The Casquette Girls (17 page)

“Baby steps…
Merc
i
.
” He gently kissed my cheeks and poured his coffee into a paper cup. “I have to get back to school. Pépé just asked me to run the milk over because there are no working refrigerators at the roasters.”

“No!” I grabbed his arm. “You just got here! I am dying of boredom. Please!”

“I have to go.
Je suis désolé, Adele
. I am so far behind, I have no idea how to catch up.” He grabbed a book from my stack on the counter and tossed it at me. “Plus, it looks like you have plenty to keep you occupied.
À bientô
t
!”

I tried not to sulk as he walked out the door.

It was back to just me and Isaac, who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was smiling at Sébastien’s departure. I cranked some classical music, hoping to scare him off, and picked up the loaner copy of Franz Kafka’
s
The Metamorphosi
s
.
The deceivingly thin paperback was the only book on the Sacred Heart reading list that I hadn’t already read. I sighed, shuffled the pages to my folded earmark, and read the first three sentences.

Then I read the first three sentences again. And again.

Despite not retaining much, I turned the page, trying to prompt my brain into a reading rhythm.

Read.

Read.

Read.

My eyes kept moving from the page to the two lonely nickels sitting in the tip jar – they were begging me to play with them.

Unlike the reading progress, it took only a little mental focus before the coins were dancing around the jar to the Tchaikovsky overture blaring in the background. Careful not to let them clink on the glass and bring attention to what I was doing, I smiled as a dime did a swan-dive to join the pirouetting nickels. The motion was hypnotizing.

When the song ended, I glanced up and saw Isaac staring at me from his table. The nickels clanked back to the base of the jar.
There was no way he could have seen the tiny coins from across the room, right?
This time his gaze didn’t break away as quickly as usual. My cheeks flushed, and I ducked under the counter to have a moment to myself.

Ugh. I need to focus my energy on something productive, or I am going to end up doing something stupi
d
.

I took a deep breath while I searched for a less dramatic song on the radio and then grabbed a small black notebook from my bag. When I stood back up, his gaze had returned to the felt tip of his marker. I daydreamed the marker floating from his hand and inking a mustache across his upper lip. Thank God it didn’t actually happen, but trying to contain the giggle made me snort.

He looked up.

My hand flew to my forehead to hide my smile as I flipped open the notebook; I tried my best to ignore him as I drew a line down the middle of a new page. On the left side I listed all the items I had tried to move but couldn’t: box of oatmeal, ceramic bowl, sponge, tennis shoe, bag of coffee beans, single coffee bean, toilette paper, broom, towel, stick of gum, book.

There must be some kind of pattern.

I forced myself not to chew on the pen while I recalled more items.

A cool gust of air came through the doors, making my arm hairs stand up. Without looking up from the notebook, I tugged the short sleeves of my coffee-stained V-neck and rubbed my arms, fingers landing on the thin
gris-gris
ribbon.

“Your cut is getting better—”

I slammed the notebook shut, jumping an inch off the stool.

The voice had come from lips just a few inches from my forehead. Niccolò Medici, the
Italiano
. I felt my eyes grow wide as I suddenly wondered if I had actuall
y
cause
d
the Palermo’s sign to fall, nearly crushing his brother.

“
Scusa
,” he said softly, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t mean to scare you.
”
I’d been hearing that a lot lately.
I really need to stop moping around and start being more aler
t
.

“No worries.” I attempted to resume my casual position on the counter, but it now felt awkward – he was still staring at my face.

My hand went over the claw mark, which was now a pinkish-purple, raised line from the base of my neck to my cheekbone. He pushed my fingers away and softly touched the tender mark. His touch was cool on my warm skin; he must have been working outside this morning. Our eyes locked. I tried my best not to let my nervousness transfer from my pulse, to my cheek, to his fingertips. H
e
did not
need to know how intimidated I was by the close proximity of his ridiculous good looks.

If this had been a scene from a French film, it would have been the perfect opportunity for two almost-strangers to kiss – it was exactly the bold kind of thing Émile would have done.

Ugh, get over him, Adele. He’s gone. Focus on the guy in front of you.

But it was too late; Niccolò shifted back, probably sensing my emotional spiral.

“Absurdist fiction?” he asked, picking up the tattered paperback. “So, you are into Kafka?” His accent slightly dragged the first vowel in the author’s name.

My brain begged me not to lie. It had barely retained part one of the German novella.

“Well, I’m reading it for school. The jury is still out on whether I’m into it or not.” My brain thanked me, but then I immediately wanted to choke myself to stop the next words from flying out. “But generally I like the absurd.”

He laughed. “Me too.” His expression briefly scrunched, probably trying to figure out whether I was referencing Ionesco or just trying to be abstract. “Although, I’ve learned to appreciate when things are simple, more straightforward.” He leaned on the counter, his hands nearly touching mine. I had no clue if we were still talking about literature. I nodded, even though “simple
”
was not the vibe I got from him – and for some twisted reason, I think I was attracted to the confusion it caused me.

Don’t overanalyze everything, as per usual, Adele.

Before I could respond, Isaac butted in with his empty mug. I quickly refilled it.

He gave Niccolò a hard stare before going back to his seat, and with that, our moment was over. I sighed internally. “Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, not wanting him to leave. “I know we aren’t in Rome, but I can pull a pretty decent shot of espresso.”

