All That Charm: (A Morning Glory Novel Book 3)

by Liz Talley

  Alarm streaked down his spine. “You can’t quit.”

  “Actually, I never started. I need to get out of New Orleans. I can’t handle the shit going down here.”

  Damn it. He didn’t want her to quit. He needed her. “Look, you don’t have to do that. Sophie and I need you.”

  Calli shook her head. “Nah, this isn’t the job for me. It’s cool. I’m not mad or anything. Just need to clear my head about my life.”

  She walked away, leaving Nick looking much like a fish out of water.

  When Rhoda patted his hand, it jarred him back to the coffee shop and the present. Rhoda gave him a half smile. “Something will work out.”

  “What if nothing does?” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, shifting a glance over to his daughter, who still had earbuds in but had turned to watch a gaggle of girls near her age play games on an iPad at a nearby table. “Don’t do it, Rhoda. Tell your Internet boyfriend to move here. We have nature in New Orleans. He can photograph that.”

  “Look,” Rhoda said, cupping her hands around her coffee cup, glancing at Sophie to make sure she wasn’t listening. “This is my shot at love, you know? I’m nearly forty-five and no spring chicken. Cedric’s asked me to come be with him, so I can’t stay here, living my life as your nanny. I need more than that. And frankly, Nick, so do you. We’re in a holding pattern here. You working like a dog and me . . . Well, I want to be in a full relationship. Skyping is not the same as touching. I have to take this chance.” Rhoda pressed her hands to the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Obviously Bieber wasn’t turned up loud enough because Sophie started to cry. Crying wasn’t pretty for a child with cerebral palsy. People turned to look at them. He was used to it, but he still didn’t like it. He placed a firm hand on his daughter’s free hand. Don’t do this, Soph. Hold it together.

  “Damn.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You need to get her out of here.”

  “I know,” Rhoda said, spreading her hands. “But, Nick, Sophie has to learn to deal with disappointment, to understand life is not about getting everything she wants.”

  Nick slammed a hand down on the table. “Really, Rho? You think she doesn’t know that?”

  “Nick.”

  “No. She’s about to lose it and so am I,” he said, pushing his chair back. He wanted to yell at Rhoda for doing such a stupid thing. Chasing after a man she’d known for a few months? Why? Her home was here in New Orleans. She had a good job, sold her pottery at a friend’s stall in the French Market and seemed happy. Why was she rocking the boat? Because she thought she was in a rut? Hell, being in a rut was a good thing. It was called routine, and he wanted the routine they’d had for the past five years back.

  “Nick, I love Cedric. I’m not trying to hurt you or Soph. I love y’all too, but this is the right thing. I know it in my bones,” Rhoda said, sliding a hand over to stroke Sophie’s arm.

  Love? What a crock of shit. He’d been there and done that and look what it had gotten him—sole custody of his disabled daughter and a frickin’ ex-wife who always had a reason she couldn’t come to New Orleans to see Sophie. Love was selfish, and it sucked people dry.

  Sophie screamed when he took the drink from her, and his already frazzled nerves frayed even more. A hot, panicky feeling rose inside him.

  Rhoda took Sophie’s chin and turned the child so she looked at her. “You can stay and finish if you calm down. Do you want to stay?”

  “Yes!” Sophie said, tears still streaming down her face. “I wanna stay.”

  “Then you have to stop fussing, Soph.”

  Nicked eased back in his seat and tried to relax the hand gripping his own cup. He counted to ten, watching Sophie struggle to rein in her emotions.

  “Okay,” his daughter said, trying to nod. She jerked her chin from Rhoda’s grasp and looked out the window, effectively dismissing her nanny. For a few seconds he saw the regret, guilt, and hurt in Rhoda’s eyes, and something inside him took comfort in those emotions. Rhoda should feel bad. She was abandoning his sweet girl for a crazy photographer who ate fried bologna. Yeah, Nick had checked Cedric’s profile on social media. Who used “Likes bald eagles, playing the flute, and frying bologna” as their Twitter bio?

