Page 178 of Rhodes

I put the phone away.

“They’re coming,” I tell Cooper.

“See?” He gestures at me with his beer. “Tracking.”

“Communication. Couples do it.”

“You were unbearable before you were dating her. Somehow this is worse.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cain hands me a stack of plastic cups. “Make yourself useful.”

That phrase used to irritate me. Now I take the cups.

Nero has me in New Orleans more than it did when I started, although I still spend enough time in airports that Tallulah knows which terminals have decent coffee from Houston to Tampa.

Cain moved me into bigger projects last summer, then made a point of telling me it had nothing to do with being his brother. I believe him because he also made me interview for it.

Twice.

I am still deciding whether that was necessary. Work is good. Harder than I expected, but better too.

Turns out I like being the guy people call when something has to get from one place to another. Nobody else can figure out how to make the pieces fit. I like airports before sunrise, docks when they are waking up, warehouses with problems nobody solved before I got there.

I even like spreadsheets now. I've told absolutely nobody that.

“Here.”

Greer hands me a plastic container. I look through the clear lid. “What is this?”

“King cake.”

“I can identify king cake.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Why am I holding it?”

“Put it on the table.”

I set it down beside enough fried chicken, chips, and sandwiches to feed the entire parade route. A hand slides around my waist from behind.

“Hi, sexy.”

I turn.

Tallulah is smiling up at me, cheeks pink from the walk and a purple-and-gold knit cap pulled down over her hair. She kisses me right there on St. Charles Avenue, in front of her brother.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Tallulah.”

Cooper groans.

“Jesus Christ. I still hate that.”

Tallulah pulls back and looks at him. “Then stop watching.”