She walked in five minutes later with her grandmother and brothers and rushed over to me. “I was going to get sick, but I realized you would make me do my show anyway, so I’m going to skip the puking.”
“Good plan,” I said. “Let’s get you official.”
We got her name lanyard and a sponsor pass for me and went to figure out who to talk to about getting her set from her uncle’s car to the stage. The next two hours were a blur, but the program started right on time. When the lights changed for Kiana’s presentation, third to last, I’d seen enough to be wildly impressed by the creativity and intelligence of high school students from all over Louisiana, but there was still no doubt Kiana had outdone them all.
Her energy crackled, and the audience took a familiar collective breath and leaned forward with the same tension the audience had the night she’d performed in the city competition. I caught sight of a few of my students sprinkled through the audience, and when Kiana’s scene faded to black at the end, they were the first on their feet to cheer for her, though the entire audience was right behind them, roaring their approval.
Kiana had done it again!
I swept my eyes over the crowd for the twentieth time tonight, wondering if Max had snuck in again, but he hadn’t. I should have begged him to come. Kiana deserved that. I clapped extra hard to make up for his absence.
The last two students performed, then the audience got an intermission while the judges conferred. Kiana rushed up the aisle from the contestant section and launched herself at me, almost tackling me in a hug. I held her tight. “You are everything, baby girl. That was so good.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Miss Guidry. You’re staying until they announce the winners, right?”
“Of course.”
She stepped back to squint at me and nodded. “Good dress. I hope we win.”
“You’ll win,” I said. “You did this. And if you win, don’t call me up there with you. I can’t take credit for something that came straight out of your brilliant brain.”
“Let’s not pretend you and Mr. Archer aren’t a big reason why.”
Jamarcus called to her from halfway down his row, and Kiana took a half step toward him, her face eager, before she stopped and scowled. “That fool can come to me if he wants to talk.” She marched down the aisle the other way to where Tasha and Sadie sat, jumping up to squeal when she reached them. Jamarcus frowned, then shrugged and climbed over his rowmates to make his way to Kiana. I smothered a smile. She had him good, and she might be just what he needed.
“I see why your mother kept bragging on you,” Brother Lewis said when I sat back down. Kate and Mom sat between us, but he leaned over to make sure I heard him. “You’re a gift to those kids.”
“It’s exactly opposite,” I said, smiling at the compliment. “But thank you.”
I watched the judges, heads together down at the table in front of the stage. I couldn’t concentrate on conversation with Kate or anyone else. Nerves churned my stomach. Kiana had done the best job. Not only was her performance electrifying, but her research was flawless too, and she’d done a better job than anyone else of drawing a modern-day parallel. But there was no question she lacked some of the polish of the finalists from the private high schools, and I didn’t know if that would hurt her with the judges.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” one of the judges said into his microphone. “We’ve reached a decision. Please take your seats.”
A flurry of action exploded as everyone hurried back to their places, and when it settled down, the judge gave a speech about the importance of preserving our heritage and taking critical, thoughtful looks at our past. Finally, he cleared his throat and began the announcement.
“Third place and a $1,000 scholarship goes to ‘The Carville Curse’ by Paisley Hannock from Newman School in New Orleans.” The room exploded in applause. She’d done a fascinating presentation of an oral history she’d taken from survivors of Louisiana’s leper colony.
“Second place and $3,000 goes to ‘Creole Creativity: Art from Conflict’ by Aiden Batiste of Caddo High School in Shreveport.” More applause, but I couldn’t clap because I’d curled my hand around Kate’s, gripping her so tightly she squeaked.
“Sorry,” I said, letting go. She took my hand back and patted it.
“She’s got this, Lila. She’s got this.”
“First place and winner of the $5,000 scholarship goes to . . .”
I squeezed Kate’s hand even harder.
“Kiana Green of Lincoln High School in Baton Rouge.”
The room went wild, and at least thirty of us went wilder than everyone else, screaming our joy as Kiana went up to accept her prize. We clapped and hollered all the way through her accepting her trophy and check, all the way through the pictures they had her take with the judges and other contestants, and all the way until she finally came down from the stage. Jamarcus grabbed her first, picking her up to swing her around, but I was right there after him to get my hug.
“I’m so proud of you, Kiana!” I shouted, and several of my first-period kids waiting to congratulate her burst out laughing.
