Melanie nodded like Ten had just told her something profound, and Peter touched her shoulder, trying to regain her attention. Melanie turned back to Peter and Ten caught Stacy’s eye, gave her a little wink. She wondered if he remembered that night too, if it left the same kind of impression. They used to have a lot of fun together. No one in her life was quite like him and she missed that. She missed him. New Orleans was an adventure, a fairy tale, and though she loved New York, it was all work and ambition.
Ten picked up his drink and reached over the table to tap his glass against hers. “Welcome back, Prom Dress.”
She snorted a laugh and picked up her glass to drink with him. Of all the things for him to remember, it would be that ridiculous nickname.
“Prom Dress?” Melanie asked, fluttering her long lashes at Ten. “Did I hear that right?”
Everything about Melanie rankled. Stacy had no desire to share anything with her. “It’s not a very interesting story.”
Ten shrugged. “It’s probably one of those ‘you had to be there’ things.”
“Oh, come on,” Peter said, trying to be a part of the conversation. “Tell it.”
Ten looked to her, and after only a second’s hesitation, he waved for him to tell it if he wanted to. It was a good memory, embarrassing, but wonderful too. She wanted to share it with him again.
He nodded once, then turned to the group. “Well,” he began, “once upon a time, Stacy and I worked at the Creole Cabin Bar and Restaurant on Bourbon Street. This was long before she left for New York City and fame and fortune. Back then, she was humble waitress, a poor college grad just trying to get ahead.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Ten loved to tell a good story. He’d often kept the staff entertained even on the slowest shifts.
“She was always running off for interviews, meetings, networking events,” he went on. “That day, I think it was an interview with a Google recruiter.” He turned to her. “Wasn’t it?”
She blinked, shocked that he remembered such an insignificant detail. Shocked and more than a little touched. “Yes, it was.”
“Anyway, the Cabin is an extremely loud place. It’s right on Bourbon, and all the doors are always open, and they’ve got this zydeco band playing, people are talking…” He took a moment to meet all of their gazes. “You get the picture.”
He took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It was a hot summer afternoon, the restaurant was dead, the a/c was blasting, but we were all sweating, standing around in the side station talking about nothing ‘cause we were so damn bored. Stacy’s gathering her things, she was the first one cut, and the other servers and I were a little jealous, so we were kinda ignoring her.”
She was there with him again, reliving that day in full color. She could feel the sweat on the back of her neck, the smell of deep-fried shrimp on her skin. She was desperate to get home and take a shower before she went to that interview. That had to happen, but it was going to be close. She needed to leave immediately.
“We were used to talking loudly, always screaming at each other to be heard.” He met her eyes, sharing the memory with her. “When it was time for her to go, it only made sense that she would scream good-bye.”
He started to laugh, but quickly suppressed it. She wanted to hit him now just as much as she had wanted to back then. It wasn’t that funny. “So, she hollers, ‘Well, I’m off like a prom dress!’ But at that exact moment, the band decided to take a break.” The laugher bubbled out of him, and Stacy winced, just as she had done in that instant, endless moment of silence. “It was just one of those gaps in noise that happens sometimes and everything was quiet at that precise moment. The whole restaurant heard her, the band, the customers, even the guys the kitchen. We all froze, too dumbfounded to move.”
He winked at her, but she just shook her head. She had been mortified, every eye in the place on her, her booming announcement seeming to echo in the sudden stillness.
“But Stacy,” he said, putting his hand on her knee, “she never blinked. She held her head high and marched right out that restaurant, like it was all perfectly natural. But, boy she did move fast.” He met her gaze and lowered his voice an octave. “It must have been quite a prom night.” He looked back to the others and grinned. “The name just stuck. It was perfect.”
She had to laugh. That restaurant could be such a miserable place sometimes, filled with drunks and non-tipping tourists, but when Ten worked alongside her, she always had a good shift. Some of her best memories were of cackling like a lunatic in the side station with him, making up wild, intricate fantasies about strangling the customers and how they would go about walking out in the middle of a shift in the wake of a boldly delivered righteous tirade.
The music changed, morphing into an upbeat jazzy instrumental tune. Melanie popped up from the table, grabbed Peter, and dragged him toward the forming dance floor. Stacy watched them go, her heart full of old memories, good times and bad.
Ten sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs beneath the table. He rubbed some of the condensation off his glass with his thumb, then licked the liquid off his finger. “So, what’s this convention you’re in town for?”
He was so damn sexy it hurt. Her crush was back in full force, stronger than ever and full of longing. Every time he met her eyes, her heart beat a little faster, her blood ran a little hotter. She could easily get lost in his gaze, and she had to look away before she could answer. “It’s a marketing convention. The ‘Advanced Marketing and New Business Innovation Conference’ to be precise. It was part of the package I received when they promoted me to senior marketing manager.”
He smiled and reached out to stroke her hair. “That’s great, Stacy. It’s what you always wanted.”
His touch sent tingles down her spine and only added to her pride. “Yeah, I’m happy.” For some reason, her voice caught on the last word, and she hoped he didn’t notice. She was happy. She was accomplishing things way ahead of her most ambitious expectations, living the exact life she wanted—for the most part.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. “Are you seeing anyone?”
The question made her skin feel pleasantly tight. “No. Are you?”
Their gazes locked, and he shook his head. The air seemed very warm suddenly, almost too thick to breath. Her eyes dropped to his full lower lip and tension hung between them, heavy with electric promise. “Hey, Ten,” a perky young waitress said as she stopped by the table. She pointed to their empty glasses. “Want another?”
He looked to Stacy. “Would you like another?”
She had to take a deep, trembling breath before she could answer him. Wow, that was intense. She was almost glad for the distraction. Another drink sounded nice, but it might be dangerous. She had to stay in control and that was always a difficult thing for her to do around him. Still, one more drink probably wouldn’t hurt. “Okay, one more. But that’s it.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, flashing the waitress the peace sign. Two. “I’ve heard that before.”
Stacy laughed. He had heard it before. Many times, on many nights. And all too often, she was by his side when the sun rose over the Quarter, stumbling home in the glaring light.
It didn’t take long for the waitress to return with their cocktails. She collected Ten’s money and left with a large smile on her face. He always was a good tipper.
Stacy took a sip of her drink, the sweetness exploding on her tongue. The familiar lightheadedness of intoxication warmed her skull, and she frowned. She might not have the tolerance to take on Mardi Gras anymore, but she was no lightweight either. She held up the plastic cup, the low light reflecting in the funky yellow-green liquid. “What’s in these things?”
He gave her that wicked grin