Page 9 of Cognac Secrets
Bennie…
She was nervous. Way more than she should be – but not because of me. Something else had her heart thundering the cage of her ribs like a scared little rabbit, and the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sit right with me.
She was sweet, haunted by something, but that line she said about being hurt and choosing not to be pain for someone else… that was something.
I could see the fear and devastation behind the sparkle in her eyes. She hid it well, but then again, so had Mia.
Life in a criminal family, no matter how much money you were born into, no matter how much security was around you, no matter the circles in upper echelon society you ran in, it haunted you. You were always looking over your shoulder. Inside the house, outside the house, it didn’t matter. The call could come from anywhere…
I had my secrets, sure, but Sandrine had secrets too.
Sandrine didn’t look like she knew or came from money. Her clothes were clean, well mended by hand in some places, and most likely came from a secondhand store. None of her modest jewelry was real, I didn’t think – and if the necklace chainwasgold? I had even money that it wascheapgold. The cheapest you could buy and have it still be considered the real deal.
I couldn’t see what, if anything, hung from the chain. It disappeared into the top of her patchwork kerchief midriff top that was under her short-waisted denim jacket.
She was stylish, even if that style was maybe outdated. Of course, it honestly might not beoutdatedso much as considered vintage or retro by today’s standards.
Her outfit gave off an almost 1990s but at the same time hippy-chick vibe that very much made me picture her in a shop, surrounded by crystals, full of light while she talked about cleansing chakras or some shit. It prompted me to shift the subject to something innocuous the same way she had done to me earlier.
“So, what doyoudo for a living?” I asked, as we cleared the crowd lined up out the door and started strolling down the sidewalk back toward The Quarter.
I hung back, sort of, letting her lead our steps and at my question, she threw back her head, laughing. “Touché,” she said with a genuinely happy smile, burying her hands in her jean jacket’s pockets and letting her arms hang there as she kicked her booted feet and sort of adorably half danced, half skipped the next few steps. It was as though she was carefully considering every word. Weighing each one before she committed to an answer.
Interesting.
“What do you think I do for a living?” she asked, skipping out ahead of me, spinning around and holding out her hands so that I could look her over. “If you had to guess just by looking at me, what would you say I do?”
I laughed and bowed my head, shaking it.
“That’s not fair,” I said. “I told you what I did.”
“Oh, come on! Look at you. Like anyone wouldeverguessaccountantoff that.” She waved a hand in front of herself at me and I had to laugh.
“Fair,” I told her, and then I narrowed my eyes. “If I had to guess…” I drew in a slow deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth in a blast of air and took the plunge. “Just by looking at you, I would say you work in some airy-fairy crystal shop, doing energy healing or some shit like that.”
She stumbled over a tree root protruding from the sidewalk and I reflexively reached out to catch one of her hands that she flung out and pulled her into me.
“I’ve gotcha,” I said and she blinked at me, almost eye to eye. I liked that about her – that we were almost the same height. I was only slightly taller, which was nice. I wasn’t the biggest of guys. I just wasn’t built that way.
Her eyes were wide and she gave a long slow blink.
“Why would you guess that?” she asked.
She looked a little scared and I cocked my head. Sure that she was steady on her feet, I took a half-step back from her.
“I hit the nail on the head or something?” I asked.
“I mean, close,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Very close.”
“Aw, yeah?”
“I work at one of the occult shops in The Quarter. Less of a tourist trap and more the real deal but it has some kitsch to it just to keep the tourists feeling like it’s not that serious.”
“No shit?” I asked.
“No shit,” she affirmed, and she stepped back further. I, of course, let her go. She felt good though. I liked the feel of my palms against her denim-clad hips, and the way my thumbs grazed her soft skin just above her waistband. I liked even more that that slight, accidental touch made her shiver despite the warmth of the night on the sidewalk where we stood in the shadow of someone’s garden tree overhanging their fence.
“You dress the part for work or…”