  “Well, that was fun,” he said, picking up his coffee, relieved Sophie had been able to calm down quickly. She was getting better at that, which was a relief. Her tantrums rivaled any toddler’s, and often they had to vacate wherever they happened to be. Who knew there was such power in the Earthy Bean’s signature drink?

  Rhoda shot him an apologetic glance and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Nick sucked in a deep breath and then donned his fake restaurant smile. “Everything will be okay. We’ll get a new nanny, a fun nanny. That will be cool, huh, Sophie?”

  His daughter ripped her gaze from the window and gave him a slack-eyed look. “No.”

  Nick felt his phone vibrate and glanced down at where it lay on the table. It was Maude’s, the uptown bistro. No doubt Chef Fredrico had quit again. Or thrown a saltcellar at a dishwasher’s head. Or something equally dire. Nick couldn’t go on this way. He needed help. So instead of answering the call, he clicked his contact list and dialed the only person he’d not tapped for help yet. He needed a miracle.

  Yesterday.

  Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Eden tossed her phone onto the table at the Earthy Bean and dropped her face into her hands. No job opportunities at any dance schools. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she contemplated letting them fall. After all, she didn’t know anyone who lived in New Orleans. Okay, she knew one person who lived here, but Morgan was out working on a cruise ship for the next few months. So who cared if she broke down and sobbed at a random coffee shop on . . . What was the street called again? Oh, yeah, Magazine.

  Eden squinched her face and tried to think about happy things. Baby duckies. Mocha ice cream. Twinkling Christmas lights. Anything to prevent boo-hooing on top of the café table.

  “Would you mind if I borrowed this chair?” a man asked, interrupting the version of “My Favorite Things” running through her head, drawing her attention to the fact she was sitting in a public place. Even if the coffee shop contained no one she knew, people probably didn’t want to witness ugly crying.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Thank you,” he said, giving her a smile and pulling the bright orange chair toward the table across from her. “You doin’ okay?”

  He had a New Orleans accent, a rich mellowness balanced by hard vowels.

  And he was good-looking. Very good-looking.

  Then she noticed the little girl in the wheelchair across from the man. Suddenly she felt small for indulging in pity. She had two good legs that could twirl, pirouette, and tap-dance. She might have roaches on her counters, no job, and $950.00 in her checking account to last until her first nonexistent paycheck, but she had a body that worked. This child did not. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  The man sank down and looked over his shoulder. Eden followed his gaze to the counter where a woman balanced two coffees and a fluffy coffee creation with sprinkles. The woman didn’t match the man, who had a sleek, sophisticated look. She wore a bright skirt, clogs, and had dreads. But she definitely headed toward the table with the man and child.

  “I borrowed a chair for you,” the man said, giving the woman a smile. He had good teeth—perfectly straight and very white. He had a thick five-o’clock shadow and a small cleft in his chin. Eyes looked light. Maybe gray like her friend Rosemary’s. He wasn’t super tall, but he commanded attention like a celebrity. Larger than life. Here was a man who could get what he wanted. Eden knew that at once.

  “Thanks, Mr. Z. Here’s your coco loco, Miss Priss,” the woman said, setting the whipped-cream-topped cup in front of the girl, who looked about seven or eight years old. The arms that moved involuntarily paired with rigidity of the trunk told Eden the child likely had cerebral palsy. The woman turned and caught Eden staring and gave her the
stink eye. Eden jerked her gaze away and tried not to blush again. Hastily she picked up her phone and pretended to study it. She knew how it felt to be stared at. Whenever she took her mother to the doctor, people looked.

  Eden’s stomach growled. She’d had a decent breakfast and planned on supplementing with a protein bar during her break, but since she had spent the past two hours desperately seeking employment, she reasoned she deserved more than a damn crumbled Quest Bar. Scooting her chair back, she left her cup to hold her table in the suddenly crowded coffee shop and headed toward the counter.

  The girl behind the counter had red and orange hair, a ring in her nose, and a friendly smile. “You want more coffee?”

  “Lord, no.” Eden laughed. “If I have any more caffeine, you’ll have to pull me off the ceiling. Better go with some food this time. Give me a turkey on ciabatta bread and a large ice tea, please.”

