on Valentine’s Day, but I was already claiming them as my family. Gotta make sure Zuri stays, though.
“Hey,” I caught Darius’s attention as a man on stilts strolled by, head even with the top balcony. “Don’t go near no giants either. It’s a long way down if they fall.”
“Ugh. I can’t do nothing.”
“Darius,” Zuri groaned.
“What did I say, Darius?” Damned if I didn’t sound like a daddy.
He regurgitated what I’d said through pouted lips. “Don’t mess with giants or floats.”
I winked at Zuri, telling them both, “Ain’t no plastic babies in the floats. Cake later.”
“You had this little boy … who has practically never gone anywhere … think the float had babies inside it?” Zuri had her hand on her hip, while I gestured for her to walk.
She remained that way, giving me a no-you-didn’t face while Momma and Little Dude disappeared behind a juggler on stilts. If the guy timbered, I hoped Momma snatched Darius up and ran.
“Walk,chère,” I ordered.
“Okay, but we need to visit Mad, Bold & Blown.”
My eyes almost bugged. Who told her about Madison’s glass store?
“It’s going out of business,” she added. “I think a sistah owns it. I wanna support.”
“It’s what?” I growled as a street performer dressed as Dracula tried to get our attention. No Paranormal mess. Never played at St. Louis Cemetery and didn’t need this crap in my spirit.
Zuri asked, “You know the owner?”
“Yeah, Wash’s ex-wife. Mad,” I murmured, while we hoofed it past the vampire I might have shoulder-checked.
On our walk to St. Peter’s Street, we took a few selfies that Zuri assumed I’d post online. Nah. These were all still mine. I was waiting for the day when she checked my socials. She still hadn’t.
We’d stopped for a fresh beignet. The kind that comes buried under a mountain of powdered sugar.
Zuri reached over and gave me this teensy little pinch of the sweet dough.
“What I’m supposed to do with that, Zuri?” I stared at her. “You playing with my food.”
“Our food.” She rolled her eyes, but that smile was already there, the one that makes a dude forget he has a four-year-old trying to dismantle Mardi Gras floats—before the big day. She took the whole warm, pillowy disk and placed it against my mouth. In retrospect, this situation would look better with her mouth open.
Eyes rolling, I took the beignet and teased her lips. “Open wide,chère. Earn it.”
Her eyes smoldered for a quick second, telling me exactly where this was going later. Then she took a delicate, tiny bite.
“It’s like that?” I nodded. “This is worse than when we went dancing.”
