Good Times

by Kate, Jiffy

  “What’s wrong with Zeppelin?” Shep tries to look offended but I know better. He’s more of a Stones guy anyway.

  “Nothing is wrong with them, but do you know how many times a day I have people ask me to play ‘Stairway to Heaven’? On a freaking sax, no less?”

  Laughing, Shep concedes. “Yeah, I imagine that would get old pretty quick. Looks like you’ve had a good morning, though.”

  “Yeah, it’s been great. What brings you out here today?”

  “I was scoping out a property nearby and hoped you’d be playing, so I took a chance and grabbed some coffees for us.”

  I take a tentative sip to make sure the coffee is cooled off enough to drink before taking a hefty gulp. There’s a different kind of burn with this coffee and it causes me to cough a little.

  “What is this spiked with? And why?” I ask, wiping my eyes.

  “Oh, I’m not exactly sure what CeCe puts in her special coffees. It could be Irish cream liquor or vodka… or both. It’s sure to keep you warm, that’s for sure.”

  “Damn, she has a heavy hand, but tell her I appreciate it. I just hope I’m able to walk across the street to the gallery after this,” I say, chuckling.

  “No worries, man. Everyone stumbles down here, thanks to the open container law. Just don’t knock any of those paintings off the walls and make Georgette kick your ass. Speaking of, how are things between you two now that she’s back from New York? I haven’t seen you much, so I assume things are going really well…”

  I expect my cheeks to get hot at what he’s insinuating but they don’t because I’m not embarrassed. Not even a little bit. I won’t kiss and tell but I sure as hell won’t deny what’s been going on between me and Jette either.

  “Things are perfect. I had no idea it could be so good, to be honest.”

  Shep’s smile is genuine as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “That’s great, Finn. I’m thrilled for you both. I always knew you two would find your way back to each other.”

  “Oh, really? Since when? Because if I recall correctly, and I believe I do, your advice to me after Jette left was to go out and ‘get some’ while I’m still young.”

  He scoffs, waving me off. “That was the old me. The new and improved me knew you and Georgette were made for each other.” His expression is completely serious but I can’t help but call him out.

  “Does this new you have anything to do with you being married now?”

  “Well, I can’t deny being with CeCe has shown me the error of my ways, but I’d like to think I would’ve matured on my own eventually.”

  “Yeah, doubtful,” I say, laughing, earning a light punch to my shoulder. Looking past him, I notice people clearing paths along the streets. “What are those barricades up for over there?”

  Shep turns and looks over his shoulder. “Road closures, man. They are the bane of the locals’ existence during Mardi Gras, or so CeCe says. This is my first time to be in the city during the carnival season, but I do know parades are everywhere and at random times, so watch out if you have to be somewhere you can’t walk to.”

  “So, that means a parade will be making its way to Royal Street?” I ask, still scoping everything out as people pass by. “I haven’t seen one yet. I wonder if Jette would want to watch.”

  “Most businesses close early between now and Fat Tuesday because of the parades, but she might not know that. Why don’t you go relay the message,” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “You’ve barely taken your eyes off the gallery since I’ve been standing here. I’m guessing you’re about to jump out of your skin if you don’t see her soon, am I right?”

  “Shut up,” I mutter, refusing to make eye contact with him because he’s damn right. “But, thanks for the heads up.”

  Giving my shoulder one last strong clap, he starts walking down the sidewalk toward Neutral Grounds. “Don’t be such a stranger, jackass,” he calls out. “And bring your girl over for dinner soon.”

  “Yes, sir!” I yell back before packing up my things and heading across the street.

  When I step inside the gallery and see Jette speaking with a client, I can’t help the smile that covers my face. It still feels a bit surreal that she’s really here and she’s really doing what she loves—what she was meant to do.

  And she’s all mine.

  And I’m so damn proud of her.

