“And what did your mama think of Eric?” He gave the tiniest wink.
“If she were alive, I probably wouldn’t have dated him. I think she probably would have set me straight before we got past the first date.” She tried to say it lightly.
“I’m sorry.” He looked pained. “And your papa?”
“Gone in the same accident. I was young.” She looked around, wishing the band would start. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have tonight.
“So that’s why you have their rings.” He reached out, slipping a finger under the chain against her neck, gently bringing forward until the rings dangled between them. He held them both, looking closely. “Your mama had tiny hands.”
Nobody knew that except her family. In fact, nobody but Alice had touched those rings for years and years. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from them now, held gently in Paul’s fingers. She cleared her throat. “She really did. I have a pair of her gloves. They’re just so little. I must take after my daddy’s side because mine are huge.” She held up a hand for inspection.
“You’re right. Gigantic man hands.”
“I mean, in comparison,” Alice said. She turned her hand palm up and he dropped the rings into it. “What about your parents?”
“I was raised by my mama. Just her. We lived in a little shack outside the city limits. It’s probably been condemned and burned by now.” He smiled. “Here’s to surviving childhood, eh?”
She had to grin. “Yes. I think we should both get a medal.” It felt so strange to talk about her parents and not feel sad or awkward. Most of the time she felt like people either asked too many questions or acted like they’d never existed.
A few more dancers arrived and there was a lot of quick practicing around the floor. The band seemed to be arguing about the choice of a song. Alice knew the zydeco festival was serious business and she loved how the musicians wanted to get it just right.
“Aren’t you sad to let go of your culture?” she asked.
“What? You mean because I live in New York City?”
She nodded. “I think you just can’t raise Creole kids outside of the area. It’s hard enough keeping the traditions alive with everybody plugged into cable and their iPods and everything.” She felt her cheeks go pink. “Not that I have kids, but you know…”
Paul laughed. “Just because I live in New York doesn’t mean I’ve rejected my roots.” His expression turned serious. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I know we can’t have everything, all at the same time. Choices have to be made. I do understand that.”
Alice didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to start such a serious conversation out there on the dance floor but she and Paul didn’t seem to be able to keep the topics light.
The band finally launched into a waltzy number and the singer stepped to the microphone, the words coming too fast for her to understand. She remembered the song, “Zydeco Gris Gris,” from when she was younger. Her mama had loved this song but she’d never learned it. Paul took a moment, then matched her step for step. He sang along as easily as if he still went to house dances every Saturday night.
Alice swallowed back her surprise a second time in just a few minutes. He really could dance, no matter what he’d just claimed. He was better than she was, effortlessly bringing her close and swinging her around, then bringing her close again. The sound of his voice in her ear made a shiver go up her spine, and for a moment she forgot they were on opposite sides of a fight. She wasn’t Alice the bookstore owner and he wasn’t Paul the video game mogul. She was a woman and he was a man, simply enjoying the late summer night, moving to a music that was deep in their blood.
For the first time in a long while, Alice didn’t worry about what was going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. She felt like everything was right with the world. More than all right. It was perfect.
Zydeco music isn’t known for its short, easy tunes. Jazz musicians borrowed their idea of long, complicated riffs on a repeating melody. Blues singers borrowed the melancholy words and some of the beats. And the dances are meant to give as much pleasure, for as long as possible, until the dancers are worn down and tuckered out. Alice was glad it was only the third dance of the night because Paul moved with an energy that was hard to match. This wasn’t the dancing of an awkward teen boy. He was confident and smooth, as if he’d had years of practice like she had, in backyard barbeques and summer festivals.
When the last notes finally faded away and the dancers all came to a stop, Paul didn’t let go of her hand. He looked happier than she’d ever seen him, but there was something like worry in his eyes.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked. He looked around. “Maybe over here,” he said, pointing with one hand toward nearest edge of the temporary dance floor, away from Andy.
“Okay,” Alice said. She was supposed to be watching for BWK, but it would probably only take a moment. He led her to the little row of trees at the side of the stage and they stepped off into the grass. It was much quieter now that they weren’t directly in front of the speakers. The twinkle lights wrapped in the tree branches gave everything a festive, cheerful feeling.
“I wanted to tell you something the day I came into your shop.” Paul looked down at their hands linked together.
Alice tried to ignore the way her heart was beating in her ears. She watched his face, saying nothing. He’d said a lot of things that day and she couldn’t imagine what else he’d missed. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to revisit.
“I know it seems as if we’re really different, but we’re not.”
Her eyebrows went up. To be fair, before tonight she would have said they were night and day. Now she could see they had their Creole culture in common so maybe they were more like daybreak and twilight.
“You think I’m some rich New York City businessman who’s come here to Natchitoches to show off his big, flashy store.” His face was tight.
