Untrusting Hearts: A Contemporary New Orleans Romance (16 page)

Chapter 12

Gage’s apartment was not far from Maylene’s house. He lived on the third floor of a stately Southern mansion that had been turned into apartments. His living room walls were light gray, his furnishings mostly charcoal and black. Bold burgundy and deep blue throw pillows decorated his leather sofa and broke the monochrome uniformity. One wall held a set of bookshelves beneath a flat-screen television, and another a full bank of windows covered in dark blinds that were open to the night. On the third wall hung an art deco style painting of an intense-looking woman in green holding a bouquet of calla lilies. Beneath the artwork stretched a long cabinet that housed a stereo system and an impressive collection of CDs. A steamer trunk served as a coffee table. Lying on its top were a couple of remote controls and a large ceramic ashtray in the rough shape of a boat.

Jade bent to examine it and then straightened, a look of surprise on her face. “Do you smoke?”

“No, of course not. I made that for my dad when I was a kid.” He took his jacket from her shoulders and draped it over a chair before removing his tie.

“I can’t picture you as a potter.”

He reached over, took her purse, and set it aside. “I might surprise you. I’m pretty good with my hands.”

A thrill passed through her, but she ignored it. “Why is it here instead of with your father?”

“He didn’t want it.” He answered casually, but a look flashed across his face, there and gone, that gave her a glimpse into what his childhood was like before Jean Pierre took him under his wing.

“Do you still work with clay?” She strove to lighten the tone.

“No. It was just a class project.” His eyes narrowed as they fell on her hands and blouse. “We need to get you cleaned up. You can borrow one of my shirts. You’ll swim in it, but it’s better than spending the rest of the night holding yours closed. I also have a pair of shorts with a drawstring that you can use.”

He left and returned with a dark green t-shirt and pair of blue and white striped boxers. When he handed them to her, he gestured toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s that way; I laid out a washcloth and towel.”

“Okay.” She dug her hairbrush from her purse along with her cosmetics bag and walked down the hall. Closing the door behind her, she stared at her reflection. No wonder Gage had reacted the way he did. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, her clothes dirty. She quickly removed her blouse and shorts and scrubbed her face, arms, hands and legs. She brushed the tangles from her hair and applied new makeup before slipping into his clothes, which hung on her like bags. She tightened the strings on the boxers and tied a knot in the hem of the alligator adorned t-shirt.

Her spirits lifted and she felt ready to let the episode with Ty slip into the background. He’d been pretty drunk. Though that didn’t absolve him, it did present an explanation of sorts. She tried to push it from her mind.

When she reentered the living room, she found Gage staring out the front window. He turned when he heard her come in. The top button on his shirt was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up. His rich brown eyes were warm as he appraised her. “Those look better on you than they ever did on me,” he said with a half-grin.

“Thanks for the loan. I’ll get them back to you next time I see you.” She returned her items to her purse and placed her folded blouse and shorts in on top. She turned to find him watching her. To divert him, she said, “So I thought you were going to fix me a drink.”

“You told me you weren’t thirsty.”

“I changed my mind.” She ran her fingers across the back of a row of CDs and settled on one at random. Pulling the case from the shelf, she gazed at the image of Louis Armstrong on the cover. “You could at least pop the top on a can of beer.”

“Beer? Now, Jade, I can do better than that.” He moved toward her.

“Don’t forget you mentioned food. Now that I think about it, I could go for a little snack.”

“So could I.” His sensuous lips curved in a slow smile.

“Can we listen to this?” She pushed the CD toward him when his expression revealed his idea of a snack differed radically from hers.

“You like Armstrong?” His tone was dubious.

“I don’t know. I might.” Her eyes teased him. “Does that surprise you?”

“Given your age, yes; although, he is the father of jazz.”

“I’m not that much younger than you; I’m just not certain I’ve ever heard his music.”

He handed her back the CD and said, “I’ve got this on my iPod; this is a backup. Let me just select a playlist...there, that should keep us going.” As the music began, he said, “My dad used to listen to vintage stuff. It grew on me. And Louis Armstrong
is
New Orleans.”

Twice in one night he’d mentioned his father, and both times his tone of voice made it clear to Jade the relationship had been flawed. “Does he still like the same music?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen the man in years.” He turned away from her. “Come keep me company in the kitchen.”

The gravely tones of
What a Wonderful World
filled the background.

“You need my help?” she asked, following Gage into the next room.

“I need nothing but your sparkling conversation.” He rummaged in the refrigerator and produced a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, and a stick of butter. “Omelet okay?”

“Sounds good.” Jade pulled up a stool at the island and propped her chin in her hand. “I still feel like I should be doing something.”

“You are doing something. You’re keeping me entertained while I work.” He took an onion from a basket on the counter, a knife from the drawer, and selected a gleaming stainless steel skillet from a cabinet.

Jade ran a fingertip along the edge of a tile on the countertop. “Tell me about your dad,” she ventured.

He paused for a second, then busied his hands once again, preparing their meal. “I’d like to say he’s a dreamer. A man so filled with ideas he could never settle on one and see it to fruition. Anyway, that’s how he would probably describe himself. The truth is, he’s something of a bum. Always has been. He never had much time for Mom and me, always talking big and going out of his way to avoid a real job. I still remember him packing that old suitcase of his, getting ready to head out on the road, pursuing one scheme or another. He’d take what little cash we had out of the Mason jar in the kitchen cupboard to fund his latest venture. Money we needed. Basically, taking little solitary vacations while we sat in that ugly apartment wondering how the rent was going to get paid. Mom and I were hungry a lot. It wasn’t pleasant. My dad specialized in promises. Broken ones.”