  I try to sneak by and hide my case in the office in the back but she sees me anyway, giving me a quick wave before turning back to the woman she’s been speaking to. While she works, I decide to walk around and look at the new art she’s brought in this past week.

  The gallery is actually a lot bigger inside than it looks from the street. I love how these spaces are deeper than they are wide. With the columns and rooms off to the sides that open into each other, it’s easy to get lost in the art and forget where you are.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Jette to find me and when she does, she greets me with a smile and a kiss that’s not nearly long enough.

  Fucking jobs and workplace protocol.

  “You cut your set short?” she asks.

  “Yeah, they’re setting up for a parade that looks like it’s about to start, so I thought I’d see if you want to go watch it with me?”

  Her face lights up. “I’d love to. Dani mentioned something about closing early if I wanted to this week, but I didn’t realize we’d be this close to a parade. This is so exciting!”

  An hour later, we’re locking up the front door when we hear music coming from down the street. Taking Jette’s hand, I take off down the sidewalk, finding a space in the crowd just big enough for the two of us to squeeze in.

  I don’t even know what kind of parade to expect but everyone around us seems really excited. There are a lot of kids running around, as well, so I assume it’s a family-friendly one. But you just never know in New Orleans.

  “Look! I see something coming!” Jette shouts, standing on her tip-toes and pointing down the street.

  When the procession gets closer, I’m able to read the large banner being carried by a few people leading the way. It says “Krewe of Barkus” but that doesn’t mean anything to me. There are so many krewes, I can’t keep them all straight. A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know what a krewe was.

  But, from first glance, it’s easy to tell this isn’t a typical parade.

  For one, instead of large floats coming down the street, I see a bunch of people walking. Also, instead of tossing beads and cups into the crowd, these people have leashes in their hands and those leashes are attached to, you guessed it, dogs.

  Ah, Krewe of Barkus. Very clever.

  But the look on Jette’s face is what really is entertaining me. The excitement on her face when she realizes what we’re watching is contagious. Like every time I’m around her, I can’t help but be happy.

  Jette is happiness incarnate.

  “It’s a dog parade!” she squeals, grabbing onto my arm and jumping up and down.

  I spend the majority of the parade watching her clap and laugh and wave at every dog that passes us. Don’t get me wrong, the pups are great. They have breeds ranging from Frenchies to Great Danes and everything in between and they’re all so fun to watch. Some are even in costume, which is freaking hysterical.

  But nothing compares to my girl.

  And, when she turns to me with sparkles in her eyes and says, “Let’s adopt a dog,” there’s no way I can turn her down and kill this pure, unadulterated joy.

  Which is how we end up at a local animal shelter a few blocks away not even an hour after the parade ends.

  “Hey, y’all. Looking to adopt a pet today?” the woman at the front desk greets as we walk in.

  “We are,” Jette gushes. “We just watched the doggie parade and thought it’d be a great time to get one of our own. I’m not sure what kind we want, though. Do you have any recommendations?”

  The lady smiles warmly, glancing from Jette up to me. “The Krewe of Barkus br
ings us lots of visitors. It’s a good thing you got here as quickly as you did. Right now, you have the pick of the litter, so to speak.” Walking around the counter, she opens a door that leads down a long, wide walkway. “We have all kinds of dogs right now, some pure breeds, some mutts. I suggest you just browse and see which one grabs your heart the most. Nine times out of ten, it’s the dog who picks its owner.”

  Jette and I thank the woman and walk past her, the barking getting louder as we approach the kennels where the dogs are kept. She wasn’t lying when she said they had a little of everything.

  Big ones. Small ones. Puppies to old dogs.

  “What kind do you think we should get?” Jette asks, her voice a mixture of amazement and overwhelmed. She stops at each kennel, giving each dog a minute of her time as she brings her hand to the gate and lets them sniff her palm.

  “I don’t really have a lot of experience with dogs,” I say, shrugging and kneeling down beside her. “One that’s hopefully easy-going, since we’ve never done this before, and maybe one that can be left outside during the day, since you have to be at the gallery.”

