Good Times

by Kate, Jiffy

  After locking the door and flipping a sign to let everyone know I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, I turn toward the road and look both ways before jogging across. Finley sees me the second I step onto the opposing sidewalk and even though his lips are on the saxophone, his eyes light up with a smile.

  There are a few people standing around listening, so I join the crowd and enjoy the show, losing myself in the moment, almost forgetting for a second that I’m on a sidewalk in New Orleans listening to my oldest friend play a song as old as time in a city that feels more right than anything has in a long, long time.

  When the song is over, the crowd applauds and Finley dips his head in humble appreciation. They toss change and bills in an open case and I stand back, just watching.

  “Is that for me?” he asks, gesturing to the cake in my hand.

  He’s now standing a mere few inches from me, adjusting his sax to the side, letting it hang from the strap around his neck. For some reason, my heart pounds a little faster at the sight. It reminds me of a sunny day in a public park in Dallas. Finley had invited me to come while he played. I laid under a tree on a blanket and read an assigned book for my Senior AP English class and we’d steal smiles and hot looks, letting the connection zip between us. Even though we were surrounded by people, it was like we were the only people on earth.

  I miss that.

  It’s been so long since I’ve felt so wholly seen and understood.

  Clearing my throat, I shake my head and bring my attention back to the present. “Yeah, I, uh… Cami’s pregnant,” I blurt out, like he didn’t know that bit of information and it explains why I’m standing here with this piece of cake. “She has a problem. Actually, we have a problem because she buys at least one King Cake a day and there’re only so much baked goods two women can consume in a day. So, I thought I’d bring you a piece.”

  Finley squints an eye, looking down at me.

  Have I mentioned how tall he is?

  So tall.

  Taller than he was the last time we kissed.

  What the heck?

  Where did that thought come from?

  “Thank you,” he says, reaching out and accepting the plate and saving me from my inner monologue and the off chance those random thoughts come flying out of my mouth.

  Crazier things have happened.

  “I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so…” He holds up the plate and offers me a wide Finley Lawson smile, full of bright, white teeth and so much charm it makes my stomach drop.

  “Good,” I say, smoothing my hands down the front of my skirt to dry my palms that are suddenly sweating. New Orleans, man. I’d never be sweating like this in the middle of January in New York.

  Finley steps back and cuts off a bite of the flaky, sweet goodness. Popping it in his mouth, he moans his appreciation and I avert my eyes, searching for something else to distract me.

  Anything.

  “Oh,” I say, remembering the other reason for me coming over here. “Cami wants me to invite you to our King Cake Party. It’s going to be at the gallery next week and if you’d be interested, we’d love for you to play. She even mentioned something about playing with her brother, Tucker.”

  “Right,” Finley says, nodding as he takes another bite. When he’s finished chewing, he licks lingering sugar off his lips. “We talked at the New Year’s Eve party. I have his number. I’ll give him a call. When is the party?”

  Stop, Georgette.

  Stop this right now.

  Of course, Finley still affects me like this. I can’t help that.

  I’ve always been attracted to him. Even when I first met him and he was lanky and awkward, I still thought he was beautiful with his caramel-colored skin, dark eyes, full lips… and that thick, wavy hair.

  Most women would kill for his features.

  Time hasn’t changed any of that, only improved.

  “Next Friday night,” I tell him, swallowing down the flood of feelings. Old and new, all-consuming.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Smiling, I try to quell the flip in my stomach. “Great,” I reply with a nod as I retreat a step. I need to get back to the gallery. I need to call Trevor, my boyfriend. And I need my old friend, Finley, to stop looking at me with those intense, gray eyes.

  Yeah, everything is great.

  Totally fine.

  Nothing to see here.

  I’m practically halfway across the street when I hear Finley callout after me. “Wanna meet me for coffee?”

  Whipping around, I glance around to make sure I’m not about to get creamed in the crosswalk and brush rogue curls from my face. “What?”

  That’s a rhetorical question, I know what he asked. I’m just not sure what my answer should be.

  We’re friends.

  We’ve always been friends.

  Besides my boss and her family, he’s the only person I know in the state of Louisiana.

  Having someone to explore my new city with is ideal.

  It’s the safe thing to do, right?

  I think even Trevor could agree with that.

  “Coffee?” Finley repeats.

  It’s not dinner or a date, Georgette. Get a grip.

  “Sure,” I finally reply.

  His smile lights up the entire street. “Great. Do you know where Neutral Grounds is?”

  I nod. It’s Cami’s favorite and her friend, CeCe, owns it. And CeCe is married to Shepard Rhys-Jones, who’s from Dallas. Finley’s grandma worked for his family.

  Small world.

  I nod my response.

  “Meet me there at six?” he asks. “We can talk more about the party.”

  Right, the party.

  Good idea.

  “Sounds like a d—” I almost said date and feel like smacking my forehead, but instead, I force a smile and correct myself. “Deal. I’ll be there.” And then I run across the street like a scared little girl, back to the safety of the gallery.

