was seeing right into me, and it made me feel exposed.
“Elle?” He looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to keep talking or wait for me, and even though his hair wasn’t long enough anymore to flop into his eyes like it had on the show, he pushed it aside anyway in a quick, nervous swipe.
I cleared my throat. “I understand.”
“Yeah?” His tone was hopeful.
“Yeah. And I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of asking what you need. How would you feel about going back to my office, starting over one more time, and getting it right?”
He gave me a wide, genuine smile that made my stomach flip the way it had the first time I’d seen him perform at the show choir competition. I suspected few people got to see that unguarded smile. “I’d love that, Elle.”
I stood and brushed the last of the sugar off me. “Let’s go then, rock star. Time to do this for real.”
Chapter Seven
Miles offered to drive us both over to the office, and since I’d walked to the Quarter from my apartment, I agreed. I was curious about what he drove, anyway.
A classic Mustang convertible, it turned out. “My brother Dylan loves old Mustangs,” I told him. “This is in gorgeous condition.” It had a pristine leather interior and vintage burgundy paint.
“Thanks. It’s a 1965. I restored it myself.”
“You’re a car guy, huh?” I asked as I climbed in.
“Yeah. Definitely one of the worst things about me.”
That made me laugh. “My brother is a gearhead. I’m used to it.”
He shut his door and fastened his seatbelt. “Sounds like he and I should talk. Radio okay?”
“Sure.”
He tuned it to the local public radio station and its daily jazz lunch program. He looked so good in the driver’s seat, one arm resting casually on the door, the other keeping a loose grip on the wheel, just waiting to be a poster or album cover. But I probably would have been attracted to Daffy Duck if he were behind the wheel of a classic Mustang.
I kept the conversation light on the way to the office, mostly talking about the Saints and the weather, two topics every New Orleans native could discuss at length.
At the office, Jay the receptionist did a double-take behind his desk when we walked in but otherwise kept his cool, and the handful of agents who were in smiled but stayed lowkey. Dave gave a simple, “Nice to see you again, man,” then grabbed an extra chair and settled it between our desks.
I waved Miles into it. “Have a seat and let’s put together a game plan. I’m going to start with a search of available restaurant spaces since you’ll be serving dinner. You have a chef in mind?”
He shook his head. “No, but the problem won’t be trying to find one. It’ll be narrowing down too many great choices.”
I smiled. “True. One of the best things about living here.”
Miles patted his flat stomach. “I’ve eaten at five-star restaurants around the world, and there’s nothing that beats a muffuletta from—”
“Central Grocery,” I said at the same time Dave said, “DiMartino’s.”
Dave and I grinned at each other.
“We’ve been having this argument since he started working here,” I explained to Miles. “Dave doesn’t know because he’s from Baton Rouge, and I had to explain what a muffuletta was.”
“In my defense, nothing about the word ‘muffuletta’ suggests Italian charcuterie sandwiches. But I’ve got Louisiana tastebuds same as you, and I’m telling you, it’s DiMartino’s,” Dave said.
Miles had sunk down in his chair, looking as relaxed as I would in my own living room. He tilted his head and squinted at Dave. “How can that be true when Central invented them?”
I held up my hand for a fist bump, which Miles delivered. “Stop talking, Dave. I’ll ask you if I want to know where to get the best crawfish, but I’ve got muffulettas on lock.” I turned my screen so Miles could see it and showed him the map with properties fitting his parameters. “What do think about the Marigny?”
He straightened so he could see the screen. “I think I’m interested, that’s what. There are some great clubs in there.”
“I like this space.” I clicked on a former restaurant. It had good bones and a setup that could work for a club, but it was on the smaller side. “You can see from the outside that it’s a different vibe from Bourbon Street.”
Miles leaned forward to study the picture of the property nestled