by Macy Beckett
She and Beau had discussed what would happen when the Belle docked. They would continue to see each other. In fact, they’d scheduled a date tomorrow night to listen to a jazz band at Beau’s favorite bar. They’d even had the big exclusivity talk—no easy feat for any couple. There was no reason to worry.
But Devyn couldn’t help it. She was worried.
She forced the prickle of anxiety to the back of her mind and gave the brothers her full attention. After stuffing themselves with pizza and ice cream sundaes, the boys parked in front of the Nintendo, and she cheered them on through a dozen levels. Then she let Jason hold the tongs during the steam-powered can-crushing experiment.
The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of games, crafts, and dress-up, and the next thing Devyn knew, the boys’ mother came to sign them out. One quick hug from Will and a wave from Jason, and then they were gone.
Devyn stood facing the door for a few beats, stunned by the abrupt quiet.
Slowly, she turned and surveyed the center, starting with the empty travel cribs on the far wall and ending on the opposite side of the room, where a pile of historic dress-up clothes rested beside two decimated Coke cans.
Her stomach grew heavy, and she found herself hesitating to clean up the mess. It wasn’t until the boat came to a stop that she tossed Jason’s soda cans into the recycling bin and put away Will’s silk top hat and vest. She disposed of their leftover food and dishes, then tidied the room until there was no choice but to leave.
With a sigh, she closed the door and returned to her room to pack.
Now that all the passengers had left, an eerie silence descended over the Belle like fog creeping across a graveyard. Gone were the constant footsteps and the rumble of the steam engine, the sounds of laughter and the paddle wheel’s steady whir. It was strange how quickly she’d grown accustomed to the motion and noise. Her room key seemed unnaturally loud when she slid it into the lock and opened the door.
She stopped short.
A travel suitcase rested on the bottom cot, and Ella-Claire bent over it, punching handfuls of dirty clothes inside with enough force to shake the bunk bed. She snatched a toiletry bag from the dresser and threw it on top of the laundry, where it bounced off and tumbled to the floor.
“Shit,” the girl muttered, then simply stood and hung her head.
Devyn had never known her roommate to swear . . . or abuse cosmetics. It looked like Alex had come to a decision, but not the one Ella-Claire had hoped for. Devyn picked up the cosmetics bag and tucked it inside the suitcase. “What did he say?”
Ella drew a hitched breath and blew it out, clearly hanging on by a thread. “Exactly what I expected him to say. He cares for me, but we can only be friends.”
“Aw, hon.” Devyn held out her arms and Ella rushed inside, promptly breaking down in sobs. While Ella’s shoulders shook, Devyn rubbed her back and made gentle shushing noises. “I’m so sorry. Love sucks.”
Ella nodded, then drew back and used a shirtsleeve to dab at her eyes. “I’ll drink to that.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I can tell from the way Alex talks about you that he’s completely smitten.”
“It doesn’t help,” Ella said. “If anything, that makes it worse. He knows we could be happy together, but he won’t try because he doesn’t want to upset his family. It means I’m not enough for him.”
Chills broke out at the base of Devyn’s neck. She’d heard this story before—from the pages of her great-great-grandmother’s journal. Devyn had originally sympathized with Alex’s concerns, but now she saw the real problem.
“He doesn’t have faith in love,” Devyn said blankly. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. “And you can’t fix that.”
Ella braced both palms on the dresser and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “What am I going to do?” Her voice was a thick whisper, so devoid of hope that it put a lump in Devyn’s throat. “I love this job, but how can I stay here? Seeing him every day is going to kill me.”
“Hey, now,” Devyn said. She gripped her friend’s hand and gave it a fortifying squeeze. “I know it hurts, but a broken heart never killed anyone.”
Ella laughed without humor. “Yet.”
