Page 76 of Keller

NINETEEN

Keller

Krewe Charities and Philanthropy:Many modern krewes incorporate charitable initiatives into their annual activities, hosting fundraisers and supporting local causes alongside their parades and balls. These philanthropic efforts allow organizations to extend their influence beyond Carnival season while reinforcing their role in the city’s civic life.

I wakebefore the light changes.

No alarm. No sound from outside. Just the internal clock that years of late nights and minimal sleep has trained into me. My eyes open, and I stay still, letting the room come into focus.

It takes a split second to realize where I am. It's that hazy moment between wake and sleep where my brain hasn't fully left the dream state yet.

Gray-blue light seeps through the curtains. The ceiling fan turns slowly above us, its hum so faint I barely register it. The world outside is quiet. There's no traffic yet or voices, yet. Just the soft rhythm of Quinn's breathing beside me.

Her leg is draped over my thigh. Her hand rests loosely over my chest, her fingers curled against my skin. The weight of her is warm and solid, anchoring me to the mattress in a way that should feel confining but does not.

I turn my head slowly, careful not to disturb her.

She looks different in sleep. The quiet vigilance she carries during the day is gone. The part of her that keeps a measured distance, that holds the line even when she smiles, has finally relaxed.

Her face is slack, her lips slightly parted. She turns her head slightly, but doesn't wake. A faint crease from the pillow marks her cheek. Her hair spills across my shoulder in loose waves, catching the dim light.

I watch her breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The first time I woke up next to her, I studied her the same way. But that morning was different. That was curiosity. Chemistry. The satisfying end to an unexpected night.

Also, she woke before me, so I didn't get the opportunity to watch her without reservation.

I brush a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers barely grazing her skin. She doesn't stir. I let my hand fall back to the mattress.

Things have shifted between then and now. I've known it for some time now that Quinn is different from other women. But it became absolute when I told her about my mother. Not the facts, but the feeling underneath. The jasmine. The laugh. The way the house changed after she was gone.

I don't talk about that. Not with anyone. Not even with my brothers, who lived through it with me.

But Quinn asked, and I answered without hesitation. It was like the memories and the thoughts I always have when I remember her came flowing out. There was no compulsion to stuff them down like usual.

She listened without asking more questions, and let the silence sit sometimes without trying to fill it. I appreciate that she didn't want to fix anything or offer comfort I didn't ask for.

That matters.

I am not naive about what this is becoming. I've spent too many years reading people across poker tables to lie to myself about my own tells. The way I think about her when she is not around. The way I notice small things, like how she takes her orange juice or the exact shade of green she wore the night we met. The way I wanted to stay last night instead of finding an excuse to leave.

This is not infatuation. It's more than that.

I reach over to the nightstand and find my glasses. The frames are cool against my fingers. I slide them on and the room sharpens. Then I check my watch.

5:47.

I set the watch back on the nightstand and let my arm rest across my stomach.

Quinn shifts beside me again. This time her leg slides higher against my thigh. Her breath catches for a second, then evens out again. Still asleep. Still soft and warm against my side.

I want to stay, but the name surfaces in my mind like a card flipping face-up on green felt. Charlton Grant. Preservation architect. The Asbury Hotel. Savannah.

Marcus found him. Now I need to look him in the eye.

Savannah is five hours by car. Ten hours round trip, not counting whatever time I spend with Grant himself. Too long. Too many variables. If I leave now and drive, there's a good chance I'll have to stay that night.

I don't have time for that.