“No, it’s good. Good flavor. It’s just—” He broke off and a strange look washed over his face. His eyes widened and he gave a short cough. “Oh. That’s got some kick.”
“Little bit.” I took another bite and he reached toward his iced tea.
“That’s—” But he couldn’t finish, coughing and taking a large drink instead.
Kendra let him suffer through a couple more bites before she swept in and switched his plate out for a different omelet. “We call her order the Death Omelet, and it’s an off-menu item only this crazy one eats. Nobody else can stomach it. This right here is a regular Cajun omelet for people with human tastebuds.”
“Thank you,” Miles said, relief dripping from every word even as his eyes watered.
I smiled and ate another forkful.
“You’re scary.”
I took another bite. “It clears the sinuses. My pawpaw drinks a tablespoon of cayenne in a cup of water every morning, and he’s almost 100 years old.”
He shook his head. “Another bite of that thing would put me on the floor. Or six feet under it.”
So far, this was going okay. No one had made a big deal of Miles being here even though Miss Mary clearly knew who he was. If anyone else knew, they hadn’t let on. We ate in peace for a couple minutes as he asked questions about the other Bywater properties I planned to take him to.
“The next place is on Royal and Clouet. Bigger than the first. Not sure if it’s too big for you, but you could definitely pack more people in.”
“I’d love a space this size,” he said, glancing around then smiling as Miss Mary came over to join us.
She scooted in next to me, a cup of coffee in front of her. “This size for what?”
“A jazz club I want to open. This is very close to the size and layout I want. Stage there,” he pointed to the side, “bar on the opposite side, great kitchen access, perfect amount of space. You got anything like that on the slate?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly, but some that’ll work. I’ll keep these dimensions in mind while I look for more spaces if you don’t like the ones we go see after we eat.”
“Miss Mary!” a voice called from the door. A voice that made my stomach burn like ten chili peppers. A voice that immediately turned this whole scene into a slow-motion disaster. I turned to Miss Mary, eyes wide, begging for help.
“Dylan!” she called back and shot me a look as she started to slide from the booth to head him off, I hoped.
“There you are,” he said, already striding toward us before she could get all the way out. He stooped to hug her and kiss her cheek as she stood. “Hey, brat,” he said over Miss Mary’s head. Then his eyes swept over Miles, and he froze, his jaw dropping. “No way.”
Miles put on the same smile he’d worn at Café du Monde when his fans had found him there, a tight smile that said it was trying to be polite. I wondered if he had any idea how pained he looked.
And how wrong he was about why Dylan was shocked to see him.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Miles held out his hand for a shake.
Dylan took it. “I’m doing just fine. How are you?” he asked me, a big, stupid grin on his face.
“Great.” I tried to shoot daggers from my eyes, daggers that would kill him before he said anything else. “Go away, Dylan.”
“Nah. I’m going to stand here taking this in for a minute.”
“Knock it off, boy.” Miss Mary pinched his side—hard, judging from his wince—but it didn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“I mean, I’ve lived with a meme, but this is the first time I’ve seen one come to life.” He looked at Miles. “Could you make my day and say the thing?”
Miles looked confused. “Sorry, say what thing?”
“You know. She’s so not my thing. And make that same face.”
Miles gave him a polite smile. “That was a long time ago, man.”
Dylan snorted. “It’s every day for Gabi.”
I closed my eyes and froze, wishing Dylan would disappear. Or I could disappear. Or Miles. I’d take any one of those options if it meant this conversation could die right now.
“Gabi?” Miles repeated, sounding even more confused.
“Gabi. Ellie,” Dylan corrected himself. “My sister. Your brunch date. Her.” He pointed at me as if Miles might not realize he