She’d sucked him in, stretched him outside his intentions...and damned if he wasn’t intrigued by the connection between them. It felt like something he’d never felt before. Or maybe he was on a high from nailing his interview.
“Wish I were dressed nicer so we could go somewhere swanky,” she said as they fell in step on the deserted sidewalk.
“I see how you roll,” he said, laughing when her eyes widened.
“No, I’ll totally pay for my own dinner. It’s just you’re dressed nice and if it’s been a while since you’ve been to New Orleans...”
“I come to New Orleans often enough...just not since November. Besides, New Orleans is a city where even the cheap eats are good.” Graham looked back toward the edge of the Marigny District, spotting the huge warehouse he’d toured that afternoon in the distance. Something warm and right settled in his gut at the thought of returning to his first love. The sound of tugboats blowing their horns on the Mississippi echoed the certainty in his soul.
“So a job interview brings you to the Big Easy?” Tess asked. The puddles along the worn streets tossed back reflections of the buildings. Occasionally someone rode by on a bike or a cab passed as the rhythm of the city reestablished itself after the early spring rain. The squeal of brakes, the rev of engines and the occasional shout of laughter accompanied the music spilling into the streets. The earthy smell of New Orleans which had once been like bacon and eggs to him filled his nose.
“Yeah, I worked for NASA for six years, but with all the federal cuts, my project was canned. Since I have to relocate, I wanted to come home. Something called me.”
“That’s almost romantic,” she said.
“Except it was an actual phone call,” he said, with a wry smile. No one had ever accused him of being romantic.
Her laughter tightened something within him. He glanced at her profile. Her nose tilted up, button cute. He liked that. Cute. Like he could drop kisses on it all night. Then and there, he revised his earlier impression. There was something sexy about Tess.
“Did you get the job?”
“Not yet, but I have a good shot because I have experience in the field. Years ago I started a company doing what this guy does, plus I got my MBA on top of my engineering degree. But who knows? Felt like the interview went well and the guy’s pressed to find someone soon.”
“Good for you,” she said, tossing him a smile. “Where do you live now?”
“Houston.”
“So you’ll be transferring here?”
He nodded. “I have some job leads in Houston, but my family lives here. Well, my brother lives on the Northshore, but that’s essentially here. You originally a New Orleans’s girl?”
“Born and raised. Can’t you hear the accent?”
Each region of the Crescent City had its own dialect. “Not from the Westbank or New Orleans East. Uptown?”
“Close enough. My parents still live in Old Metairie.”
“I went to Jesuit. You?”
“Country Day.” Whoa, swanky, yet Tess didn’t give off that vibe.
“Class of ’93.”
Tess whipped her head around. Obviously the woman excelled in math. “Then why did you tell Angela you took me to Sadie Hawkins in ’97?”
He laughed. “Because you didn’t look old enough to have gone in 1993.”
“So you thought you looked young enough for 1997?” She laughed again. Her laugh was low and raspy. Another thing he liked about her.
“Touché,” he conceded as they turned on Decatur Street, skirting the edge of the eclectic, high-rent neighborhood. “So where shall we eat?”
“You have a favorite?”
“I have lots of favorites.” And he did. Galatoire’s. Dickie Brennan’s. Elizabeth’s. Irene’s. GW Fins. And on and on and on. “Somewhere with a good po’boy? Haven’t had good Nawlins bread in forever.”
“Central Grocery is closed but we can try Maspero.”
“Let’s go for it.”
She turned her head again and he wondered if she thought he’d meant on some level other than dinner. Maybe he did mean it that way. Things had been so stressful lately with being out of work, depleting his savings and dealing with Monique’s demands he’d pulled out of the dating scene months ago. He hadn’t been to dinner with a woman in a while...not counting his brother’s girlfriend the night before.
What would it hurt?
Tess had nice curves, a good sense of humor and kept baseball stats. Not to mention she’d agreed to go to dinner with a stranger. Many would think her actions dangerous, and maybe to an extent they were, but something about her spontaneity and her self-assurance struck admiration in him. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted, who didn’t shrink from the fray, but waded in bold and in control of herself.
She reminded him of his ex-girlfriend Monique in that way—decisive and thoroughly modern. But that’s where the comparison ended. Tess had a sweetness and honesty Monique lacked. He patted his breast pocket where he usually put his phone. Thinking of Monique reminded him of their daughter—he needed to call Emily before nine o’clock.
As they got closer to Maspero which sat across from Jackson Brewery, almost on the corner of infamous Jackson Square, the crowds thickened. Tourism reigned supreme in New Orleans. Here and there tourists gawked at street performers while others swigged beers in foam cups and eyed the open storefronts selling offensive T-shirts and Mardi Gras beads.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they found a short line. Graham gave the hostess his name and then motioned to the bar with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Yeah. Abita Amber,” Tess shouted, a warm smile curving her mouth.
That smile made him forget all his troubles. He needed to recapture his previous mood. He’d nailed the interview—he’d read that much in the old man’s face. Graham had been in the zone, dressed to impress with the knowledge to back up his proposals. Everything in New Orleans was falling in place. Including getting his social life on track.
Stop overthinking and walk toward good things in life, Graham.
He paid and went outside, handing the icy beer to Tess, clinking the bottle with his. “To new beginnings.”
“And to your new job.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, lifting the bottle to his lips. In that instant he felt something swell in him he hadn’t felt in so long, not since he’d left New Orleans six years ago. Maybe it was joy. Or freedom. Or both. He wasn’t sure which it was, but he embraced the warmth, that feeling of possibility. All that lay withered inside him revived, swelling to life with sweetness.
After cashing out his 401K last month so Emily could continue going to the Montessori school she’d been attending for the past two years, he needed to feel good about something. To chase hope of a better future and pin it down.
Ten minutes later his name was called and they slid into wooden chairs at a table facing the floor-to-ceiling doors looking out on Toulouse Street. Passersby strolled, collars up against the wind sweeping in with the cool front. A slight draft wafted in but it wasn’t enough to keep them from picking up the menu.
“I already know I’m