“This is what you’re going to do.” Meeting Ella’s gaze in the mirror, Devyn kept her tone firm in an unspoken message of strength. “Call your very best friends to come over, and tell them to bring chocolate and booze. Then take the weekend to wallow. Lock yourself inside your apartment and eat Ben & Jerry’s for breakfast. Watch sad movies. Sing Alanis Morissette songs. Yell, cry, draw mustaches on Alex’s pictures—whatever makes you feel better. But when the weekend is over, it’s time to suck it up and rejoin the living.”
Ella nodded, and another tear spilled free.
“You’re such a sweet girl.” Devyn gave her friend’s ponytail a light tug. “Don’t let this change you.”
“Thanks for the support,” Ella said with a sniffle. “But maybe a change is exactly what I need.”
Devyn asked what she meant by that, but Ella smoothly switched the subject to Beau, so they packed their bags while swapping old stories about him. When Devyn had finished clearing out her things, she hugged Ella one more time.
“Stay strong,” Devyn said. “And call me. In fact, let’s meet for drinks next week.”
“It’s a date.”
“I know you’re not a hardcore believer,” Devyn said, “but if you want me to read the bones for you or mix a special gris-gris bag, just say the word.”
“I might take you up on that.” She smiled weakly. “Thanks, Devyn. I’m glad we got to know each other.”
“Me, too,” Devyn said, and meant it.
After donning a pair of sunglasses to hide her puffy eyes, Ella wheeled her suitcase out the door. Then she was gone, too.
Devyn’s shoulders slumped.
This was like graduation day all over again, her favorite people parting ways. Sure, many of them were local, but how often would their paths cross once life interfered? She was lucky if she saw her own sister once a week.
At least she had an evening with Beau to look forward to. And since he’d promised her a ride home, she grabbed her backpack and duffel and set off to find him.
Twenty minutes later—after a wasted trip to his suite, the casino, the purser’s office, and the pilothouse—she took a seat on one of the main deck rocking chairs and texted for him to meet her there.
Lulled by the warm breeze and the sounds of water slapping against the boat, Devyn lost track of time. A while later, she recognized the heavy clomp of Beau’s shoes coming down the outside staircase and she glanced over her shoulder to wave at him.
He looked a little worse for wear with his tie crooked and his hair mussed. A pen was tucked precariously behind one ear, competing for space beside the sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he had a yellow Post-it note stuck to his sleeve. But despite the obvious rough day, his eyes shone bright with excitement when he spotted her.
Devyn returned his infectious smile, relieved by his reaction. “Either you had a great day,” she told him, “or you’re really glad it’s over. Which one?”
Chuckling, Beau pulled the pen from behind his ear. “Neither,” he said as his gaze landed on the laces of her corset dress. He used his pen to point at her. “But it’s getting better by the second.”
Devyn teasingly dragged an index finger down the length of her laces. “Take me home, and you can finally undo these with your teeth.”
He sucked in an apologetic breath. “I’ll have to take a rain check. There’s an avalanche of paperwork, time sheets, and accounting reports to deal with. As soon as I drop you off, I’ve got to come right back. I’ll probably spend the next couple of nights here, too.” He lowered to her height and cupped her cheek. “Sorry, Kitten.”
“No, it’s fine.” That familiar sensation of worry crept over her again, but she forced it back. Beau wasn’t making excuses. There was work to be done. “Are we stil
l on for tomorrow night?” When he blinked in confusion, she reminded him, “The jazz band.”
“Oh, right.” He smacked his forehead. “Yeah, we’re good. I can get away for a few hours.”
“We can cancel, if you want.”
“No,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“One thousand percent.”
There was just one thing Devyn didn’t understand. If Beau’s chaotic day was about to stretch into the week from hell, why was he smiling? He wasn’t getting laid for at least forty-eight hours. If anything, he should be in tears.
“Not that I’m complaining, but why the happy face?” she asked. “When you came down here, it looked like you had good news.”
“I do.” He slung her backpack over one shoulder and grabbed her duffel, then laced their fingers together and led her toward the bow ramp. “Awesome news. This is going to change everything.”