“Thank you!” she shouted back, and I stepped out of the way so everyone else could get to her.
“Thank y’all for coming,” I said when I got back to my guests. “I’m going to stay for a while to make sure she’s able to get everything loaded back up, but I’ll see you back home.”
Mom shrugged. “It’s probably a mess trying to get out of that parking lot right now. We might as well wait until it clears up.”
“Me too,” Kate said.
“It’s not an LSU game. I think you’ll be fine,” I said.
“We should wait.” That was Bridger, and we all turned to stare at him. He shrugged and looked back down at his phone.
I shrugged and sat down, asking Kate about Jellybean to pass the time until Kiana was ready to go back and start wrangling her set. Dixieland jazz played from the speakers as the high school kids and their supporters congratulated or consoled each other. Fifteen minutes later, I was all caught up on Jellybean, but Kiana was still surrounded by her classmates, even though most of the room had emptied as people had drifted downstairs to the rotunda.
A loud screech sounded through the PA system as the jazz stopped, replaced by feedback. The whole room turned to the front, and there at the podium stood Max.
Chapter 31
A middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize stood next to him wearing an expression like he’d handed her a puppy she didn’t know what to do with. She eyed him like, “Cute, but what now?”
“Are we good, Kiana?” he asked.
“We’re good!” She gave him a high thumbs-up, not looking the least bit surprised to see him.
“Thank you all for hanging around,” he said. “Sorry it took so long, but I didn’t want to steal one second of Kiana’s spotlight.”
“Hurry up!” she called. “I couldn’t hardly think about my monologue because I was so nervous for this. Ain’t no spotlight stealing. Get to it!”
What in the world . . . ?
Everyone laughed, and he smiled and slid his hands in his pockets, his gaze landing on me. “Hi, Lila Mae.”
My hand floated up and managed something like a wave.
“Can you come on up here?”
Jamarcus materialized, gently taking my shoulders and pushing me toward Max. “Uh-uh, Miss Guidry. You’re going.” I didn’t meet Max’s eyes when Jamarcus deposited me next to him, but there was no way I would have argued with Jamarcus taking me exactly where I wanted to be. Though it felt a little too naked to let my longing for Max show on my face with so many witnesses.
“Hey,” Max said away from the mic so it wouldn’t pick up the soft syllable.
“You’re killing me right now,” I whispered.
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“I’m dead, so I’m not sure, but I think good.”
He shifted back toward the mic. �
�Kiana and I have had a few talks over the last few weeks when I’ve checked in on her business,” he said. “And Lila Mae Guidry comes up all the time. Kiana has gone on and on about how much Lila has helped her, but I knew that already. I saw it myself. Lila knows the way things should be, and she has an unwavering commitment to making it happen. You should hear it from Kiana too.”
Kiana was on the stage in ten seconds flat. “Good thing you listened about the dress, huh?” she whispered and startled a laugh out of me. She cleared her throat and stepped up to the mic. “I’m here as a character witness.”
“We know Miss Guidry is great,” Tasha called out, laughing.
“Not for her. For him,” Kiana said, pointing at Max. “All those things he’s been saying about Miss Guidry and how she sticks stuff out, that’s true about him too. Only he forgot it for a little while. But he’s remembered now. A couple of days ago, Mr. Archer called up my grandmama and had a long talk. Then he got me on the phone, and the next thing I know, I’m hired as a managing supervisor in his new office.”
“What kind of offi—” I started to ask, but Max only smiled and shushed me.
“That’s after he already helped me start my own book business. Next month, I’m paying our rent with my own money.” Her chest puffed at this, and her classmates sent up a raucous chorus of cheers. When it settled down, Kiana turned her head and spoke straight to me. “People mess up. Mr. Archer knows he did it twice, but he asked me to come and remind you that he’s fixing this way faster the second time.”
She climbed down from the stage, and Max spoke again. “Next, I want to introduce you to Mrs. Brenda Lorris, a receptionist at the firm of Hargrove, Dirks, and Betten. I asked her to tell you a story.”
She took the mic and cleared her throat, going slightly red when it made the mic squeal. “We’re an architecture firm. A few months ago, we got a call from Mr. Archer, asking if we had a scale model of Baton Rouge. I told him that we did, and he told me he needed to borrow it that day because it was an emergency. I told him it wasn’t available to loan. He offered everything he could think of to get me to agree, including a deposit that must have included every penny in his savings, and I still told him no. Then he told me the truth. He said it was for true love, that giving his sweetheart her city on a platter was the only way he could show her how he felt when he was afraid the actual words would make her run. And so I gave him the city model.”
