“You’re proud of New Orleans,” he commented.
“Yes. I think that’s true of anyone from New Orleans, but being Creole, being part of a group of people that’s so specific to this city, maybe I feel it even more deeply. I don’t know—perhaps that’s not true. I just know how fully I feel it. Pride, and a sense of connection. It’s a very special place. I’ve been to Paris and Venice and Madrid, but there’s nothing like this city anywhere on earth.”
“’Tis true. Although I do like Paris. But I wouldn’t live there—not for more than a month or two at most.”
“So you’re in New Orleans to stay?” she asked, wondering at the hope blossoming in her chest.
“I am. I’m opening a business here and I don’t plan to abandon it. Jamie and I will make a good go of it. I’m aiming for success. I’m good at what I do—restoring vintage bikes and building Harleys. Between that and Jamie’s head for business, we’ll do well. Why would I want to leave?”
She pushed her damp hair from her suddenly hot cheeks. Whatever was wrong with her? “Oh, you know . . . People like change sometimes.”
“Is that what you’ve found with men in general, or only with the men you’ve dated?”
“I . . . What?”
“Forgive my bluntness. But it seems to me there was more beneath that observation than mere observation.”
She glanced down at the floor, took a breath, then looked back up to find his concerned gaze on her. “Um, both? And can we change the subject?”
He looked into her eyes, his going a little dark for a moment. “Of course. Shall we order?”
“Yes, let’s.”
He took her hand and led her to the order window, where he asked the white-uniformed attendant, who was wearing the traditional black bowtie and white cap with “Morning Call” printed in red script on the side, for two coffees and three orders of beignets. Then they found an empty table, and Duff pulled out one of the bentwood chairs and held it for her, then seated himself.
“You said the place never changes. I take that to mean you’ve been coming here for a long while,” he said.
She nodded. “I used to come as a kid with my family after church sometimes. We’d have our beignets out on the patio. Then we’d walk through the park. There’s a beautiful carousel down the road from here. My father used to take me . . . He’d let me ride it over and over when I was little. That seems like a million years ago now. But I’ve always loved this park. I love the bridges and the huge weeping trees, and I’m totally in love with the Peristyle.”
“The what?”
“Did you see that long, sort of Greek-style open pavilion with all the columns when we drove in? Look out the window—it’s right there on the edge of the water. Can you see it?”
He turned around for a moment. “It’s a bit dark out there, but I can see the outline of it.”
“It was built in 1907, specifically for parties. The architect Paul Andry designed it so it would be large enough to dance there. Sometimes we’d come to the park, my family and I, and there would be a wedding going on, the whole place decked out in flowers . . . Anyway, it was a fairy-tale place for a little girl. My brother and I used to play on the stone lions next to the stairs, imagining they were real. He’d challenge me to roaring contests, which he always won, of course. Sort of like he did everything else. He was a top athlete, ran track in high school, won awards. And he was a straight-A student. He used to help me with my math homework.”
“But you and he aren’t close anymore?”
She shook her head. “We went in such different directions. Charles always knew he would be a preacher, like my dad, and I always wanted to be an artist. I really never wanted anything else. He’s always been so straitlaced, and frankly a little uptight. Well, more than a little. And I got a bit wild in high school, which was pretty much the last straw for our relationship.”
Duff laid a hand over his heart, recoiling in mock horror. “No! You? I’d have never imagined.”
She grinned at him as a waiter slid their coffees and the steaming, fragrant pastries onto the table. “Thank you,” she said to the waiter before turning back to Duff. “No more wild than you, I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh, I had my days, no doubt about it. Sometimes being the biggest kid in school can be a problem. Everyone wants to pick a fight. All that early testosterone running through a boy’s veins and they think they have to challenge everything and everyone in their path. Problem was, I was just a teenage boy, too, so I let them get to me. Hurt a few of ’em. Didn’t know my own size and strength in those days. Didn’t learn until I’d been in a few pub brawls and went to jail twice.”
“Are you waiting for me to fall over in shock?”
He shrugged, but she could see he was ready for it.
“Perhaps a bit. Some people do.”
“I’ve known other guys your size. Well, almost your size. I’ve seen them go through the same issues. Did you hurt anyone badly?”
He paused to sip the hot coffee, set the cup down carefully. It looked tiny in his enormous hand. “Yeah, unfortunately, I did.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. That was an intrusive question.”
“Eh, it’s all right, and a fair enough question, given that you’re spending time with me, turning over a certain amount of trust to me. Too much drink and too many of ’em getting in my face were a bad combination, and I was young and foolish, as young people tend to be, and me more than most, perhaps. Both times I ended up in jail it was a few blokes at once ganging up on me, and I was defending myself. But I still wasn’t happy I’d allowed them to push me that far. There’s no excuse for it. Which is why I don’t drink anymore. A man my size, as you said, can’t afford to take the risk. Haven’t had a drink since the last time I was locked up.”
“How long ago has it been?”
“Shortly before I turned twenty. I had a very short legal drinking career.”