So Not My Thing - Melanie Jacobson Page 0,58

the music and my own heartbeat. “I should go see if there’s any work left to do in the kitchen.”

I turned, and it looked as if he would follow, but one of Miss Mary’s daughters spun out of a cousin’s arms and into Miles’s, grinning. “Show me your moves,” she said, and Miles swept her into a dance hold even as his eyes met mine in a question. I fluttered my fingers at him in a weak goodbye and almost ran for the kitchen.

There wasn’t anything to do. Everything from the cooler to the cupboards had been cleaned out completely. At best, the twenty-gallon soup kettle held a couple of inches of leftover gumbo, but I pushed up my sleeves and began ladling it into gallon Ziploc bags for Miss Mary’s family to take and freeze for another day.

Miles stepped in a few minutes later, the muffled sounds of “The Cupid Shuffle” leaking through the kitchen door as it closed behind him.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey!” I returned brightly like I hadn’t almost gone somewhere dangerous with him on that dance floor minutes before.

“We good?”

“Of course.” I dumped more gumbo into the bag I was holding.

“Because it sort of seemed like...”

I didn’t want to know how he would finish the thought. “Yeah, I’m always itchy to be doing something. I don’t want Miss Mary to have any mess to worry about tonight. Thought I’d come back and take care of it so she can go home, and the kitchen, at least, will be ready for you to take over Monday morning.”

“Right.” He leaned against the stainless steel counter behind him. “The perfect agent as usual, going above and beyond.”

“It’s the Crescent City Properties promise,” I said, flashing him my professional smile.

“I’ll be sure to give your boss a good report.”

“Much appreciated.” I scraped the ladle against the bottom of the kettle in pursuit of more gumbo.

“Will I see you again?”

I paused and turned to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“This feels like it might be how you close all your deals before you move on to the next one.”

“I’m not just your agent here; I’m your landlord.” His shoulders relaxed until I added, “Of course we’ll talk again. Old buildings always need some kind of fixing. You can call me any time.”

He opened his mouth like he was about to argue, hesitated, then pushed away from the counter. “Fair enough. Thanks for helping me find this place. I’ll see you around, Ellie.”

The door had no sooner closed behind him than it opened to admit Miss Mary. “Hey, honey,” she said. “What are you doing back here?”

“Scooping up the last of the gumbo so I can clean this kettle for you.”

“Leave it. My grandkids will do it.”

“I don’t want any of you to have to do any more work tonight. You’ve earned the right to relax completely.”

“I have,” she said, “and you have too, but a little work won’t kill those grandbabies. Leave it for them. Honestly.” Her tone said clearly that she wasn’t going to argue about it.

I hung the ladle on the lip of the kettle. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go on and wash your hands so I can give you something.”

She hustled to the small office at the back of the kitchen, but I wasn’t sure why since she’d cleaned it out as surely as she had the rest of the place. I washed my hands, and when she emerged, she handed me a white envelope. “Take this and follow the directions.”

“What directions?”

She nodded her head at it. “Now I’m going to go enjoy one last dance with my kids. Mind leaving me and Harold to lock up one last time? I’ll leave the keys on your doorstep.”

“Of course not.”

“Bye, baby. I’ll call you when my book is done.” And she slipped back out to the restaurant.

I looked down at the envelope. It had my name printed in her curly script, and beneath it, just four words: Open in three months.

What in the world?

Chapter Seventeen

Nothing could have convinced me to go downstairs for the next week, and I mean nothing. Not the most powerful gris-gris. Not money, love, or the possibility of saving the world from destruction. N.o.t.h.i.n.g.

I didn’t want to deal with any weird Miles vibes. I didn’t want to discuss our almost-kiss on the dance floor. And honestly, I didn’t want to have to deal with all the demolition noise that started at eight o’clock sharp on Monday morning. They had to gut parts of the place to put

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