“And you’re not? Because seems a pretty fair description to me, although it left out being arrogant and running roughshod over the entire city.” She knew following him to this little private spot under the trees was a mistake. A few lines of Louisiana Creole and one perfect dance couldn’t erase the facts. Alice shook her head and started to pull away. “Paul, maybe I should go. Thank you for the dance.”
He held on to her hand, gently bringing her back. “I don’t know how to explain, but we’re alike, you and me.”
She could have tugged herself free and kept walking but she stopped, feeling the truth of his words. She knew he was right, but wasn’t sure how. “Because we’re Creole? Because you come from here?” She heard the disbelief in her own voice and hated it. If she had to name something that made a person “like her,” being Creole would certainly be one. But loving this place with an undying passion would be another, and that is where they were different. Paul may have come from Natchitoches, but he didn’t love it the way she did. She was willing to fight to preserve the culture in her little town, all the way up to and including engaging in a legal battle against the man who stood before her.
“Books,” he said, almost desperately. “We both love books.”
Alice searched his face. “So we’re similar because you like to read? Or because you bought your friend a rare portfolio?” She sighed. “Paul, I do love books. And I like to read. But the way I love books is hard to explain―”
“They’re like your friends.” He spoke quickly. “You re-read favorite passages and even though you’ve read the words a hundred times before, it’s all new again. Walking by and touching the covers is like reaching out and shaking hands. You wouldn’t travel without your favorites. You read a great book and you have to tell everybody about it until they all agree to read it, too. You want to keep your books safe, protect them from slipping into oblivion. You wonder how you’ll ever share shelf space with another person.” He took a deep breath. “You feel them beat underneath your pillow, i
n the morning’s dark, an hour before the sun will let you read.”
Alice stood still, eyes fixed on his. Had he just quoted a line from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem Aurora Leigh? That stanza hung in a little gilt frame near her bed, right above her towering pile of books. It was one of the last things she saw at night, and one of the first things she saw in the morning.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s just like that.”
“Now, do you understand?” he asked. He stepped closer, his expression intent.
She nodded. They weren’t so different after all. Everything she had felt for him, from the first moment he’d walked into her shop, made a little more sense.
“Thank God,” he said. In the next moment, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her in close. Her right hand was tight against his chest and she could feel his heart pumping under his shirt. She didn’t look up, just closed her eyes and breathed in, letting the moment stretch between them. His arm tightened and he shifted, bringing his lips to her ear.
The next song burst into the moment and the dancers on the stage began to whirl and step to the beat. Paul didn’t move a muscle, as if he hadn’t heard a sound, his arm strong against her waist. They were perfectly still, just the two of them, like the eye of a hurricane in the middle of the festival. She never wanted to move from that spot, tucked against his chest, held tight against the world. It had been so, so long since she had felt like there was anyone to hold on to, anyone who truly understood her.
“Alice,” he whispered. “I meant to tell you the truth before.” His voice was rough.
Slowly his words filtered through the swirl of emotion and Alice felt a shadow cross her heart. Loving books wasn’t exactly a terrible secret. She said she understood, but maybe there was more to this than she was catching. She moved back, trying to gather her thoughts enough to form a question.
“As soon as I met you, I knew you were special,” he said. Then he lowered his head, pausing once, as if to see if she was going to object.
A few minutes ago she’d been pondering a question about his family, wondering where he’d learned to speak so fluently and dance so well. Her thoughts were tangled up in his words, trying to catch up with his meaning. He’d meant to tell her something before now but those questions disappeared like mist in the sunshine.
Paul was going to kiss her, something she’d been wanting since she first saw him just days ago. It didn’t matter where they were or who saw them. She didn’t care about her reputation or her store. There was no other thought in her head except the anticipation. Her eyes fell closed and she met him halfway, glorying in the pressure of his mouth, the heat of his skin, that delirious scent of man and old books. Her arms went up around his neck and she threaded her fingers through his hair. He made a low noise in his throat and he pressed her closer.
Alice had no idea how long they stood there, wrapped up in themselves, oblivious to all her friends and neighbors just feet away. It wasn’t the kind of kiss she was used to from Eric. Or anyone. Suddenly, Paul lifted his head and she struggled to catch her breath. She looked up, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes finally focused on his face and her body went cold. His eyes were filled with shock and surprise, and his gaze was focused somewhere behind her.
“Hi there, Alice,” Andy said, his voice barely cutting through the noise of the music and the boots hitting the stage. He stood behind her, hands in his pockets. Andy shrugged a little, as if in apology.
Alice stepped back, her knees shaking. She put a hand to her mouth. Andy must have seen what was happening and made his way through the dancers to rescue his friend.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need Paul… over here… for a second.” Andy looked incredibly uncomfortable. He pointed to the side of the stage where a dark-haired, middle-aged woman was standing. She was wearing a flowered top, fashionable jeans, and a leather tote purse. Her fists were planted on her hips and her expression was a mix of amusement and disapproval. Mostly disapproval.
“Oh, wow.” Paul’s hand dropped from around Alice’s waist. “Would you like to come meet my mother?”