Devyn wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but she tried to match his excitement. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I just finished talking to Allie.”
“Oh, yeah? About what?”
“About you.”
When she slid him a wary glance, he explained, “You know, your issues with going back to college.”
Devyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, and as you pointed out, they’re my issues. I appreciate your concern, but you and my sister need to mind your own—”
“You haven’t heard the best part,” he interrupted. “I was thinking of ways I could help, and then I realized that since Allie moved in with Marc, her old apartment above the bakery is empty.”
“I could have told you that. She’s going to rent it to the—”
“No, she’s not.” Beau squeezed their linked hands. “I talked her into letting you stay there for free.”
Devyn stumbled and came to a clumsy halt. “You did what?”
“Think about it,” he said. “You’re part owner of the shop, so it makes sense to let you crash there. Now you can move out of your place and use that money for tuition.” He grinned so widely it crinkled the skin around his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about rent until after you graduate.”
Like she’d taken a soccer ball to the stomach, Devyn struggled to draw breath. She’d hidden her money problems from Allie for good reason, and it was mortifying to think that Beau had disclosed something so sensitive behind her back. Her cheeks flushed hot when she imagined what he’d probably said—how her car had been repossessed and the rent was a month overdue. That she could barely support herself, even though she was pushing thirty.
Did Beau and Allie think she needed a handout?
“I can’t believe you did that,” she finally said.
Beau beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “It was no big deal.”
“No.” She jerked free from his grasp. “I can’t believe you went to my sister and begged for charity. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
His smile disappeared.
“If I’d wanted to stay at the bakery,” she continued, her voice rising a notch, “I would have asked Allie myself. But I didn’t. And there’s a reason for that.” Living in her own rental house, even with its sagging front porch and a back door that didn’t lock, gave her some semblance of integrity. Of independence. She had no intention of giving that up. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Dev.” Still dazed, Beau shook his head. “I had no idea that—”
“I might not have a car,” she ground out. “Or nice furniture or fancy clothes. And yes, I’m a little behind on the bills. But that doesn’t mean I want a knight in shining armor to ride to my rescue. I don’t need a hero!”
“I wasn’t trying to be a—”
“Bullshit!” She held an index finger an inch from his nose. “That’s exactly what you’re trying to do—fix all my problems. I’m not a child.”
How could he see this as anything other than an act of betrayal? Beau should have come to her with his idea instead of going over her head. Besides, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t returning to college. “Damn it, I don’t want to go back to school, and that’s my decision to make. Not yours. Mine!”
He dropped her duffel bag and splayed both hands. “But you were happy in the education center. I can tell you don’t want to lead cemetery tours for that Warren guy.”
“So what?” she demanded. “The decision is still mine.”
“But part of that decision had to do with money. I thought if we removed that obstacle . . .”
“No. There is no we in this choice.” The longer she stood there watching his dumbfounded expression, the higher her blood pressure climbed. He still had no clue what he’d done wrong, so she said, “Don’t think that because we’re sleeping together, you get to make life decisions for me.”
“I don’t think that!”
“You know what? Forget it.” She sighed, holding out her hand. “Give me my backpack.”
He furrowed his brow, thumbing toward the parking lot. “Stop it, Dev. Let me drive you home.”
When he didn’t surrender the backpack, she wrestled it away from him. It took a few tries, but he eventually gave up the fight and let her jerk it from his shoulder. “I’m taking a cab.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how far Cedar Bayou—”
She cut him off with a fierce glare and said, “I swear to God, if you say that I don’t have money to waste on a taxi, I will turn you from a bull to a heifer with one kick.” The corset dress didn’t allow much range of motion, but she could work around that. “Don’t test me, Dumont!”
Wisely, Beau shut his mouth and handed her the duffel bag. He didn’t say a word or chase after her when she stormed off the boat, another smart move on his part.