  After unlocking the door and taking the sign down, I lean against the wall and let out a deep sigh. “What are you doing, Georgette?” I ask myself, closing my eyes but then opening them quickly, because behind my lids are only flashes of gray eyes, brown curly hair, and full lips.

  Walking over to the desk, I pick up my phone and shoot Trevor a text.

  Me: Hey, you.

  Hey, you?

  God, I’m an idiot, but in my defense, I’m short on things to call Trevor—besides Trevor—because he thinks every nickname is stupid. The first time I called him babe, he looked at me like I’d spilled milk on his alligator loafers.

  “Don’t call me that,” he’d said. “We’re not in high school. We don’t need pet names.”

  Always so damn serious.

  I wait a second for the three little dots to show up, but they never do. Not that I thought he’d reply right away, but I’d hoped he would. Just this once. Because I need him to. I need to get my head on straight.

  Why do I have a feeling Finley is going to want to talk about more than the King Cake Party?

  Am I ready for that?

  Thankfully, the front door opens and a few women walk into the gallery.

  “Welcome to 303 Royal,” I greet, getting my mind off Finley and back onto my job. This is where I thrive, where I know my place and I’m confident in my abilities. It’s like the universe knew exactly what I needed. Taking a deep, much-needed breath, I step away from the desk and square my shoulders.

  Let’s sell some art.

  Chapter Seven

  Finley

  “How’s Maggie?” Jette asks, taking a sip of her coffee as we sit by the window in the front of Neutral Grounds. I picked this spot before she got here for two reasons. One, I wanted some privacy because I’m hoping to finally broach the topics we’ve been evading since she walked into Lagniappe. Two, I needed somewhere to put my eyes besides Georgette Taylor, and the people watching outside this window is a good distraction.

  Sometimes, I still have to ask myself if thi
s is real life.

  I’ve missed her so much, more than I’ve admitted to myself in a long time.

  “She’s good,” I tell her, picking at the cardboard sleeve on my cup. This week has actually felt like winter here in New Orleans. The temps have finally dropped into the forties at night and mid-fifties during the day. It’s nice. And CeCe is reaping the rewards.

  Neutral Grounds is buzzing.

  Speaking of CeCe, I catch her watching us and chuckle.

  “What’s funny?” Jette asks, glancing over her shoulder.

  “CeCe,” I say, shaking my head as she realizes she’s been caught creeping and busies herself behind the counter, engaging a customer in conversation.

  Jette turns her attention back to me and her cheeks are tinged with pink. She’s always been so easy to embarrass; her emotions are always on display. “She’s great,” Jette says. “I guess she and Cami go way back. Cami told me when she was in New Orleans for college, CeCe worked here for her uncle. That painting hanging over there is one of Cami’s first pieces she ever sold.”

  My eyes leave Jette and go to a beautiful landscape painting behind the counter. It’s full of color and the images seem to be alive on the canvas. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” Jette says wistfully. “She’s so talented. I’ve been trying to talk her into bringing more of her own work to the gallery, but she insists the mission of the gallery is to bring attention to local, lesser-known artists.”

  “You two seem to be fast friends,” I say before taking a sip of my coffee. Damn, this is good. I played in a lot of coffee bars in Dallas and none of them compared to this. CeCe is a coffee genius, which is why she’s getting ready to start selling her own bulk coffee. The space next door is currently being remodeled into a roastery.

  Jette smiles. “Cami feels like the sister I never had, but she’s also my boss, of course. It’s so different from my job in New York.”

  Here we go. I’ve been waiting on a segue and this is the closest we’ve come to discussing her leaving, New York, college, and the last five years, so I know it’s now or never.

  “Do you miss New York?” I ask, glancing down at the table and then back up at her. She bites down on her lip and then averts her eyes and I hold my breath. I’m not sure what I expect her answer to be or even want it to be, for that matter, but I need it.

  Are you staying?

  Is this temporary?

  Will you come back into my life and let me get used to having you around again, only to leave me?

  If the answer to that last question is yes, then I don’t know if I can continue whatever this is we’ve fallen into, or back into. For me, I think it would be better to pretend she’s not even here and go back to how my life was before New Year’s Eve—life without Georgette. I’d finally gotten used to it and was doing just fine.

  Lies.

  All of it.

  “This is going to sound bad, but I don’t… like, nothing,” she says, with a shocked laugh, like she even surprised herself with that answer.

  I know she surprised me.

  I thought she would at least bring up the boyfriend.

  Yeah, I know about him.

  I’ve done some snooping on Georgette Taylor, this version sitting across from me, the one that on one hand is so familiar, yet on the other hand, is a complete stranger. I needed to know some basic information, so I bribed CeCe into giving it to me. She asked Cami and then got back to me.

  Pretty sure I already knew about Trevor, just not his name. Back when I flew to New York to find Jette and beg her to give us a chance, I think he was the guy I saw her with, the one who convinced me to let her go without even saying a word.

  She was with him, it was obvious.

  And she was happy.

  That was enough for me, because it’s all I ever really wanted.

  “I thought I would miss it and that it would take me a while to adjust to a new city,” she continues, her shoulders raising up as she inhales and then relaxing as she blows the breath out. “But I feel so at home here, like this city was just waiting for me.”