  “I agree,” she says thoughtfully, rising to her feet.

  As I stand to follow her, Jette grabs my hand and squeezes. For a second, I assume she’s found a dog she can’t live without. But when I try to look at her, she turns the other way. That’s when I hear the sniffles. Pulling her to me, I cup her jaw and bring her face to mine.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Jette bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, fighting back tears. “It’s just so sad, Finn. I want them all but I know we can only get one.”

  Wrapping her in my arms, I let her cry. “I know. I don’t like it either, but you heard the lady out front. Thanks to the parade, they’ll get lots of people looking to adopt. We have to leave some for them, okay?”

  She nods her head and wipes her eyes. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry for getting so emotional.”

  “You never have to apologize for that. Your big heart is one of the things I love most about you.”

  Georgette looks up at me with a small mischievous smile fighting to the surface. “Are we saying our first ‘I love yous’ in a dog shelter?”

  “Nah, we’ll save it for a more romantic time, if you want. Like, tonight, in bed.” I grab her ass and kiss the top of her head. When she laughs, the tension in my chest eases. I’ve never liked seeing people cry, but Jette’s tears have the ability to kill my soul. I hate it.

  As we begin to walk again, a dog in a kennel a few feet away catches my attention. “Hey, Jette, look over there.”

  Inside, there’s a dog with blonde and white fur and kind eyes, and it seems to be patiently waiting for us to make our way to it. Walking up to the gate, we read the card attached.

  King is a Border Collie/Labrador Retriever mix. He’s four-years-old and was found abandoned on Royal Street. He enjoys cuddling and long walks around the French Quarter.

  “Finn,” Jette whispers, looking at the card and then back at me. “He was found on Royal Street. We work on Royal Street. It’s like we were meant to find him.”

  I smile, looking down at the dog and back up to Jette. “Also, King… like Nat King Cole,” I muse, mostly to myself as I continue to make eye contact with the dog, feeling an immediate connection.

  “He’s perfect!” she declares, her smile widening as she squats down to the dog’s level. Once she’s there, he paws the cage, trying his hardest to lick Jette through the small openings.

  “I think you’ve been chosen, babe,” I say, kneeling down beside her and sticking my hand out for him to sniff me. Giving me his approval, he starts trying to lick at me too.

  The three of us sit there for a minute, bonding, before Jette leans into me. “Look at that, Finley Lawson. I think we just became parents.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Georgette

  This week has been hard and it’s only Tuesday…Fat Tuesday.

  First, Mardi Gras. I feel like that’s a blanket excuse for everything these days. The streets are too crowded? Mardi Gras. The restaurants are packed? Mardi Gras. Too many drunk people wandering the French Quarter? Mardi Gras.

  Second, Finley. He’s all I think about. I’m sure it’s the newness of being back together and I’m sure it will eventually fade, but for now, he consumes my thoughts and makes it impossible to work without being distracted.

  Then, throw in our new baby and it’s the perfect storm. King is the biggest cuddle bug on the face of the planet, more so than Finley, and I wish I could take him with me everywhere I go. Finn stops by the townhouse and checks on him when he can and I’ve been home for lunch a couple of times since we got him. He’s a good boy and I know he’s fine, but I still worry about him adjusting to his new life.

  Add into all of that the pure exhaustion from working the gallery by myself and I’m struggling. Thanks to CeCe, she’s kept me in a constant supply of coffee and food, knowing I’m here alone. Either she, Finn, or Shep drop by something a couple of times a day.

  I’m grateful, for so many things, but at the top of my mental list is this new family I’ve acquired by moving here.

  When I accepted the job, I knew it would be an adventure and a challenge. I already felt incredibly thankful for the opportunity. Not many people would hire someone like me, with so little experience under their belt, to hand over their gallery to. But Cami saw my potential and took a chance. What she didn’t realize was bringing me here would put together pieces of my heart that have been missing, helping me in more ways than just professionally.

