Henley’s gaze softened as she leaned forward toward the camera, resting her chin on her hand. “Well, maybe it’s time you do. I mean, Gator’s not the kind of guy to let things hang in the air. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but you knew that. You didn’t fall for the polished version of him; you fell for the real deal, quirks and all.”
I sighed, letting my fingers trace the rim of the water glass in front of me. “I don’t know how to start. It’s not like I can just blurt out, ‘Hey, let’s talk about babies.’ That’s not exactly a casual conversation starter.”
Henley chuckled. “True, but you’re overthinking it. Just talk to him, Dev. You’ve got this whole head versus heart thing going on, but sometimes, you’ve got to let your heart lead. And who knows? Maybe he’s thinking about it, too, but waiting for you to bring it up.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility. I stared out the window, the Louisiana sunshine filtering through the glass, painting the room in soft golds. The vibrant hum of life in the streets below seemed distant, muted against the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my mind.
“Henley... what if I screw this up?”
“You won’t,” she said firmly. “And even if you do, you’ll fix it. That’s what love looks like, Devlyn. It’s messy, imperfect, and sometimes it feels like you’re standing in the middle of a swamp, knee-deep in mud. But it’s also the most transformative thing you’ll ever experience. Trust me. Just keep moving forward.”
“Yeah.” My brother-in-law Scribe popped on the screen. “And if that Cajun fucker screws up really bad, give me a call. The Sons of Hell will ride. We got your back, Dev.”
“Thanks, bro.” I smirked.
“We gotta go, sweetie,” my sister said, and I nodded.
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No problem. Love you, Sis.”
“Love you too,” I replied, disconnecting the video chat.
Sitting there in his room, I thought of Gator—his wild grin, the way his voice dipped low when he was serious, the way he held me as if the world could crumble but we’d still be standing.
Maybe Henley was right.
Maybe it was time to take the next step, no matter how terrifying it felt.
Hearing the doorknob jingle, I turned as Gator walked in.
Standing near the door for a quick and hasty exit, no doubt, he asked, “You feeling better?”
“If you mean am I still angry, then no.”
“Wanna get out of here for a bit?”
“So you can leave me stranded somewhere else? No thank you,” I snarked.
“I was suggesting seeing my city. This is the first time you’ve been to New Orleans, right?”
I nodded.
“Good, then allow me to be your tour guide.”
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the streets of New Orleans came alive with a rhythm that seemed to pulse from the very cobblestones beneath our feet. Gator led the way, weaving through narrow alleyways and bustling squares, his voice rising above the hum of jazz melodies and distant chatter. “This city,” he said, gesturing to the intricate balconies adorned with iron lacework, “has a soul unlike any other.”
We stopped in front of a small café where the scent of powdered sugar and fresh beignets wafted through the air. “You have to try these. It’s practically a sin to be in New Orleans without tasting a beignet.” He grinned.
I hesitated, still wary of him, yet captivated by his enthusiasm. Perhaps the city’s charm was working its magic on me. We grabbed a table beneath the warm glow of string lights, and as I took my first bite, the sweetness melted away a fraction of the tension between us. For a moment, even the sharp edges of our earlier argument seemed dulled.
As we wandered along Bourbon Street, the blend of laughter, music, and the distant clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages became a symphony that enveloped us. Gator pointed out landmarks, shared snippets of local history, and even cracked jokes that, against my better judgment, drew a reluctant smile from me.
Everywhere I looked, there was something new to see. I knew if I stayed here forever, I would never see all that New Orleans had to offer.
Needing a rest, Gator walked me over to a bench, and we sat as my eyes tried to absorb everything—the colors, the lights, the sounds, the smells. This place was intoxicating and addictive. I saw the allure that brought so many visitors.
Reclining on the bench, Gator slung his arm behind me and rested it on the bench as I sat close, not knowing what to say to him. There was so much we needed to talk about.