A bolt of white hot embarrassment went through Alice. She’d never been one of those girls that kissed guys in public, in the dark, under the trees. Her face felt like it was on fire. She pressed her hands to her cheeks for a moment, willing herself to get control.
“No! No, I can’t. I was actually looking for someone else before you showed up.” She cringed inwardly at the last sentence. The words were tumbling out of her mouth.
Paul caught her hand. “Please. We can talk. And I’d like you to meet my mom.” He glanced at Andy and then back to Alice, as if his friend might be able to convince her to stay.
She shook her head, fighting to put on a bright smile. “This has been fun, but I’m not like this. I don’t just―.” She motioned between them. “I need to go.” And she turned on her heel, practically running from under the trees, past the stage, and toward the boardwalk.
Alice dodged couples, trying her best to ignore the laughter and whispered comments that followed her. Her heart was pounding but she kept walking until she reached the safety of her front door. There she turned, looking back for one brief moment. She had come to the festival with such high hopes. She was going to meet BWK, a real friend who understood her like no one else seemed to understand her.
Instead, she’d let herself be distracted. More than distracted. She’d made out with the man she’d vowed to fight, the man she’d been determined to avoid. Alice took out her key. Her hands shook so badly she thought she would have to give up and go around to the back door until she could calm down. Finally, she got the key in the lock and tumbled inside, closing the door against the music and the noise of the party outside.
She walked toward her desk without bothering to turn on the lights. Her eyes burned with hot tears and she choked back several gasping sobs. For the second time in as many days, she was crying over Paul Olivier. The first time he’d made her so angry she trembled with rage. The second time, it felt as if he’d reached inside and touched her heart with his bare hands.
Alice slumped into her chair, clutched the rings to her chest and let herself cry. Van Winkle lifted his head and made worried sounds but Alice couldn’t stop. A terrible fear was growing inside. Maybe something was wrong with her. The stress of the inheritance lawsuit and running the store was becoming too much. Grief and anxiety could cause a mental breakdown, she knew that for a fact. And her behavior was completely out of the norm.
Sure, she was shy, but it was more than that. When she went out on a date, she wanted to keep a little distance. Eric had put in two weeks and three dates before he got a kiss, and it had been just a second or two. She wasn’t cold, just cautious. It was always better to be safe than sorry. A girl needed to trust a guy before she could give up her heart. People weren’t always what they seemed and not everyone had the best intentions. It was just better to take it slow. But tonight she had thrown away everything she thought she believed about first dates.
Alice sucked in a breath, half-laughing through her tears. Forget about first dates. This was a random dance-floor hook-up. He’d said a few words in Louisiana Creole, swung her through a song from her childhood, and she’d been all his. Who knows what would have happened if Andy hadn’t shown up… with Paul’s mother.
She groaned and dropped her head into her hands. There was no way she could go back out there. The night was ruined. She grabbed her cell phone off her desk and opened her email. Maybe he was out there, waiting. BWK deserved to know that she wasn’t coming.
Dear BWK,
I’m so sorry. Something has come up. I won’t be able to meet you tonight. You’re always welcome to come by my store on Monday.
Your friend,
Alice
She wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe it was some sort of mid-life crisis, about twenty years too early. Maybe she needed to take a vacation and give herself a break. As soon as Monday
came, she would start looking at weekend packages. Maybe a nice bed and breakfast somewhere. She would leave the phone at home and spend the whole time blissfully unaware of the world.
Alice stood up and headed for the back stairs. She would sneak into her place now before Paul and Andy returned. It might be possible to avoid an awkward meeting tonight. But the next time she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to think of anything except those moments under the twinkling lights.
Chapter Fifteen
Getting information off the internet is like taking a drink
from a fire hydrant.―Mitchell Kapor
“What on earth happened over there?” Andy whispered loudly.
Paul took a moment to step around a dancing little girl with pigtails. “I told her I was Browning Wordsworth Keats.” He’d successfully merged his alter ego and his real life, and she hadn’t been angry at all. It wasn’t anything that he’d been expecting but he couldn’t say he was unhappy. Just the opposite. He felt like he was walking on air, his heart still beating out of his chest. The end was a little awkward, when she almost ran from the scene, but he was sure they could sort it all out.
“And that was her response?” Andy asked, his eyes wide. He glanced towards Paul’s mom as they closed the last couple of feet between them. “Now I’m sad that I don’t have a super-secret identity, too.”
“Who has a super-secret identity?” Paul’s mother reached forward and gave her son and hug with a big kiss on the cheek. “And where did that gal scamper off to? You didn’t bring her over to meet me and I find that a bit hurtful.”
“Mama, I’m really sorry. She had to go.” Paul searched for a place to sit. “Let’s get some meat pies and watch the dancing.”
“Oh, I was watchin’ already. I was right proud of you. All that practice sure paid off.” She stopped, giving Paul a serious look. “Maybe paid off a little too good, now that I think on it.”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 16
