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 get this weird missionary zeal, where 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, in 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 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.
“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.”
“Mrs. Olivier, I’ll go get the food. Just point me in the right direction,” Andy said.
Paul picked a stand farther down the sidewalk and Andy headed down the packed walkway. Paul didn’t blame him at all for trying to get out of this conversation. He’d get out of it too, if he could.
“I just met her.” He stopped. That really wasn’t the way to get his mother to like Alice. “Come on, let’s sit down and I’ll explain.”
They walked for a bit and found a free table. Paul could see Andy in line at the meat pie stand, chatting with a girl in jeans and a cowboy hat. He smiled. Whatever Andy may think about this trip, he couldn’t deny he was being entertained. Their last business trip involved hours and hours at a hotel bar, watching most of their colleagues slowly get drunk.
“So, tell me about this gal.” Mrs. Olivier peered toward the bookstore. “Why did she high-tail it out of here like that?”
Paul paused, trying to think of how to explain Alice.
“Honey, the look on your face…” She started to laugh. He’d always loved the way his mama laughed, full-throated with her head thrown back. She looked so much younger than her years.
“It’s complicated, Mama,” he said. He hated that phrase,. but it didn’t seem as if a better term was available.
“Your cousin Jimmy says that every time he gets a new girlfriend and he don’t want us to harass her.” She glanced at the bookstore again. “Does she live there in that fancy place?”
“Above her shop. It’s a rare book store.”
“Oh, honey, I bet you just love her for that!” His mama reached over and grabbed his hand. “Is that how you met? Looking for old books? Did you tell her about your collection? You’ve always been such a reader, just like your granddaddy.”
“Sort of. We’re renting the apartment next to hers and…” He stopped at the look on his mama’s face. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Do you, now?” She sighed. “You’re a big boy, Paul. I won’t be telling you how to live your life. But I know how hard it is to live right when the world is living all wrong.” She squeezed his hand. “Listen to me. All worried ‘cause you’ll be living next door to that pretty girl when you’ve been on your own in New York City for years.”
Paul wanted to remind her he wasn’t staying long, that Andy was his roommate, and that she was looking miles down a path he didn’t even know if he was walking.
“Who are her people?”
“Her family name is Augustine. She said her parents died in an accident.” He w
atched realization dawn on his mama’s face.
“I remember it. That was a bad one.” She looked down at the table, picking at a little hole in the plastic top. “Drunk driving, they said. His family blamed the wife and her family blamed him. Kids got caught in the middle. Shipped off to the grandma’s house and the grandma wasn’t as sane as she shoulda been.”
Paul shook his head. He couldn’t imagine that kind of change. His childhood had been ugly, but it hadn’t varied in its ugliness. “I’ve never met anyone like her, Mama.”
She nodded, waiting for him to go on.
“We’re both real shy. I mean, she can sure let you know when you’ve done wrong. The first day we met, we got into it over some old books. She’s tough as nails and twice as sharp.” He smiled at the memory. Paul could hear the way his speech was shifting from New York to Louisiana. Being with his mama always did that.
“Watch out for that, son. The drama is exciting for a while but it wears a body down. And some folks raised in it sometimes don’t ever know how to live in peace.”
“I know. And it’s not the arguing. I would love to never argue with her again. I just want to be near her. She’s like the antidote to all those years of cocktail party chatter. When she talks to me, I feel like she cuts to the heart of it all. Oh, and she speaks Creole about as well as anybody I’ve ever met. It’s like we’re just the same, deep down.”
“Except for the part where she hates your guts,” Andy said, dropping into a chair. He laid out the little paper containers of meat pies and removed bottled Cokes from under his arm.
The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance Page 16
