Page 24 of Keller

I nod and slip my credit card out of my money clip and toss it on the bar. “I’ll walk you.”

She studies me for half a second, weighing it, then slides off the stool. “Okay. Let me run to the restroom, and then we can go?”

She phrases it as a question more than a statement.

"Sure."

After signing the tab, we step out onto Magazine Street together. The March air has cooled, the traffic lighter now. The New Orleans night is smaller without the noise of Mardi Gras just a few weeks ago.

Her car is parked in the opposite direction from mine.

“I’m this way,” she says, gesturing down the block.

“My place is four blocks up,” I tell her, not as a suggestion, necessarily. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

She looks at me then. “And?”

“And we didn’t finish what we started the other night.”

There’s no edge in it. No pressure.

The silence stretches between us. A car passes, and the headlights slide over her face. “Four blocks isn’t far,” she says finally.

That’s the choice. Without another word, we start walking toward my place. At the corner of Josephine, she is the one to break the silence.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Three years in this studio. But I've lived in the city my entire life."

"Same. Cajun, through and through."

"It's a beautiful thing, right?"

She nods as we cross the street. A couple passes us going the other direction, laughing about something I don't catch. Quinn's shoulder brushes mine briefly. The contact is accidental but electric.

Two more blocks and my building comes into view. It's an old converted warehouse with iron balconies and a brick facade. I lead her to the entrance of the building and unlock the outer door. She steps through first. I follow and let it close behind us with a muted thud.

The door seals out the street noise. She turns toward me in the narrow wash of light in the small lobby, and I realize there’s no one left to interrupt us this time.

I call for the elevator and put in my card, pressing the fifth floor to my loft. She turns toward me, looking for guidance. There’s no crowd waiting for us this time, no music.

No excuse.

SEVEN

Quinn

Invitation-Only Membership: Most traditional New Orleans krewes operate by sponsorship, requiring prospective members to be nominated and approved by existing members. This selective structure preserves exclusivity, reinforces internal loyalty, and keeps influence concentrated within tightly controlled social circles.

My pulse hammersin my throat, in my chest, in the space between my ribs where something tight and expectant has been building since we walked into the elevator to his place.

The elevator opens directly into his space and he puts his arm on the door to stop it from closing, letting me through first.

I walk into his apartment and stop just past the threshold.

Exposed brick runs the length of one wall. Iron beams frame the ceiling. The windows stretch tall and bare, overlooking the Garden District street below.

Industrial lighting hangs low over the open kitchen. The furniture is clean, expensive, restrained. A leather couch. A low coffee table. Everything has intention without excess.