She listened closer to the song. There was something familiar about it, but she couldn’t name the tune. The tempo of the music increased. Before, it had been as if the song was climbing a hill, but now it spilled down in rapid progression. The violin strings cried so soulfully it made Camille want to weep. It gave her courage. If someone could pour their heart out like that, she could certainly conquer her fear of heights. She let go of the railing and lunged for the other side.
Camille shrieked with relief when she made contact with the heavy shutters. She wrapped her fingers around the ancient iron louvers, sucking in air as the warm breeze carried the vibrant sounds of the square to her. She gazed out the slatted shutter opening to the lush lawn below where she and her family had picnicked when she’d dreamt up this crazy goal. Tourists milled about the square, reading plaques, smiling, posing and snapping photos.
Camille closed her eyes and imagined she was still sitting on the blanket with her parents as an eleven-year-old. She wished she could go back. She wished she had more time. She wished for so many things. But all she could really do, was what she’d come for. Camille held her camera up to the slats and took a photo as she whispered, “Goodbye St. Louis Cathedral.”
Even with her feet planted on solid ground, Camille still felt dizzy with exhilaration. The high of accomplishing another goal on her list was starting to fade. It was always this way—exciting at first and then depressing.
The view from the cathedral tower had been spectacular. She’d watched the sun paint the Mississippi varying shades of pastel until it looked like a stretch of rainbow taffy. She glanced at the photo she’d taken. Melancholy overtook her, and suddenly she wished she could show someone—anyone.
Camille didn’t know what was sadder, the fact that she didn’t have anyone to share this with, or that she’d never get to do it again. She didn’t usually let herself think that way and was grateful when she heard the violinist pick up a tune again. It was the perfect distraction.
She decided to follow the sound. She wanted a glimpse of the musician who’d helped her accomplish her goal. From the way the haunting notes carried across Jackson Square, she knew the source had to be close by.
Nate
Nate let the music slip around him like a cocoon. He listened to the sound of his strings echo across the streets, mixing with the percussion of feet parading over the slate sidewalks. He smiled, sliding into a song he and Tyler had written together. Nate ran his bow faster across the strings as the memories flooded in. Sometimes there were things he could only say through music. And when he needed to talk to Ty, there was no better way than this.
Applause startled Nate when he finished playing. He opened his eyes, surprised to find he had an audience. He grinned and took a dramatic bow, thinking how much Tyler would’ve loved showing off to a crowd. But as Nate’s admirers slowly melted back into the throng of pedestrian traffic, one remained—and she wore an unmistakable purple wig.
Camille stood before him, eyes blown wide, mouth gaping. Nate’s face quirked into an easy smile. “So, you decided to see the city with me after all.”
It was a statement, not a question, and before Camille could say anything, he slid his bow across his strings until she was trapped in the rapture of another song. This time he played just for her. It wasn’t so much a song, as it was the feeling she evoked from him, put to music.
He closed his eyes, picturing her purple hair, until the image was clear enough that he could paint it. She’d traded her school uniform for yellow tights and a gray dress with the pattern of pale pink tulips on it. She still wore her studded black combat boots, which made him smile. She was like a jagged rainbow. Despite her attempts to repel him, everything about Camille drew Nate in. She was a breath of fresh air and she made him want to breathe deeply.
When he was finished playing, Camille slayed him with a look of admiration.
“Where did you learn to play like that?” she asked with awe.
“My dad.”
She cocked her delicate eyebrows like she didn’t believe him.
“Why do you seem so surprised? They do have violins in California, ya know?”
“I know. But it just doesn’t go together. I mean you have the whole skateboard punk thing going for ya. But the rest . . .”
“What?”
“You and the violin. It doesn’t mesh.”
Nate scoffed. “And purple hair and yellow tights do?”
“Hey, I’m intriguing, remember?” Camille smirked a shy smile and Nate’s heart squeezed in his chest. Shit, this girl made his knees weak!
“You definitely are,” he replied. “So how ‘bout it?”
