I smile up into his blue eyes, surprised. I’m seeing a whole new romantic side to Will this week.
He grins down at me and begins to move more, pushing and pulling us around the wide sidewalk. People are stopping to watch, the old lady from the table next to us at Café Du Monde smiling at us, but we ignore them all and just watch each other.
Damn, he can dance.
Figures.
The kid starts the song over again, not interrupting our dance and I silently thank him. I’m not ready for Will to let go of me; for the look in his eyes to stop.
It’s like it was at the café. His blue eyes are intense on mine, full of happiness. His lips are curved in a soft smile, and I can’t help but lift up on my toes and rest my own on them, breathing him in.
He smells of coffee and sweet, fried dough.
The arm around my back tightens, pulling me closer to him, practically lifting me off the ground, still swaying back and forth in time with the music, kissing me softly, his lips gently sweeping over mine, nibbling the corners of my mouth. He kisses over my cheek and to my ear, and whispers, “I love you, Megan.”
I freeze, and thank the Lord above that he’s not looking me in the face because I know my eyes have bulged and I break out in a light sweat, and it has nothing at all to do with the heat. Every muscle in my body contracts. But Will doesn’t stop moving, he just wraps both arms around my waist and hugs me to him, and I rest my forehead against his chest as I process what he just said to me.
He loves me.
I want so badly to say the words back, but I can’t. Loving means leaving.
Finally, I murmur, “Will…”
“Shh,” he tilts my chin with his fingertips and his eyes are soft and kind and I bite my lip so I don’t make an ass of myself in front of all these people and cry. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know.”
“You do?”
He nods and kisses my forehead. “I do.”
“Okay.”
He pulls back and smiles down at me, pulls out his wallet, throws a twenty into the sax case, links his fingers with mine, and we wave at the crowd as they applaud and we walk down the sidewalk. My heart is still pounding. I feel… awkward, but Will looks completely relaxed and happy, looking around at the people walking by and the shops we’re passing, and I begin to relax too.
I see a sign in a window for ghosts tours and point it out. “We should take a ghost tour!”
“Why?” he asks with a scowl.
“New Orleans is supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in the country.” I don’t really believe in that stuff, but it could be fun.
“I don’t believe in that shit,” he scoffs and leads me across the street toward another street musician, this one with a guitar, as I feel my phone vibrate in my handbag, slung across my body and resting on my hip.
“Well, then, it shouldn’t bother you to go on a tour with me. You can hold me when I get scared.” I laugh and answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“So you snagged a rich one.”
I stop dead in the street and my stomach falls to the ground. Fuck fuck fuck!
“What do you want?” I whisper.
“Who is it?” Will is frowning down at me and suddenly horns are honking at us, telling us to clear the street. He pulls on my elbow and leads me to the sidewalk, watching my face. I can’t look away from his eyes.
“What do you want?” I ask more clearly.
“Well, honey, what do you think I want? You have a new rich boyfriend. I want money.” Sylvia’s voice is raspy from too many cigarettes and heavy with bitterness and just plain mean.
“I just sent you money,” I murmur to her and Will’s scowl deepens.
“Yeah, well, you can afford to start sending me more. What you send me barely covers my bills.”
I close my eyes and run a hand down my face.
“I’m not sending you more money, Sylvia.”
“The fuck you’re not, you ungrateful little bi-“ I hang up on her, turn my ringer off and throw my phone back in my bag.
“Your mom?” Will asks, hands on his hips, watching my face.
“Yeah.”
“Wants money?”
“That’s all she ever wants.” I start to walk away from him, but he grabs my arm and holds me in place.
“So, we’ll send her money.”
“Hold up.” I face him, square on, and refuse to back down on this. “We aren’t giving her shit. Ever. She found out that we’re seeing each other and thinks she can milk it, but I’ll be fucking damned if she’ll ever get a dime out of you, do you understand?”
His eyes are narrowed stubbornly, and I grip his upper arms in my hands, trying to get my point across. “Will, seriously, I don’t want you to give her money.”
He exhales, his mouth set in a grim line. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“No, I can’t promise you that. But I hear you, Meg.”
“Will…”
“I fucking hear you. Trust me to respect you and do my best to protect you.”
His face is fierce, and I know he won’t bend on this.
“Okay.”