Love In Plain Sight

4:06.

The paperwork and key search had chewed into my hour. Sometimes the librarians would let me run over time if the room wasn’t booked. Not the rat queen. She would be waiting outside the door and counting the seconds until my hour was up.

Slipping out the door again, I walked around the back of the audiobook section to the quiet study room, hoping to avoid notice. This is where the smart kids were, the ones with more to do than check their social media. The only thing we all had in common was that we couldn’t afford our own technology. I had a tutoring room, so the rat queen should have known what kind of person I was.

A person with a plan.

A plan that was in big trouble when I looked around the quiet study room.

“Where’s Peter?” I hissed beneath my breath, careful not to disturb the adults who were seated at the various study carrels.

The last thing I needed was more trouble.

“Don’t know,” Faffi whispered from her seat nearest the printer. Beside her, Sylvia shrugged.

Faffi was another person with a plan. I called her the screaming liberal. She had political aspirations and already served as an intern on a local councilman’s campaign. She would love my presentation about immigration policies today. I argued both sides, but personally leaned left.

“Was he at school today?” I asked.

“I didn’t see him.” Sylvia’s plan wasn’t as specific as mine or Faffi’s, but it didn’t have to be. She wanted to be a doctor, which meant she had to rock her International Baccalaureate program to get scholarships to a good university. She was another one who would need lots and lots of scholarships to pay for school. Good thing she was brilliant.

“Are you talking about that kid on the skateboard?” Rohan tugged an earbud from his ear.

“Yeah, the one with the hair like that gay guy from American Idol.”

Rohan laughed, loud enough to make me glance around to see if we were annoying the room’s other occupants. Adults in a library liked nothing better than to narc on kids who weren’t obeying the quiet rule. Rohan didn’t seem to care. Maybe he didn’t have to because he had such a cool name. Who knew they watched The Lord of the Rings in Bangladesh? “I saw him on the public bus this morning, but he wasn’t at first lunch.”

“I didn’t see him, either,” Faffi told me.

I sighed. Nothing was ever going to be easy, was it? I had to record four people, so the virtual teacher knew I’d actually presented to an audience. Peter had agreed to sit in so long as I paid him in cigarettes.

Would the rat queen sit in if I offered her the three packs of Camels in my backpack? I’d bet money the security guard would. If I had any money to bet. I didn’t because I’d already spent what I had on three packs of Camels. Not to mention the time I’d wasted finding a convenience store to sell them to me without identification because I was underage.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll figure out something.”

I glanced at the clock on the way out. Six whole minutes to come up with a plan. Great. I got everyone quietly inside the tutoring room. Then I saw him.

He walked past the window, looking as noticeable as he had the first time I’d noticed him. Which was sort of strange really, since there wasn’t anything that noticeable about him.

Except for the guitar slung over his back, he might have been any student from the high school. A senior, definitely. I wasn’t surprised to find him here since we were only a few blocks away from where I’d first seen him.

He had been playing on the street corner across from the Western wear store where I usually set up my pitch. The lady who owned the store liked me. I was quiet compared to all the street musicians who played in the District, and I always chalked a brilliant design on her sidewalk space that made tourists slow down long enough to notice her store.

Whenever tourists sat for a caricature, they stared at her window displays. I always threw a cowboy hat or some boots and fringe into my sketches to get folks in the country mood.

We were a match made in heaven.

Maybe this guitar guy went to school, maybe not. But I remembered him. And his music. Not the usual country that every musician in town played. He stuck out in the streets the way I did with my art.

No, this guy’s music was more varied, some folksy, some rock, some alternative. Definitely original. He had a raspy voice that managed to be smooth and clear. I liked listening to him. Yeah, that was why I had noticed him.

I didn’t have time to think, so I acted.

He sidestepped the opening door with a quick move and a steadying hand on his guitar.

“Excuse me.” For some reason, I sounded breathless, as if I had run to catch him.

He turned and stared down at me with eyes as dark as his hair. There was something Hispanic in him. No question.

Those dark eyes got curious, and I realized he was waiting for me to say something.

“Do you have forty minutes I could borrow?” I blurted. “Like right now.”

A grin appeared as he stared at me, visibly deciding what to make of my random proposition.

“I have to tape a presentation for my online class, and I need four in my audience. Had a no-show.”

I hadn’t realized how cute he was, but it was impossible to ignore up close. He had these crazy high cheekbones and caramel skin. He was buff, too. The muscles in his thighs stretched his jeans like he was one of those cross-country runners who trained around the neighborhood.

“I’ll pay you ten bucks.” Same thing I paid everyone else. Except Faffi, who extracted payment whenever she needed me to do something for her. A budding politician. I would vote for her. “Or three packs of Camels.”

That grin turned into a full-out smile. He had a dimple. “I’ll take the Camels.”

CHAPTER FIVE

MARC HAD BEEN enjoying his escape for the first ten minutes of the ride. Courtney didn’t know what to make of him, had no clue what she’d signed on for. But she put on a good show. He respected that. Maybe because he sensed how uncertain she was, bouncing back and forth between appreciating his presence in her car but being worried about the way he’d gotten here.

Even he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly been accommodating, and his guess was she considered him the family wild card. Anthony would never have given her a hard time.

But any enjoyment Marc felt about escaping the prison his life had become ended when Courtney steered her overpriced toy car out of his neighborhood and headed into hers. He shouldn’t be surprised that manicured lawns stretched back from the streets or that chain-link and weather-battered wooden fences yielded to expensive brickwork and ornate iron gates.

By the time she wheeled off a side street and pulled into a driveway, Marc remembered why he hadn’t thought much of this woman’s family. The Garden District mansion in front of him, all pitched eaves and wraparound gallery, looked like a house kids might tour on school field-trip day.

“So this is home.” Not a question, but a stupid comment he should have kept to himself. The irony of all the stairs must be wearing on his impulse control. Stairs leading to the front porch. Stairs inside leading to one, two, three floors. Unless that top floor was an attic? He could hope.

Courtney nodded, silky hair threading over her shoulders with the gesture, drawing his gaze once again to her slender neck and the delicate curve of her jaw. “Well, half of this is home anyway. House was split into two residences.”

“So you rent?” Okay, he wasn’t really interested, but his lack of impulse control had started this conversation. Couldn’t blame her for that.

“No, I own my side. Like a co-op.”

Mortgage on half a place this size must be a small fortune that she surely couldn’t be swinging on her social worker’s salary. He knew what real estate went for in New Orleans because Nic had been hunting for a place to move his family into after the wedding. Especially in this part of town. Cheaper to pay a mortgage in this economy, which was why Marc owned two properties himself.

“Who owns the other half?”

“Admiral Patton and his wife.”

No response was necessary, which was good since Marc didn’t have much to say. Not anything that would be considered a constructive start to their working relationship.