“What?”
“Let’s go have some fun! It’s a beautiful night. I have my violin, you have some leprechaun-looking camera. I think we can make magic happen.”
Camille laughed. “You can play Bach but you’ve never seen a Polaroid camera?”
“That’s what that is? It looks like it’s made of candy.”
“Play something,” she said lifting the camera to her eye.
Nate grinned and dragged his bow across the strings making his violin sing. He closed his eyes and played ‘Stay With Me’ while Camille snapped photos. When he was done, she handed him one. She’d written, Witnessing Magic, on the wide white section that framed the bottom of the photo.
“Wow, this is magical,” he said, admiring the photo. Camille had captured the wrought-iron balconies of the salmon-colored building behind him. They dripped with hanging ferns and bright cascading flower boxes. And the glow of gas lanterns gave Nate’s image an otherworldly glow. He seemed small in the frame, but the look on his face said it all. Camille had encapsulated the magic of his music on film. He looked at her, handing the photo back. “You should be a photographer.”
She smiled at him, handing it back. “Keep it.”
But Nate noticed the tightness of her mouth. He reached a hand out just as she swayed on her feet. “Whoa. You alright?” His hand wrapped firmly around her frail elbow to steady her. She felt too cool for the humid weather and her pale features were nearly transparent.
“Yeah.” She tried to laugh it off. “I think I just need some sugar. I forgot to eat dinner.”
Nate didn’t let go. “Okay. Where can we get you a sugar fix?”
“Um,” Camille looked around flustered. “I-I work at the café around the corner. I guess we could go there. They have donuts.”
“Donuts it is.”
Cami
Camille was mortified that she’d nearly fainted in front of Nathan. What the hell was wrong with her? She was used to the crash after her adrenalin wore off, but the climb to the cathedral tower must have exhausted her more than she thought. She was trembling by the time Sweet Thang’s Café came into view.
If Nathan noticed her unsteadiness—and she was sure he did—at least he didn’t mention it. He just kept his hand steady at her lower back, steering her to a hot pink chair once they entered the café. Nate pulled up a chair and joined her at the little bistro table.
“So you work here?”
She nodded.
“What’s good?”
“Everythang, sugar.”
Camille looked up as Ronnie walked around the counter. He owned Sweet Thang’s Café, where Camille had worked forever. He was one of her favorite people in the world, and probably the closest thing she had to a real friend. Despite him being a forty-something gay black man with a touch of clairvoyance, they had a lot in common—namely a fabulous wardrobe and great taste in men. Well, at least Ronnie did. Cami never saw the point in dating.
“Hey, Ronnie,” she greeted.
“Hey, baby cakes. Whatcha doin’ here? You’re not working tonight.”
“We’re on a date,” Nathan replied happily.
Camille wanted to crawl into a hole. “No we’re not.”
Nathan winked at Ronnie. “Yes we are.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Camille likes to play hard to get.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure,” Ronnie purred, his southern accent deepening. He always laid on the charm when he was feeling flirty.
Ronnie turned toward Camille giving her a ridiculously unsubtle wink.
“I’m Nathan. But everyone calls me Nate.” He stuck out his hand.
Ronnie shook it. “Jeronathan, but everyone calls me Ronnie. Although you can call me anything you want, bebe.”
Nate laughed. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie.”
“Enchanté,” Ronnie crooned. He turned to Camille letting his mouth drop open into his token ‘How cute is he’ face. “So, me amours, what can I get ya?”
“Well, my date is in need of some sugar,” Nate replied.
Ronnie cocked his head seeming to notice Camille’s pallid complexion. Her expression begged him not to say anything to Nate about her cancer. That was the great thing about working with someone for years. Especially in food service, where you had to wear a smile no matter what you were thinking. Camille and Ronnie could read each other’s looks. And Ronnie understood her current plea perfectly. He turned back to Nate. “Well, you came to the right place, bebe. Go on up to the case and pick out what ya like.”
