Kitchen Counter, a lively breakfast and lunch place owned by Mr. Michigan that closed in the late afternoon, providing a perfect establishment in which to hold their quarterly meetings. About twenty people were present, but most came for the cookies and company.
“So the funds for the new Christmas wreaths will come from the renewal grant?” the recording secretary asked, pen poised above her notebook.
“Correct,” Eleanor said, moving her finger down to New Business. “Okay, we have a petition for membership from Desmond Batiste, who would also like to say a few words. Dez?”
Eleanor had tried to keep her eyes off him all evening, but now it was impossible.
Dez stood, dressed in pressed khaki slacks and a white button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves and open at the throat. The man took business casual to a new level. Several of the women on the board leaned forward. Mr. Hibbett, the treasurer, crossed his arms and nodded to Dez.
“Good evening,” Dez said, his gaze traveling over each member of the six-person board. Eleanor tried to remain passive, but the warmth in those eyes felt like a match struck against her skin. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, swallowing hard.
He is just another potential member of the association. You do not want to strip him naked. You do not want to lick his stomach. You do not want to chain him to your bed.
Crap.
Keeping her distance in front of her colleagues wasn’t going to work if she kept imagining the wicked things she wanted to do to him.
And have him do to her.
Dez turned away from the large table where she sat and faced the other members present. “I’d like to thank the board for allowing me to address you this evening. My name is Dez Batiste and I’m the owner of a new jazz club opening in less than a month, the middle of March to be exact. I know many of you have reservations about having a nightclub in the middle of a shopping district and inside a beloved icon, but tonight I’m going to prove to you that Blue Rondo will complete the picture of a restored Magazine Street.”
As Dez spoke about his venture, Eleanor watched him charm his audience. Several business owners nodded as he made salient points about diversity, others remained impassive as he discussed business hours and the implausibility of his patrons taking up parking for their customers. As he spoke, Dez moved, talking with his hands, his posturing expressive, his words passionate—all that he was spread out on the table for the merchants who’d worked so hard the past seven years to rebuild the street shattered by desperation. A warm certainty burrowed in her heart, a strange feeling of fear and excitement.
Not for Blue Rondo or the association.
But for her and the man who loved his community and his music so much he wanted to overlap them and bring forth something good from the ashes of his world.
How had she not seen this? Why had she been so afraid of what Blue Rondo might bring? Maybe her own fears had tangled into something that stopped her from imagining a better community...a better Eleanor.
After making points about what the club could do for the area, and how he’d already had contacts in the State Department of Tourism who were featuring Magazine Street in a national campaign for the fall, Dez finished with, “So each of you must know I care very deeply for this community and want to help it grow into a vital, thriving center for the arts, music and commerce. You have my pledge I will carry forth your mission.”
With a nod, Dez resumed his place in the back of the restaurant, next to Reggie Carney, who’d slipped in while he spoke. She almost smiled at the irritated look he shot the football player, but reined in her emotions enough to say, “Thank you, Mr. Batiste.”
A low hum broke out when the others caught sight of the New Orleans Saints player, and if Eleanor had a gavel, she might have used it. Since she didn’t, she cleared her throat and finished out the agenda, ignoring the buzz in the room over Dez and Reggie, pretending it was any other meeting.
Didn’t work, but she dealt because if Eleanor was good at anything, it was dealing.
After days of not seeing Dez, the thought of taking things to a new level with him had cemented in her mind. She’d missed him, but appreciated the space he’d given her