  After digging out the twenty-dollar bill Aunt Ruby Jean had tucked in her back pocket when she hugged her goodbye, Eden slid it across the counter to the girl. The thought of every single dime now mattering caused Eden to take a chance. “Hey, you don’t happen to need any help, do you?”

  “Doing what?” the girl asked, pulling a large cup from a stack and scooping ice into it.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean with my order.” Eden shook her head. “I was supposed to start work at the dance school across the street today, but they closed down. I’m without a job.”

  “Oh, for a second I thought you didn’t trust me with your sandwich,” the girl said with a teasing smile. “You’re not from around here, are you? I noticed the accent.”

  “I’m from Mississippi. Just got off the boat yesterday.”

  “Right,” the girl laughed, grabbing a pitcher filled with tea. “That’s tough luck on the job thing. One of the dance moms came in and said Jill’s father died and left her millions. Guess she no longer needs to work or something. Lucky Jill. Unlucky you.”

  Eden sighed and slid the change off the counter, dropping a dollar into the tip jar. “Very unlucky me. I kinda need a job.”

  The girl turned and jabbed a long black fingernail toward the plate glass window over Eden’s shoulder. “We don’t have anything, but Sister Regina Marie from over at All Souls came in a few days ago and said they were looking for someone to work janitorial. She knew my brother had been looking, but he got hired at Best Buy last week. You might check over there to see if they filled the position or not.”

  “Oh,” Eden said, peering out the window, noting the large white wall partially covered with some sort of ivy she didn’t recognize. Janitorial? Not so glamorous, but a job was a job. And how different would it be from what she’d been doing for the past few years? She had cleaned the public bathrooms at Penny Pinchers many a morning before opening, and she was head housekeeper at home. Okay, only housekeeper. Either way, Eden knew her way around a mop and duster. “It’s a school?”

  “Yeah. For special-needs children. In fact, Sophie goes there.” She nodded toward the little girl in the wheelchair. The conversation at the table seemed to have grown intense, and the child looked to be in tears. “I’m Mia, by the way.”

  “Hi, I’m Eden.”

  “I bet Nick wouldn’t mind answering some questions about the school. That’s Sophie’s dad.” Mia leaned close and lowered her voice. “And he’s total hotness, right?”

  Eden felt flustered at the question and immediately hated herself for being so lame. Who got worked up over a stupid comment about a guy being cute? Okay, more than cute—cornea-scalding hot. But still.

  Mia didn’t notice because she’d turned away to pop bread in the toaster. “The good news is that people who work there seem happy. Sister Regina Marie is like, the most awesome nun ever.”

  “Thanks,” Eden said, taking the block with her order number on it.

  “No problem. Hope it works out, and sorry about the other job. That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  Eden headed back to her table and tried not to look at Nick, the hot dad who no longer smiled. In fact, he looked upset. Settling back in her chair, she pulled her attention toward tapping a message to her two best friends:

  Made it to NOLA. Apartment is great but my job fell through. In process of finding another one. But I love New Orleans!!! Can’t wait for y’all to visit.

  There. That sounded positive and halfway truthful. Okay, maybe two-thirds true. She couldn’t wait for her friends to visit, and she was looking for a job.

  She knew Jess and Rosemary were worried about her. Hell, she was worried about her. But she knew what very few people knew—she was a fighter. She might look small, quiet, and sometimes mousy, but she was a Voorhees. That meant beneath her calm demeanor lay a scrapper, born to hold tight, weather the storm, and lift a defiant chin. The white trash in her blood gave her something her gently reared friends didn’t have—a swagger that dared life to knock her down. Because Eden would always get up again. It was coded in her DNA. Never surrender.

  Her phone dinged.

  Oh, crap. What will you do without a job?

  Jess never minced words.

  Eden tapped,

  Find another one. I’ve got mad skills at the cash register. Don’t worry.

  She smiled her thanks and pocketed her phone as Mia set the basket containing her sandwich on the table. She already knew what her friends would text. Jess would give suggestions. Rosemary would use lots of emoticons and exclamation points. Nothing either one of them could do about the lack of employment. Eden’s fate lay in her own two hands.