Nate stood up and walked the short distance to the case filled with sugary goodness, while Ronnie quickly whispered in Camille’s ear. “You okay, baby cakes?”
“Yeah. Just over did it a bit today. But please don’t say anything to him, about . . . ya know.”
Ronnie pretended to zip his lips and toss away a key. “He’s delicious.”
Camille’s face flushed, but she couldn’t disagree. Nate was growing on her. She glanced over at him. He was practically drooling over the donut case.
“Holy hell,” Nate yelled. “You make donuts with Cap’n Crunch and bacon on them?”
Ronnie flounced over to the counter to help Nate pick out one of the fantastical creations Sweet Thang’s was known for.
“Camille, what kind do you want?” Nate called.
“She always has the sugar bomb,” Ronnie replied.
“What’s that?” Nate asked, but Ronnie was already putting the colorful confectionary on a plate.
The sugared donut was filled with buttercream frosting and had pink icing on top, smothered in Fruitloops, Fruity Pebbles, Lucky Charm marshmallows and rainbow sprinkles.
Nate’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Holy diabetes, Batman! Is that much sugar even legal?”
Ronnie chuckled. “What doesn’t kill ya, makes ya stronger. You want one, bebe?”
“Absolutely.”
Ronnie grinned, shaking his head. “It’s our specialty, but I don’t know how you kids eat these things.”
“You only live once,” Nate replied.
Ronnie threw Camille a knowing look. “Ain’t that the truth?”
Nate tried to pay, but Ronnie wouldn’t hear of it. Instead he brought out three bowls of gumbo, pulled up a chair and joined them. “Ya’ll can’t live on sugar alone,” he said, passing a bowl to each of them, but it was clear to Camille that he brought it for her. She gave him a grateful nod. Somehow, Ronnie always knew what she needed.
“So,” Ronnie said turning to Nate. “Tell me everything, Nathaniel.”
Nate laughed good-natured. “It’s just Nathan, and please, call me Nate.”
“I’m sorry, bebe. You’re just too delicious to be a Nate. I’m gonna keep Nathaniel. So anyway, what are your intensions for my Camille?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I’m madly in love with her, so I plan to woo her until she’s mine.”
“Hells bells, sugar. If she won’t date you, I sure as stars will.” Ronnie cocked an eyebrow at Camille. “This boy is charming as hell.”
Nate grinned his toothy smile at Camille with pride. “Told ya.”
“Don’t encourage him,” she said rolling her eyes. She ate her gumbo, trying to pretend she wasn’t mortified that Ronnie was playing matchmaker.
“Honestly, Nathaniel. Where’d a tall drink a water like you blow in from? You clearly ain’t from ‘round here.”
Nate playfully looked around. “Is my California showing again?”
Ronnie clicked his tongue. “Cal-i-forn-ia.” He dragged out the word into too many syllables the way only Ronnie could. “That explains it.”
“He’s going to NOAH,” Camille added.
“Ooo-wee!” Ronnie swooned. “Cute and rich.”
Nate laughed. “Nah, my mom just feels bad that I had to switch schools my senior year.”
“Yeah, why is that?” Ronnie asked.
“My mom’s a doctor and she got offered her dream job in London.” Nate shrugged. “I didn’t want her to give up such a great opportunity, so I decided to come here and move in with my dad.”
“He’s selfless, Camille. That’s an important quality in a man.” Ronnie turned back to Nate continuing with the barrage of questions. “Alright, Nathaniel. This is the rapid-fire round. Who’s your daddy? Got any siblings? Crazy ex-girlfriends? Ever been arrested? Gotten anyone pregnant? Are you gay, straight, other or all of the above? Any weird quirks we should know about? And what’s your biggest fear?”
“Ronnie . . .” Camille shot him a warning glare. At first she’d been into Ronnie’s playful questions. It was nice to have someone asking everything she wanted to know, but in true Ronnie fashion, he’d gone too far. “You don’t have to answer, Nate. This isn’t an interrogation.”
“I don’t mind.” Nate’s easy smile said he was speaking the truth.