He cracked several eggs in a bowl, added some milk, and started beating them with a whisk. “Once I was old enough to see my old man the way he truly was, to face harsh reality, I figured out if I didn’t want to be poor all my life, it was going to be up to me to do something about it. When I was twelve, I got a newspaper route and mowed lawns. Weeded gardens. When I was thirteen, I tutored little kids in math and did odd chores for the fishermen down at the wharf. When I was fourteen, I went to work for JP’s and it changed my life. Just by pure dumb luck, Jean Pierre happened in and took notice of me. You know, he was the man my father should’ve been. No, let me rephrase that. Jean Pierre was the father my old man could never be.” He spoke matter-of-factly, without bitterness, as he moved efficiently from counter to stove. “He and Maylene saw to it I had a decent roof over my head and an education. My dad was only too happy to be rid of me.”

“What about your mother?” Jade watched him with interest.

“My mother and I aren’t really close; she was always rather detached as a parent. I’m pretty sure she didn’t like it when I moved out; however, she was practical enough to see it for the opportunity it was. You have to understand my mother. She didn’t have a good upbringing herself. She’s very passive, not a lot of confidence, and very devoted to Dad, even though they argued a lot. She was always the one who gave in; she just couldn’t stand up to him for long. She clung to hope, not really knowing what else to do, I think. Deep down, she never lost faith in my dad. To this day, she still believes he’ll turn his fortune around if he can just find the right opportunity. She’s blinded to his faults. She doesn’t see that she’s basically supported him almost their entire married life. At least she doesn’t have to scrub floors anymore.”

“You give her money.” It was a statement, not a question.

“When she needs it.” He poured the egg mixture into the hot butter, slipped two pieces of French bread into the toaster oven, and looked up from his task, eyes earnest. “She won’t take much from me; she has her pride. But she did let me pay her tuition to beauty school which improved her life a lot. And I’m overly generous on holidays and her birthday. We both pretend the cash is a normal gift, but she makes it last. My mom can stretch a dollar further than anyone I’ve ever known. Between that and her own paychecks, life isn’t too bad for her now. They moved out of that god-awful apartment and she has a reliable car to drive. I make sure she at least has the essentials covered.”

“And your dad is okay with that arrangement?” A frown creased Jade’s brow.

Gage gave her a short nod as he folded cheese into the omelet. “He’s deep into his own delusions. If you were to ask the man, he’d probably claim my mom’s job is just something she does because she gets restless and bored staying home. He’d never admit they need her income to pay the bills. I offered to help my mom get her own shop, but she turned me down. Said she doesn’t want that much responsibility. She just wants to do her job and go home at the end of the day.”

Gage slid the eggs onto two plates, added the slices of toasted bread, poured them each a glass of wine, and sat on the stool next to hers. “Dig in, Jade.”

The food was delicious. His warm company and their effortless conversation only made the meal that much more enjoyable. Jade talked of growing up in Kansas, the relationship with her grandparents, and caring for her grandma in her final days. He talked of good times he’d had with Jean Pierre and told her funny stories about his days as a busboy and then waiter in the restaurant. Before long, their plates were empty and he topped off their wine.

“That was mouthwatering, Gage.” She leaned against the back of the stool and eyed him. “My sincere compliments to the chef.”

“It gave me pleasure to watch you eat. Every cook worth his salt likes seeing his food enjoyed.”

She looked aghast. “Did I pig out?”

“No, honey. You did not pig out.” He reached out a hand, smoothed it over her jaw line, and caressed her neck. “You didn’t gorge yourself nor did you pick at your food. Neither extreme. You ate like a normal human being and I like that.”

Tingles raced over her skin at his touch and continued after he took his hand away. She wondered about other women he had cooked for. How many dates had he entertained in just this fashion? Would this be a good time to bring up the former fiancée he hadn’t told her about? She decided against it. The idea of Gage with any other woman made her strangely uncomfortable.

Before that train of thought could establish itself, she hurried to say, “I make a mean meatloaf, myself. I’ll have to fix it for you someday.” She cringed inside as she realized it sounded like she was finagling another evening with him.

“Sounds good to me.” He slid the plates out of the way and took her hand in his on the countertop. Almost absentmindedly, he stroked her palm with his fingertips.

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” she continued, trying to ignore the sensations he was producing. “I usually double the recipe and freeze half. It was my grandpa’s favorite meal. He said he liked it even better than steak.”

“Mmm,” he said, and she didn’t know if he was responding to her words or to what he was doing with his fingers. It was just a touch to the hand, nothing to get crazy about. But she found herself imagining him doing the same on other parts of her body. A quickening warmth spread through her.

“You don’t do manicures in your spare time, do you?” she joked, trying to find a way to relieve the feelings he stirred in her.

The corner of his lip quirked in a half-smile. “No, why do you ask?”

“Just thought you might have a professional interest in my hand.”

“I was noticing how soft your skin is. It’s like a rose petal. You must not do any outdoor work.”

“I garden,” Jade said somewhat defensively. “But I wear gloves. Speaking of outdoors, your hands aren’t very rough for a guy who enjoys camping out and fishing.”

“Gloves here, too. Wonderful things.” He finally released her. She at once felt relieved and disappointed as she tucked her hand into her lap. He smiled. “Do you like fishing?”

“Actually, I do. My grandpa used to take me. He was always trying to catch the monster catfish. What I mainly caught was his enthusiasm. I’d get so excited for him. Grandma would pack us a lunch and we’d fill the cooler with sodas and iced tea. Then we’d head to our spot on the river.”

“I can almost picture your grandpa, and you as a little girl skipping along behind him. What was he like?”

“A gentle man. Patient. White-haired, even when I was young. Big, vibrant, loved life. Thought of each day as a gift to be unwrapped.”

Gage regarded her with serious eyes. “Sounds like he cast a big shadow. I wonder if anyone could ever measure up.”