Page 82 of She's Like the Wind

Yesterday, it was lace.

Ivory, delicate but not dainty, with a pattern of wildflowers stitched so intricately, they felt real—petals unfurling, vines curling like secrets across the sheer netting. It had frayed edges, uneven in places, like ithad survived something—a fire, a love affair, a century in a cedar chest, maybe all three. It wasn’t pristine and far from perfect, but it was undeniably beautiful, the kind of piece you didn’t sew into just anything—you saved it for something meaningful.

“It reminded me of you.” His eyes were shining with warmth and affection. “Soft. Complicated. Worth holding onto.”

“You’re layin’ it on thicker than powdered sugar on beignets at Café du Monde,” Kadisha commented, telling us she was eavesdropping from the boudoir.

“Kadisha,” Gage called out. “you might want to stay there for a little longer. I’m gonna kiss my girl, now.”

“Gross,” Kadisha exclaimed, but she gave us privacy while he did exactly what he said he would: hekissedme with tongue and heat and everything that made my brand-new lacy pantieswet.

After that hot kiss, he asked me out to dinner on Friday, and this time, I said, “Yes,” instead of, “Maybe.”

That evening we walked down Royal past Canal to the Roosevelt. He was taking me to dinner at Domenica, which was considered to be one of the best Italian restaurants in New Orleans.

I liked the Roosevelt, partly because it was steeped in history and because it was beautifully haunting. Built in 1893, grand and gilded, you half-expected to see ghosts from old Mardi Gras balls leaning against the velvet wallpaper.

We were about to walk into the restaurant when he slid an arm around me, holding me back.

“What?” I asked.

He brushed his lips against mine. “Now, don’t get your lacy knickers in a bunch as they say….”

I arched an eyebrow, amused.

He kissed my nose. “My parents are in there, waiting to have dinner with us.”

I blinked.

Hard.

“The who?” I blubbered.

He gave me a sheepish smile.

“The what?” I added unnecessarily.

“They want to meet you. Mama’s been not-so-subtly hinting for weeks.”

I swallowed. Licked my lips. “Ah…they know about me?”

He traced my lips with his thumb. “They know everything, baby. And they’ve been waiting for you to say yes to dinner with me so they can get to know you.”

“But you didn’t give me a chance to say yes,” I pointed out.

“I know. But you can say no. No harm, no foul. My parents are chill.Andthey’re actually expecting you to kick my ass.” He smiled. “You don’t have any family, you’ve told me—I’d like to share mine with you, if you’ll let me.”

My heart twisted, then soared.

I wanted to say no.No harm, no foul!But whatcame out was, “Are they gonna make me take a polygraph like inMeet The Parents?”

My sense of humor got weirder when I got nervous. What can you do?

“Baby, I’m serious.”

“I know.” I sighed. “That’s the problem.”

In the end, we entered the restaurant that elegantly walked the line between luxurious and laid-back, where chandeliers flickered overhead and the scent of garlic and truffle oil drifted from the kitchen in warm waves.