  Her smile and laughter are contagious and I find myself, once again, not wanting to ruin it with the past, but I’m not the kid I used to be. The difference between eighteen and twenty-three is that I no longer shy away from heartache or hard topics. I’ve learned it’s better to man-up.

  “How long are you planning on staying?”

  That’s the first question I need answered.

  Jette’s beautiful blue eyes go wide, but then she recovers, cocking her head and leaning back into her seat, taking her coffee with her. She seems relaxed as she answers, “As long as New Orleans will have me.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, pushing.

  She sighs, placing her cup back on the table. “I don’t know, Finley.” Her tone sounds calm with a hint of annoyance. One thing Georgette has never liked is people pushing her. She despised her father for pushing her toward a career she didn’t want. She despised her mother for pushing her to be someone she wasn’t. I think, at one point, she even despised me for pushing her to choose me.

  “I’m here for however long Cami wants me here,” she continues. “For however long I’m a good fit for the gallery. Hopefully, that’s for a long time. But if Cami comes back from her maternity leave and feels like she no longer needs me, then I guess I’ll move on to something else.”

  “Back to New York?”

  She shrugs, noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

  Perhaps?

  What the fuck kind of answer is that?

  “Yes or no,” I push, knowing I’m treading on thin ice.

  Jette huffs, her blue eyes boring into me. “I’d go wherever I could find a job,” she says, but then swallows and adds, “but I’d love to stay here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, with years of unspoken words floating around us.

  “I don’t even know why we’re discussing the demise of my current employment status,” she finally says, breaking through the tension. “I just got here and you’re already trying to get rid of me.”

  I smirk, brushing my thumb across my bottom lip. “No, I just got you back and I’m wondering for how long.”

  Her expression softens and she reaches across the table, placing her hand on mine. “I missed you, you know. I missed this… us.”

  “Why did you leave?” I ask, the question tumbling out before I have a chance to filter my thoughts.

  “Why did you not answer my calls?” she counters.

  I recognize the hurt on her face. It looks a lot like how I feel.

  “My phone got stolen from the coffee shop the day after you left,” I tell her. “I went to your house to ask your mom to give you my new number, but she wouldn’t even open the door. Shep tried to get it to you, but you never came home. I tried to call your old number, but—”

  “I got a new phone when I got to New York,” she says, cutting me off.

  She bites down on her bottom lip as she turns her attention to the window, her blue eyes shining with emotion.

  “I tried to write to you,” I admit. “But I didn’t know what dorm you were in, so the letters were returned.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about me going there, but I’m not ready for that. It feels like too much of a confession, too big of a gesture for friends.

  She sighs, finally looking at me again. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I just… I knew if I saw you, it would only make it harder. I didn’t know we’d go nearly five years without talking.” The laugh that escapes her is sad. “When I came home, the few times I came home, I went to the coffee shop you always used to play at but you were never there. I decided it was best to…”

  “Leave us in the past?” I ask.

  There’s so much sadness in her expression as she nods. I hate it. I’ve never liked seeing her sad, always wanting to do anything to make her happy. That’s when I decide this is enough. For today, this is enough
.

  “Let’s do that,” I suggest.

  “Do what?” Her brows pull together in confusion.

  Flipping my palm over, I invite her to place her hand in mine. “Leave it in the past. Start fresh here in our new city.”

  When her shoulders fall in defeat, I realize she’s misunderstood what I’m suggesting, I quickly amend, “as friends.”

  “Friends,” she repeats.

  I can’t interpret the expression that crosses her face, but as quickly as it flashes across her features, it’s gone, and in its place is a beautiful smile. I’ve always been able to tell when her smiles are the real deal, because it reaches her eyes and there’s a small dimple in the top of her right cheek.

  There’s still more we need to discuss, but the rest can wait. We’ve covered enough of the past for one day. “We should go exploring,” I suggest, switching gears to give us both a reprieve. Plus, I want to spend more time with her, in whatever capacity I’m allowed. “I’ve been here for a while now, but I don’t get out much, except to play my gigs.”

  “Ever been to Bourbon Street?” Georgette asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

  I smile, happy to have the easiness back between us. “A few times.” When I first got here, I went out of sheer curiosity and then the guys from the club invited me out a few times after we’ve closed down. I tried playing on one of the corners down there but I felt like I was competing with the music filtering out of the bars. The corner on Royal is much more my speed and I love the atmosphere.

  “I’m dying to go,” Jette admits.

  “Really?” I ask, a little surprised. “Bourbon doesn’t seem like your scene.”

  Her smile grows and it’s a new smile. Part of it is the same familiar one that’s played over and over in my dreams these past five years but it’s mixed with something new. A part of Jette I don’t know, the part she’s become since she left Dallas and grew her wings.

  I want to know this Jette too.

  “Well, I’ll never know until I go,” she finally says and it speaks to my soul. It’s how I felt the day I left Dallas. I was so unsure of coming here and starting over in a new city, but after Maggie left and I was basically alone, I thought, fuck it, what do I have to lose?