Without looking back, Devyn continued across the dock parking lot and crossed the street toward the French Quarter. She would never admit it, but Beau was right—she couldn’t afford a taxi ride to Cedar Bayou. As soon as she was out of sight of the Belle, she pulled out her cell phone and sent a text to her sister.
DON’T MENTION THIS TO BEAU, but I need a ride home. I’ll be at the Sweet Spot. Meet me there as soon as you can. PS: Thanks, but I’m not taking the apartment.
Devyn pocketed her phone and set off for the bakery, hoping the staff had plenty of freshly baked brown sugar pecan scones. She was going to need one. Or a dozen.
• • •
Beau scrubbed a hand over his face and checked the clock on the purser’s office wall. He felt like he’d been running accounts for a week, but only two hours had passed since Devyn’s explosive tirade. He couldn’t focus on profits and losses while the image of her icy-blue glare burned behind his retinas. Groaning, he pushed away a stack of paperwork and rotated his neck to disperse the tension that had his muscles tangled in knots.
Marc glanced up from his laptop, then studied Beau with a shit-eating grin. “I heard you got your ass handed to you by your girlfriend. Do you need a hug?”
Beau flashed a hand gesture that told his little brother exactly what he could do with that hug. “Who told you that?”
“Let’s see . . .” Marc peered at the ceiling in contemplation. “I heard it from Alex, who heard it from Nicky, who heard it from a housekeeper he’s probably banging, who heard it from a server, who heard it from the porter that saw the whole thing.”
“Jesus,” Beau muttered while pinching his temples. “This place is worse than high school.”
“That’s not the best part,” Marc said with a smirk that was going to get his ass kicked if he didn’t knock it off. “According to the entertainment staff, the whole thing was your fault.”
“Mine?” Beau asked, pointing at himself. Unbelievable. That old saying was true: no good deed went unpunished. “How do they figure I’m the bad guy?”
“Well, that’s where the story breaks down. One version says you got busted sweet-talking a dancer from the sta
ge show, and another claims it was a guest,” he said, his grin widening. “But I know you better than that. I think you opened that big trap of yours, and something moronic tumbled out. How close am I?”
Folding his arms, Beau leaned back in his chair and returned his brother’s sneer. “You’re off by a mile, as usual.”
Marc swept a permissive hand over his laptop. “Then enlighten me.”
“You know what my big crime was?” Beau asked, secretly glad for the opportunity to talk through his frustrations. He’d tried tracking down Allie, but she’d left an hour ago to run an errand. “I tried to help Dev achieve her dream.” He released a humorless laugh while holding up both palms like a robbery victim. “Get a rope and call the lynch mob.”
“Mmm-hmm.” The twist of Marc’s lips said he wasn’t convinced. “What would she say if I asked for her side of the story?”
Beau could still hear the fury in Devyn’s voice. Tension began clawing a ragged trail into his head, and he reminded himself to unclench his jaw. “She’s stubborn.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Beau puffed a sigh. “She’d say it’s none of my business.” Which, if you asked him, was ass backward. He cared for Devyn, so of course her happiness was his business—it was at the top of his priority list. As it should be.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you did to help?” Marc said. “Then I’ll tell you where you went wrong.”
“Fine.” Beau supposed it couldn’t hurt to get an outside opinion. So he told his brother everything, starting with what happened at the Cedar Bayou reunion, where he learned how much financial trouble Devyn had fallen into.
“That’s why I offered her a job in the education center,” he said, then went on to explain her transformation working with the kids.
Everything was going fine until he told Marc, “Money’s the biggest problem in getting her back to college, so I started thinking of ways to handle her expenses. . . .”
But when he said the words out loud, it kind of sounded like he’d overstepped his boundaries. That’s when Beau felt the first pinprick of awareness in the gut, a needling sensation that told him he might have made a mistake. Money was a touchy subject. If he were the one with no cash, would he want Devyn brainstorming solutions for him—and talking to other people about it?
