Just before he pushes open the door, Piper and Pearl shuffle through it, arms loaded up with reusable cloth grocery bags, and they hastily sneak past us without saying anything.
I laugh under my breath as Lucky pulls me through the door. “I wonder what they were doing up here.”
“You never know,” he says, blatantly mischievous, leading the way to the terrace, and then I see the evidence of what they’d been up to.
One of the wrought iron tables is dressed up like it belongs in a five-star restaurant, complete with a floral arrangement, candles, fine china, and crystal glassware. A second table is also covered with a cloth, as well as a few dishes covered by stainless steel covers and an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne. Serene vintage jazz is humming in the atmosphere from speakers I can’t see.
The uneasy feeling of warning subtly radiates in my chest, but it’s quickly pushed aside in favor of a heartwarming sensation at the idea that Lucky made such an effort to do something nice for us.
Lucky releases my hand and strides toward the table with the dish covers and champagne.
I smile at him. “What’s this all about?”
He picks up the champagne bottle, peels off the foil, and pops the cork, deftly catching it in his palm. “This is our first date.”
I smile wider as I approach the table while he fills one glass and then holds it out to me. “Our first date, huh? That feels like a loaded statement.”
“Oh yeah?” A smirk tugs a dimple deep into one of his cheeks as he fills the other glass and sets the bottle back in the ice bucket before approaching me. “How so?”
“Well, for one, it implies there will be aseconddate. Possibly a third and fourth.” I gesture at him with the glass. “For another, we seem to have done everything backward. I’ve been living in your room for nearly a month now.”
“Correct.” He tilts his glass toward mine, and we clink them together. “We havebeen living together, and that’s why we should have an actual date.” He sips the champagne, and I follow suit. “And there will be a second, third, and fourth date.” He salutes me with the glass, then takes mine from me and sets them both on the table. “Everyone’s beating the idea of routine like a dead horse, so this’ll be another one of our routines. We’re gonna have a date after the livestream every week.”
Lucky takes my hand like he’s about to slow dance with me, but leads me to the half-wall instead and stands behind me. He presses us against it, placing his hands on the bricks on either side of me, caging me in place while he rests his chin against the side of my head. The sun is setting behind dark gray clouds. A gradient of gold, orange, and pink bathes the empty French Quarter in warm, glowing hues. A crisp, cool breeze cuts through the lingering humidity from the day, sweeping my hair across my face, and Lucky brushes it out of the way and over my shoulder.
He wraps his arms tightly around my waist and kisses the side of my neck. “Pretty spectacular, huh?”
I allow myself to lean back against him, settling deep into the casual, yet intimate embrace. “Spectacular is an understatement. I wish I could be here when things are normal. I’d love to actually see the city.”
“You will,” he says matter-of-factly.
I smile reflexively, but my contentment quickly morphs into subtle anxiety. The only reason I’d actually see the city under normal circumstances is if I stayed here, or if I came back. You know, to visithim. And that’s not what this is. At least, it’s not what it’s supposed to be. I don’t like the implications of any of this because it feels like we’re both playing with fire and toying with heartache.
You can’t do what Lucky and I have been doing and notdevelop real feelings. At least,Ican’t. It seems like Lucky is the type of person who could dabble in this kind of casual intimacy without letting his heart get involved, but somehow, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.
The signs are all there, and I’ve been reading them. And I can’t shake the feeling that they are leading us both down the path to a broken heart.
Nineteen
Lucky
Quarantine Day 70
Thunders cracksthe atmosphere for the umpteenth time tonight, shaking framed art on the walls of my room. I clench and release my clammy palms into fists at my sides while pacing back and forth in front of the closed doors to the terrace. Despite the fact that I’ve been making an effort to not smoke in my room since Ava moved in, I pick up the sterling silver cigarette case off the dresser and light up.
Tropical. Fucking. Storm.
No, it’s not a fuckinghurricane, but seriously...fuck.
The rain and wind are pounding the glass so hard it’s definitelygoing to break. The roof is groaning like it’s about to collapse. The power keeps flickering, and my friggin’ hackles have been raised all friggin’ day while this mother fucker has been pounding away at the house that’s supposedto be my friggin’ fortress.
It’s too dark to see the streets below, but there’s no way they aren’t flooded. I might’ve only been fourteen years old when Hurricane Katrina leveled this city, but I remember seeing the front page of theTimesat a corner newsstand, and I know how bad it was.
I know that a lot of people wound up dead or homeless.
Just like I was at the time.
Just like I might be again before morning.
