the New Orleans French Quarter, get some lunch, and
maybe hit Jackson Square and grab some beignets.
Want to come? And get your mind out of the gutter.
I smile at the three dots that appear. It doesn’t take Seth long to respond.
Tiger: Do you always have sex on the brain?
Me: It’s like you don’t even know me.
I laugh as he sends me a string of eye-rolling emojis. I’m pretty sure he does them for my sake.
Tiger: Anyway! Yes, I can get the kids gathered and ready to
go.
Me: Great, I’ll swing by your place. You have the soccer mom
car, so you drive. No cookie crumbs on my gorgeous leather
upholstery.
Tiger:See you soon, Joker.
Two hours later, we’re sitting in a restaurant, eating traditional Cajun food, something Braeden’s never had before. He orders the jambalaya, I get the andouille pasta, and Seth has the shrimp gumbo. The other two boys get the shrimp po’ boys, while Emily devours only hushpuppies and buttered corn on the cob.
We’re sitting outside, people-watching. It’s a nice day, so it’s crowded with tourists.
“There’s just something about New Orleans,” I say to Seth.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s, like, this mysterious vibe, you know? Mystical. There’s a horribly dark history surrounding it.” I don’t elaborate for the kids’ sake. “But it’s also filled with magic, music, and delicious food. There’s no other place like it. I like it so much better than Texas.”
“I’ve never been to Texas.”
“Maybe I’ll take you one day. Austin’s pretty nice.”
“I’ve heard.”
I take a bite of sausage, lean back in my seat, and place my hand on the back of Seth’s chair. My thumb rubs his back, anything to touch him. After our first kiss and fun last night, I want so much more, but I need to be careful in front of the kids. They have no idea what’s going on between us, other than Braeden.
Seth glances at me and smiles softly.
The three boys are chatting as they eat, and Emily is cramming more carbs than she needs into her mouth, so I quickly run my fingers through his hair at the back of his head before dropping my hand. It’s silkier than I expected.
“Sorry,” I say. “Can’t help myself.”
He chuckles and takes a bite of shrimp. “You’re fine. I like it.”
After lunch, we all grab some beignets atCafé Du Monde.
“I’dgo to war over these beignets,” I say with my mouth full. “I dare anyone to test me.”
“Dramatic much?”
“Ugh, you have no appreciation for the culinary arts.”