“
No, grazi
e
.
I just came to see you.”

“Oh.” My stomach did a back flip.

“And I wanted a break from work,” he quickly added, “and from my brother.”

“Gabe seems pretty full-on.”

He let out a deep laugh and leaned a little back on the counter. “That is a drastic understatement.” His lips pressed into a tight smile. Then, as if beckoned, his older brother walked through the door.

“
Bella
, my heroine! We meet again.”

Gabriel Medici was the type of guy who commanded the attention of a room simply by walking in and being beautiful. I remember thinking the same thing about Émile, only Émile was far more subtle.
Ugh. Sto
p
!
It was strange to think about a man being beautiful, but it really was the most fitting word to accurately describe the blond – well, both of the brothers, really, but Gabe had the unabashed personality to go along with it.

Niccolò retreated to a table, and his brother kissed my hand in a dramatic fashion, which I assumed was his norm.

“Why do you look so sad,
bella
? A beautiful woman should never look so sad.” He raised my arm over the empty pastry case, guiding me around the counter, and then spun me around, just as a Louis Armstrong and Billie Holiday duet started. I cracked a smile remembering the “Lady Stardust” night with my father, which already seemed like a month ago.

Gabe was as good at dancing as he was at posing – he led me around the floor in perfect time with the music, turning me at all the appropriate moments. It was totally over the top, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the attention, especially since he was doing it right in front of Isaac, which for some reason delighted me. Gabe seemed to pick up on this and further taunted
him by bending me into a low dip directly in front of his table. I shot the Northerner a look that meant,
Take not
e
,
as Gabe held the pose for another measur
e.
He must have gotten the hint because he grabbed his stuff and huffed out the door.

When my attention turned back to my partner, his eyes were stuck on my chest.
Jeez, he could at least be a little more discreet
.
Instead of attempting to hide his overt behavior, he looked up at me with an inquisitive expression and then back down at my chest.

That’s when I realized he was just looking at my necklace. The medallion had slipped out of the V-neck.
Innocent enough, I suppos
e
.
He pulled me up with such excitement, my feet couldn’t keep up with the spin. I flung towards the door, where I was caught in the arms of Désirée Borges. My momentum knocked us both over, because, of course, she was wearing six-inch heels. She was cursing my name before we even hit the ground.

In a flash, Niccolò put himself in between me and Désirée’s line of venomous lashes. He helped me up, while Gabe extended his hand to her. As Désirée’s gaze went from his fingers to his face, her slanderous rage dwindled to silence. I tried to contain it but couldn’t help let out a quiet giggle
, witnessing Gabe’s mere presence shut her up.

“Please accept my apology,
signorina
. I am entirely at fault.” He helped her up with one fell swoop. She looked from Gabe to me and then to Niccolò as she adjusted the micro-miniskirt over her perfect stems.

She seemed rendered speechless by the idea of me fraternizing with not only one but two older, stylish guys. I couldn’t say I blamed her. “No harm, no foul,” she finally managed.

I walked back behind the counter to get a better view of whatever was about to unfold.

“Adele, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

She knows my nam
e
?
The title “friends” was a bit of a stretch, given this was my second run-in with the foreigners, but there was no way I was going to let an opportunity like this pass me by. “Désirée Borges, meet Gabe and Niccolò Medici. They are over from Italy, looking for some missing relatives and staying with the Palermos.”

“That’s so terrible,” she said. I couldn’t help but wonder if she cared at all or if she just wanted to jump Gabe. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is entirely ours,” Gabe said as he kissed her hand.

Niccolò stood in the background, looking my way. He rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatic gesture. I got the impression this was something he’d heard a thousand times before. Another quiet chuckle escaped my lips.

“We’re not staying with the Palermos anymore,” he said to me. “We managed to get our own place around the corner.”

“So, how do you ladies know each other?” Gabe asked Désirée.

The look in her eyes showed that she was falling fast. “Well… um… our parents…”

I intercepted. “We don’t actually know each other that well.” She appeared grateful to no longer be on the spot but seemed alarmed I might blow the fact that we weren’t BFFs. “Which is kind of odd, considering our parents go way back. But we’re going to be spending a lot of time together soon…”

She looked at me with suspicion.

“Because we’ll be attending the same school, as of tomorrow, right?” I flashed her a beaming smile.

Her eyes bugged. “Right,” she said through gritted teeth.

I guess she hadn’t known I was the Academy’s newest recruit.

“
Eccellente
! Adele is my absolute favorite person in New Orleans. Promise me you’ll take good care of her.”

“Really?” she asked, flabbergasted.

I tried not to show my own surprise. I owed Gabe for this
.
Big tim
e
.

“
S
i
, she saved my life, but that’s another story for another time.”

“I promise,” she said. “And you can tell me the whole story,
next
time.”

I had no idea if Gabe was really interested in Désirée, but she was eating it up. While she continued to flirt relentlessly, I realized Niccolò had disappeared. My disappointment surprised me, but I couldn’t blame him for wanting to bail on this nauseating display of high school flirtation. I wished I could have.

I made Désirée her sugar-free vanilla iced-coffee so I didn’t have to watch every move as she threw herself at the elder Medici. When I slid the cup across the counter, she happily grabbed it and seductively sucked on the straw, ogling.