Page 27 of New Orleans Rush

Last night’s quiet confessional took on new meaning, the load Huxley carried bigger than stacked bills and chipped paint. To watch a parent die and feel responsible? She couldn’t imagine the weight of that pain.

Della smoothed the lengths of her braids, her probing gaze traveling down Bea’s polka dot top and pink pedal pushers. It was now her lucky outfit, since she’d worn it for this job interview and when keying Huxley’s late father’s car. A lucky-unlucky fate.

“You’re into him, aren’t you?” Della asked.

Her candid nature took Bea aback. “Is it that obvious?”

Della lowered her voice, the two of them head-to-head like schoolgirls. “I think he digs you, too. The Marlow men aren’t exactly open books, but there was something in his voice when he talked about you.”

Bea may have eavesdropped on his confessions last night, but the confirmation set off fireworks behind her eyes. “I kind of overheard as much, but it’s nice to hear it from you. I’m the worst at reading men.”

Case in point: Nick the Prick.

“I’d say he’s smitten. But if you’re unsure, you could pass him a note during your next rehearsal. Ask him to rate you from one to ten. Or…” Della cocked her head, as though considering a presidential vote. “You could go with a ‘Which Disney Princess Would You Bang’ quiz. Those can be illuminating.”

If Bea had thought of that in school, she’d have polled every boy. “I’d do Princess Jasmine.”

“I’m more of a Moana girl,” Della said. “She’s got a feisty streak.”

They grinned at each other.

Della was proving more fun than her last boss, who’d spent his bartending time talking about fiber intake and bowel movements. “Hard to believe a string of awful events led to this.”

“To what?”

Bea gestured vaguely. “Everything. If I didn’t get dumped four days ago, I wouldn’t have met Huxley or learned about your Moana crush. Life is odd like that.”

Absolutely, oddly perfect.

But Della’s playful demeanor hardened. “You just got out of a relationship?”

“Yes?” She answered hesitantly, unsure why their princess conversation had derailed.

“And you’re into Huxley now? So soon?”

Oh. Right. “It’s not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that. A rebound.”

“It kinda sounds exactly like that.”

She appreciated Della’s protectiveness. Reveled in it, actually. It meant Huxley had someone who worried after him, family or not. But it gave her pause. She thought back to his hands on her hips in the zigzag box, to the smiles she’d earned, his fingers covering hers under their lunch table. Each experience had guided her paintbrush last night, adding more color to her world. She felt fate had brought Huxley and the kaleidoscope he’d inspired into her life, or was Della right? Was she boomeranging from Nick to him? Using Huxley to get over a breakup?

“It’s all still new,” she said, uneasy now.

She believed in destiny and good things happening to good people. She hoped meeting Huxley was exactly that, and not weakness on her part.

Della didn’t look appeased. “I like you, Bea, but the Marlow boys mean a lot to me, and Huxley has dealt with more than his fair share. If you’re after a fling, make sure he’s on the same page.”

Della looked around Bea’s age. Maybe a few years younger, but her sharp expression gave her an air of maternal authority. Della turned to help a customer, her scrutiny diminishing as the booth got busier. Their banter gradually returned, chatter about music interests and artists easing the tension. They cracked up over a passerby’s manicured mullet.

Still, Bea’s mind whirred.

Last night she couldn’t wait to tell Huxley she wanted to be his watermelon girl and test if their chemistry truly sparked. She’d itched to curl her fingers into his cape, pull him close, and brush her lips against his. She would see him in a few short hours, but apprehension curbed those fantasies. She couldn’t shake the notion of Huxley being a placeholder. Unimportant. A Band-Aid for a healing cut. But that possibility didn’t explain why she’d been painting pieces of him into her self-portrait or smiling at the thought of him.

If she had a relationship with her mother, beyond sharing pictures of food or Molly Baker’s latest band crush, she’d lament her worries and seek guidance. She’d ask her if choosing Franklyn Baker over the guy she’d been dating had been easy, or if her emotions had felt as strong yet uncertain as this, even though her marriage hadn’t ended well. She’d ask if the Baker girls were flighty by nature, destined to hop from man to man, adventure to adventure.