  For that, I’m not sure I could ever repay her.

  Glancing down at the appointment book in front of me, I take a sip of the coffee Finn dropped off on his way to the studio. His schedule has been a bit off lately too. We’re all just trying to keep our heads above water.

  Thankfully, I’ve already met with my one appointment for the day and the schedule is pretty open until Thursday. Most people in the city have other plans with today being Fat Tuesday.

  Walking over to the window, I watch for a while as throngs of people pass by.

  Some are dressed in the traditional purple, green, and gold. Some have elaborate costumes with glitter and bare body parts mixed in for good measure. And I can also hear more music filtering through the closed door of the gallery than usual.

  Occasionally, on a slow day, I can hear Finley when he plays, and it’s so surreal.

  He’s here.

  I’m here.

  We’re us again.

  I had no clue I could be this happy.

  Checking my watch, I see it’s after one o’clock. When I spoke to Cami yesterday, she told me I should close up the gallery for the entire day and just enjoy Mardi Gras, but I didn’t want to reschedule the appointment from earlier.

  Now that I’m standing here and have been the only person inside these walls for over two hours, I’m considering taking her up on it. But first, I’m going to rearrange the back wall and make room for a few new pieces one of our artists is bringing by later this week.

  An hour or so later, I’m standing back, looking over the wall I’ve been working on, when my phone rings. I assume it’s Cami asking me why I’m still at the gallery—she watches the video feeds and alarm system like a hawk—or Finley, so when I see Deacon’s name on the screen, my heart jumps in my chest.

  “Hello?”

  For a second, there’s no response and I wonder if he butt-dialed me or something.

  “Deacon?”

  When he finally speaks, he sounds out-of-breath and my heart kicks it into high gear again. “Georgette? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Is Cami okay?”

  “Uh, yeah… she’s, well… her water broke and I brought her to the hospital. We’re going to have a baby today, but the doctor said the cord is wrapped so he’s taking her by c-section.”

  Her.

  It’s a girl.

  They’ve been keeping that a secret.r />
  But now, I’m worried. “Should I come? Can I come… to the hospital?”

  “Of course,” Deacon says, sounding distracted and a little unnerved, which makes me feel unnerved because he’s always so laid back and calm. “Cami wanted you to know, she’d want you here.”

  That settles it. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I tell him, walking over to grab my bag as I run down the mental checklist of closing up the gallery: back door, lights, alarm. “And Deacon?” I ask, making sure he’s still on the line.

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s going to be fine… better than fine. I just know it.”

  Please, God, let it be so.

  After locking up, I pull out my phone and dial Finley. I’m not sure if I should try to get to him or have him come to me, or if he’ll even be able to come with me, but I want him to know what’s happening. Logically, the van seems like the best mode of transportation, but then I remember… Mardi Gras.

  When Finn’s voicemail picks up, I step back from the door and look down at my phone. It’s not like him to not answer, but he might still be in the studio with Lola, in which case, his phone is on silent.

  He had to go in to fix a track for an artist.

  Apparently, even Mardi Gras doesn’t come between big names and deadlines.

  Feeling stuck, I walk to the edge of the building and look around to see if I would even be able to get the van out onto the street. The immediate vicinity is open, but that doesn’t mean I’d be able to make it all the way to Canal or Decatur, which are my two best bets of getting to I-10. New Orleans is a tough city to navigate on a good day.

  Looking down at my phone again, I think about texting Finn, but that wouldn’t really do any good. I need to talk to him and get him to help me figure this out.

  I could walk to Canal and take the streetcar down to the Garden District and then call him again. At least I’d be closer to him and then maybe he’d have an idea on getting out of the city.

  Standing here in this back alley is making me feel antsy.

  Going back into the gallery isn’t an option. There’s no way I can go back to work and the place was already making me feel stir crazy even before I found out Cami’s water broke.