Another cheer broke out of the crowd, and my heart hammered faster than their hands could clap. He’d said that all the way back then?
“And believe you me, I got that deposit too.” The crowd laughed. “But that’s not all,” she continued. “He called me at home about three hours ago after tracking me down on the Internet. You better believe I’ll be doing some changing on my privacy settings.” More laughter. “Anyway, he said this time he needed me to win his true love because he’d used all the wrong words, so he couldn’t be the one to do the talking. It would have to come from other people and from his actions. Miss Lila,” she said, smiling over at me, “I don’t know how he did you wrong, but I’ve never seen anyone work so hard to make something right.”
“Amen!” Kate called. I knew about this, she mouthed.
Max patted Mrs. Lorris on the back and gave her a gentle nudge toward the watching crowd. Now it was only Max and me. Every part of me wanted to smile at him, but all I could think about was . . . what office? What was Kiana talking about?
He reached behind him and pulled a letter from his pocket, holding it out toward me. I unfolded it, noticing the Taggart letterhead. I scanned it and gasped. “This is a resignation letter.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m staying on for a few more months so I can keep a steady paycheck while I open my new business, but yeah, it’s a short-term thing. I’m staying, Lila. I’m staying, and I’m investing in this city, opening a new business in Kiana’s neighborhood, putting some of those kids to work. And I’m investing in us.”
“No!” I shouted, and his hand froze in his pocket. “No,” I repeated more softly. “You don’t have to do this. I was going to give myself a few more days to be sure, but I know. Just looking at you, I know. I’ll go to Houston. I’ll go wherever you are.”
I heard a loud Kate-like sniffle. I couldn’t look at her, or I’d cry. Again. But Max was shaking his head. “I’ll be done with Taggart in mid-December. How do you feel about a Christmas wedding?”
Intense joy broke over me, but before I could open my mouth, he was digging a familiar ring box from his pocket and going down on one knee. “I’m sorry I got lost, Lila. I was staying on my career path because it’s the only vision I’ve ever had for myself until the future that you showed me, the one with us together. When I went to Houston and checked out my new apartment and office, instead of being excited, it all felt wrong. It meant nothing without you. So I came back and tried to figure out how to make my life work here.”
I had to break in. “I don’t want you giving up what you wanted for me.”
“But you are all I want. And instead of feeling like I’m settling by staying in middle management at the office here, I’ve decided to throw myself into the only thing that’s come as close as you do to making me excited to be alive, and that’s developing young entrepreneurs. So I’m opening a temporary labor agency where we can hire people out of a community that’s willing and ready to work if they’re given the opportunities, and when we’ve got great workers, we’re going to start listening to their ideas for their own permanent businesses, and we’re going to figure out how to help them pull it off.”
“We?” It came out as a question as I tested how it would sound for us to be whole again.
“We,” he repeated. “If you’ll have me.” He opened the box. “Will you marry me?”
Nothing could have held the words back now. “Yes, Max. Yes, yes, yes!”
The shouts were thunderous, and Max jumped up to sweep me into his arms. “I need to always be with you,” he said. “And if this is where you want to be, then it’s the only place I want to be too.”
“I love you,” I whispered, since he wouldn’t have heard me even if I’d used my full voice over the cheering, but his eyes softened, and I knew he’d gotten the message.
As Etta James’s silken voice crooned the opening notes of “At Last” around us, Max leaned down to kiss me, and I fell in love with him all over again.
About the Author
Melanie Bennett Jacobson buys a lot of books and shoes. She eats a lot of chocolate and french fries and watches a lot of chick flicks. She kills a lot of houseplants. She says “a lot” a lot. She is happily married and living in Southern California with her growing family and more doomed plants. Melanie is a former English teacher, who loves to laugh and make others laugh. In her downtime (ha!), she writes romantic comedies and cracks stupid jokes on Twitter. She is the author of eight previous novels from Covenant.
Other Books by Melanie Jacobson
The List
Not My Type
Twitterpated
Smart Move
Second Chances
Love Unexpected: A Storybook Romance
Painting Kisses
Always Will
Southern Charmed Page 24
