Made in Manhattan

Each bite was more enjoyable than the last.

“You might want to save room,” Cain said. “We haven’t had dessert.”

“No way.” She shook her head decisively, a hand on her stomach. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Not here. But I know a place.”

She looked at her watch. “That’s still open?”

“New York’s not the only city that never sleeps.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she mused. “That the two cities can have so many similarities and yet be so different.”

“A bit like people.”

She gave him a surprised glance. “That’s a whimsical thought.”

He grimaced and lowered his voice to cowboy grunts. “Football. Beer. Steak.”

Violet laughed. “I get it. Very masculine. But you’ve been right about your city. There’s something magical about New Orleans, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.

Violet watched him. “You love it here.”

“Sure. It’s my home.”

The statement was delivered off-the-cuff, an instinctive response on his part, but it made the food in Violet’s stomach churn unpleasantly. “And New York is not.”

He took his time answering. “No.”

She studied him. “If you get the job at Rhodes, you’d have to be in New York. You’d give up your home? Walk away from New Orleans?”

Cain looked frustrated. “Sure. Yeah. Life’s full of sacrifices.”

“What if you don’t get the job?” she pressed. “Will you still return to New Orleans?”

He met her gaze steadily. “Yeah, Duchess. I will.”

She forced a smile, understanding what he was trying to tell her, albeit more kindly than she’d have expected of the man she met a month ago: Without the job, there’s nothing to keep me in NYC.

“All right,” she said a bit too brightly. “Let’s see if this dessert place is as good as you say.”

Violet reached over to her purse and pulled out her wallet, but Cain snatched it out of her fingers and tucked it back into her bag. “Nope.”

“Let’s at least split it.”

“My turf, my rules, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Violet liked the way it rolled off his tongue, even as she was aware he’d probably said it to plenty of women, perhaps in this very restaurant.

Not liking the thought, she distracted herself by looking around the restaurant, which was a pleasant blend of modern and timeless. “I like this place.”

“But?” he asked expectantly.

“No but.”

Cain looked skeptical. “Really? You’re not going to point out that the lopsided table, the lack of a tablecloth, the paper napkins?”

“No! I wasn’t going to say any of that,” she said, feeling a little stung.

“My mistake,” he said, idly swirling his drink. “You’re more accepting of my town than I was of yours.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I am. Though I’d like to note, New York does have Central Park. Hard to beat that.”

“New Orleans has cemeteries.”

She blinked. “That’s the selling point you want to go with? Burial grounds?”

“Trust me. They’re worth seeing. I think there are tours; something for you to do while I’m at work tomorrow?”

Violet actually had every intention of going to work with him tomorrow, but she knew he’d put up an immediate protest, and didn’t want to ruin their evening with an argument, so she merely gave a noncommittal smile.

He finished his drink and took out his wallet, pulling out plenty of bills and tucking them under his plate. He came around to her chair, tugged it backward. “C’mon. I’m about to blow your mind.”

Violet laughed. “All right. But I’m skeptical that anything will beat those corn muffin things dipped in the saucy stuff we just had.”

Cain shook his head and took her hand in his to haul her to her feet before releasing her, a bit too soon for her liking. “Oh, Duchess. Prepare to eat your words.”

* * *

“Well?” Cain asked, leaning back against the rickety chair and shooting her a cocky grin.

“I would eat my words,” Violet said, closing her eyes as she chewed. “But I’m too busy eating these. They have to be made in heaven.”

“Quite possibly. N’awlins lesson number one, never underestimate the mighty beignet.”

Violet opened her eyes to see him reach for another, eating his in two large bites.

“I can’t believe how crowded this place is at this time of night,” Violet said, taking a sip of her café au lait and looking around.

“You should see it in the morning,” Cain said. “Plenty of people, tourists especially, treat it like their morning coffee and doughnut run. We locals know late night is where it’s at.” He winked.

“Unusual that a place would have a tourist and a local crowd. In Manhattan, it’s usually one or the other. Times Square with its glut of out-of-towners, or the hole-in-the-wall with six tables, tucked into the West Village, where the bartender knows everyone’s name.”

“Well, let’s not forget I’m with a tourist,” Cain said, smiling. “But there was no way I could let you come to New Orleans for the first time and not experience Café du Monde.”