Bourbon Street Blues by Maureen Child Page B

tomorrow.”
    “Exciting.”
    “And a little nerve-racking. I’ve got a local band playing for the first couple of hours, so they’ll be a good draw.”
    “Really?” she asked, interested. “Who?”
    “Hanson’s trio.”
    “Mmm. Good choice.” Holly stirred her tea with her straw. “They’re a popular group here in the Quarter.”
    “I know.” Still watching her, he asked her the question he’d been wanting to ask her for a couple of days now. “But for the second set, I was thinking what I needed was a solo. Someone with style and grace and a voice that will keep people in their seats all night.”
    She tipped her head to one side and her hair fell in an auburn curtain he longed to comb his fingers through. “Got anyone in mind?”
    “Matter of fact…”
    “Anyone I know?”
    “Cute,” he said, grinning now. God, it was so easy to talk to her. To be with her. “How about it, Holly? Do a set for me on opening night?”
    She took a drink of her tea then tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. “Tommy wouldn’t be able to accompany me. He promised his wife they could get away for the weekend after our last set here.”
    “I can provide a piano player,” he said. “He won’t be as good as Tommy, but…”
    “It’ll do.”
    He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. “Then you’ll do it?”
    “I’m looking forward to it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T HE GRAND OPENING of Parker’s Place was a success—even better than Parker had hoped.
    He stood in the back of the club, letting his gaze drift over the crowd. Waitstaff moved through the tables, carrying tall, chocolate-colored ceramic mugs filled with all kinds of coffees. Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos—frothy drinks and ice blends topped with whipped cream, caramel syrup and a long, craggy cinnamon stick for stirring. And for those who preferred a different kind of relaxation, there was wine. A fine selection of some of the best domestic whites and reds.
    The scent of chicory-based coffee floated on the still air and mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, beignets and panini sandwiches. The room was cast in romantic shadows beyond the stage lights shining down on the Hanson trio, who had already brought the crowd to their feet twice.
    Parker made eye contact with a few of the patrons as the trio ended their set to another round of applause. This crowd differed from the ones who frequented the bars in the Quarter. There was a sprinkling of tourists, but most of the people sitting in the candlelit darkness, enjoying well-played jazz, were locals.
    And that’s just what he had been hoping for. He could make money from tourists, but to be a real success, he’d need the support of the people who lived here. People who were looking for a place to go where they wouldn’t have to deal with rowdy drunks. A place where they could listen to good music, share conversation and drink the best coffee his family’s firm offered.
    Pride filled him.
    A pride he had never felt no matter how well he had done his job at James Coffees. This place was his. His dreams had brought it to life and he knew, suddenly and clearly, that he couldn’t go back to working for his family full-time. Just thinking about the familiar office with its ringing phones and clacking keyboards was enough to fill him with dread. He didn’t belong there anymore. Maybe he never had.
    This was where he needed to be.
    Where he wanted to be.
    “This is wonderful.”
    Her voice slipped into him like a warm hand on a cold night and Parker turned to look at Holly’s upturned face. Her eyes were dazzled and her full lips curved into a smile of such pleasure, he grinned right back at her.
    It was good to share this with someone. To have someone else know how much it meant. To appreciate the rightness of it.
    “It’s going really well.”
    “I can see that.” She turned to look over the crowd and smiled wider when the applause continued for the musicians who were gathering up their