  After eating her sandwich, Eden tucked her small notebook away and pushed her chair in. Hot Dad Nick glanced over at her. So did the child who wore whipped cream on her nose, which somehow made her adorable. The child said something, but Eden couldn’t understand her. So Eden gave a little pinky wave.

  Exiting the coffeehouse, she headed toward the school. It was almost four o’clock and likely a good time to stop in and see if the position was still open. The block was busy with cars rolling one right after the other through the surprisingly cramped street. Branches of oaks hung low, bowing gracefully, and the stores and businesses along the street were festooned in varying colors as if refusing to be sedate. The scrolled iron gates of the school stood open with large banana plants waving a greeting, and the building bore yawning stained glass windows. Eden climbed up the stone steps to a double door that looked straight out of a European monastery. A buzzer sat to the left. She pressed it and waited.

  “Yeah?” an older woman asked.

  “Uh, I’m here to see . . .” Eden searched her memory. What was the nun’s name? “Uh, Sister Marie Anne?”

  “There isn’t a Sister Marie Anne. Maybe you’re wanting Saint Pius. Five blocks over.” The woman’s New Orleans accent was heavy and sounded kind of like Rosemary’s husband Sal’s.

  Damn. “Uh. Sorry. I got her mixed up with a nun at my old school,” Eden said, her mind tumbling over the two names Mia had spouted. “Uh, it was Sister Marie . . . uh.”

  “Sister Regina Marie?”

  “Yes,” Eden nearly shouted. “Sorry, it’s been a shi—uh, bad day.”

  “What do you want with Sister Regina Marie?”

  “Mia told me to see Sister Regina Marie?” Eden said in her sweetest voice. Please let me in. Please let them still have the job open. She could clean toilets. Mop floors. Sprinkle those weird pine-shavings on vomit. “My name’s Eden.”

  The woman snorted but the buzzer sounded. Grasping the iron handle, Eden hefted the old door open and stepped into a foyer. The blue linoleum was dated, but the beautiful dark wood surrounding her was timeless.

  A head poked out from a little sliding glass partition. “Hey. Over here.”

  “Oh, hello,” Eden said, donning her best customer-service smile. “I’m Eden.”

  “Come on around and I’ll check you in. I’ll need your license.”

  “Oh.”

  Eden stepped through the open doo
rway to find a rotund woman in a shirtwaist dress sitting at a small desk. The secretary wore horn-rimmed readers that perched on her fat nose, and her white hair had been set in tiny pin curls. Her expression was dour, but her blue eyes were sharp and somehow kind. The name placard said Pearl Guillot.

  Eden pulled her driver’s license from the beat-up wallet she’d had for ten years. “Here you are.”

  The older woman swept Eden with an appraising look and apparently found her yoga pants and tight spandex top lacking because she frowned and harrumphed. “Sister Regina Marie is in the library, but I’ll tell her you’re here. Of course, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you don’t look like you’re a serial killer.” She glanced back at the driver’s license before handing it back to Eden. “And besides, you’re from Mississippi.”

  Did that mean people from Mississippi were harmless? Eden didn’t ask. She’d learned long ago to never look a gift horse in the mouth. She’d gained entrance, and that was a first step in a direction. What direction that was, Eden could only guess. But it was better than sitting at the Earthy Bean, steeped in pity. “Uh, I’m actually here about the position.”

  “What position?”

  “Well, Mia over at the Earthy Bean said Sister Regina Marie told her about a position on the janitorial staff. See, I was supposed to start teaching over at Jill’s School of Dance, but they closed and didn’t even call to tell me. I just moved here from Morning Glory and used most of my money to move here, so when I found out I didn’t have a job anymore, I sort of panicked. When I said something to Mia, she pointed me here. I’m hoping the position isn’t filled because I really need a job. Like, it’s vital to my being able to stay here and go to school at UNO.” Eden snapped her mouth shut, horrified. The stream of words that had poured from her mouth might have been the most she’d ever said at one time.