He tapped his fingers on his chin. Camille was starting to notice it was something he did when trying to be clever. “Let’s see, my father is Charles Hawthorne, but he goes by Charlie, and he plays a mean guitar. I had the world’s best older brother, Tyler Hawthorne, but he was killed three years ago in a car accident, therefore I don’t drive. You can put that in the quirks column. No crazy ex’s, no kids, I’m straight, and my biggest fear is not living enough.”
It was silent enough to hear a pin drop in the café. Ronnie was speechless. Camille didn’t think that had ever happened before. He always had a witty comeback or some kind of remark. But he was currently staring at Nate like he was a ghost.
“Did I pass?” Nate asked eagerly.
Ronnie snapped out of it, taking Nate’s hand. “I’m sorry about your brother, bebe.”
“Me too.”
“Well, those are all good answers, son.” Ronnie patted Nate’s hand. “You have my permission to date Miss Camille LaRue.”
Ronnie gave Camille a pointed stare and stood up, pushing back from the table. “Be nice to this one, baby cakes. I got a feelin’ ‘bout him.” Then he sashayed to the kitchen leaving Camille and Nate to themselves.
5
Nate
Nate couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited to go to school. He’d pretty much figured he’d be on autopilot at NOAH since he’d already gotten accepted to the Tulane music program pending graduation. Half the appeal of going to NOAH was its Tulane affiliate status. Which basically meant, NOAH students funneled enough tuition money to make acceptance at any college in the state a guarantee. And for what Nate’s mom was paying, NOAH should guarantee a freaking parade along with graduation!
But that was beside the point. Nate’s main reason for transferring to NOAH was so he could start over. He wanted to stop living in the past and restart his life again. He was also excited about getting to spend some time with his dad while exploring the New Orleans music scene. Or those had been the things he was excited about. Meeting Camille had sort of changed his priorities. Just a few hours together and he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Last night he’d walked her home from the Sweet Thang’s. She’d offered him a ride back to his house when she found out he lived all the way in the Bywater, but he said he preferred the Streetcar. It wasn�
�t a total lie. The streetcars were awesome, and a great way to see the city, but truthfully Nate didn’t want to let Camille see where he lived after walking up to her place.
Camille lived in one of those massive two-story French Quarter homes that took up both corners of a block. It was the color of beach sand with two levels of wrap-around balconies adorned with scrawling pastel green ironwork. Wealth oozed from the place, just like the overflowing flower baskets. Nate only got a glimpse through the street door that led to the interior courtyard, but it was enough to make him second-guess his chances with Camille.
Wealth and status were never things Nate really focused on. But growing up in the average suburbs of California underprepared him for the social differences he was discovering in New Orleans. A walk through the French Quarter was an exercise in social economics. There were million dollar homes, nestled next to old rundown bodegas, homeless people begged outside restaurants that required jackets for dinner, and talented street artists and musicians peddled their wears for pennies next to galleries and jazz joints that were overflowing with tourist dollars.
Having just met Camille, Nate wasn’t sure how she’d react to his father’s shabby shotgun home. He didn’t want to kill his chances with her just yet. And to be honest, Nate was also worried about what version of his dad he’d come home to.
Most nights his dad wasn’t home at all. He tended bar at Vaughan’s and picked up gigs when he could. But two nights ago, Nate arrived home to find his dad passed out drunk on the front porch. He was so tanked he couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door, choosing to vomit and pass out in front of it. Nate spent the rest of the night getting him into bed and cleaning up.
Nate couldn’t even be mad. He’d seen the way his father stared at him sometimes. Nathan and Tyler were only eleven months apart. They looked so much alike they were often mistaken as twins. It had to be difficult for his dad to suddenly have Nate around, haunting him like the ghost of his lost son. He knew it was hard on his mom. Nate had overheard her talking on the phone to her sister not too long after Ty’s death. She’d said looking at Nate broke her heart, because sometimes she could only see Tyler.
The Goodbye Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 3) Page 3
