The Pepper in the Gumbo (Men of Cane River #1)(32)

“I know. I just saw on Celebstalker site that you flew into your old hometown. And I thought it would be fun to see where the famous Paul Olivier came from.”

He blinked. Holly had never shown any interest in his hometown. In fact, he didn’t think she’d ever asked where he was from. She couldn’t be suggesting that he invite her for a visit. It had been months since they’d even spoken. “I’ll be working most of the time, actually. I don’t know if―”

“An anonymous source said you were planning a huge opening bash with some really big celebrities. That doesn’t sound like work. It sounds like fun!”

Paul sighed. The nightclub scene must be wearing thin in New York City. Personally, he’d rather clean out the lint trap in his dryer. It was more entertaining.

“I’ll let you know when it is. Right now we don’t even have a building.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I can come down there anytime and keep you company. I’ll help you plan everything. Plus, I know how lonely you get on the road.” He could hear her smiling and it made him grit his teeth. When they were dating, he confessed how much he hated traveling, wishing he could just stay home for once. Days later, stories started circulating that he was agoraphobic and a recluse like Howard Hughes. A tabloid quoted an “anonymous source,” claiming he sat around in his underwear, eating only candy bars and panicking at the thought of germs.

“I’ll let you know as soon as any plans are made,” he said and hung up before she could respond. He definitely had to be more careful about answering the phone.

Paul wandered to the built-in window seat and stared out at the river. This wasn’t the view he’d had when he was growing up. He’d seen the factories across the tracks, belching smoke and disgorging exhausted workers in twelve-hour cycles. Turning his head from side to side, he tried to ease the tension in his neck. He’d only been here half a day and he was wound tighter than a two dollar watch. He smiled at the thought. His mama liked to say that and he could hear her voice in his head. She was coming to Natchitoches tomorrow for the zydeco festival and he couldn’t wait to hug her tight. He was glad she was happy in her old farmhouse out of the city, but they were still Cane River Creole through and through. This would always be home in some way.

Paul checked the time and dropped onto the window seat. Andy had seven minutes to get to the apartment or he’d just decide for both of them. He tapped his foot, wondering why it seemed so quiet in this place. It was a long time since he’d sat in perfect silence. It was hard to hush his brain, shut off all the to-do lists and worries.

He touched the email app on his phone but didn’t open any new messages. He went straight to Alice’s note, and even though a quiet voice in his head told him to leave it be, he sent a quick reply.

Miss Augustine,

I believe Alexander Pope was a great genius, but his witty satire didn’t win him many friends. He never took a walk without his Great Dane, and a pair of loaded pistols in his pockets. Whether this was due to his treatment of women, we can’t be sure. He did seem to have a callous view of romance, saying, “they dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.” Maybe that’s why he never married.

Thank you for the picture. It was the best part of my day. Actually, it was the best part of my week.

I’m traveling right now and I miss my bookshelves. I miss the familiar sight of all my favorites who have become like dear friends to me.

Yours,

BWK



He sent the message and sat staring at the screen. Maybe it was being back in his home town, or having made such a jerk of himself earlier, but he felt entirely off-kilter. He usually walked through life with the confidence of a man who had created a very successful company, even if he wasn’t ever going to be a great public speaker, or be able to work a room like a pro. But today, all his confidence evaporated the moment he’d argued with Alice. He was left scrambling to make amends, to prove he wasn’t the arrogant, wealthy, entitled guy she’d met today. And it seemed the best way to do that was to reach out to her with the only version of him she didn’t hate: Browning Wordsworth Keats.

His phone buzzed and he saw a reply. Paul frowned, wondering if she had gone back down to the store already. That wasn’t a very long lunch.

Dear BWK,

Please excuse any weird typos, I’ve just learned to use the email app on my phone.

A particularly unpleasant customer used Alexander Pope against me today and I like the poet even less now.

I’m glad you enjoyed the picture. I haven’t traveled from my home town for almost five years. I’m happy with that state of affairs. My books are my friends, too. If I had to travel, I’d want to pack the whole store.

Alice



Paul closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes when he was reading a particular poet or writer, they seemed to get into his head and everything seemed to be related. He would walk through his day, lines popping into his head that supported his current arguments. And he’d done the same with Alice. It was a bad habit he needed to end, before it caused him a bigger headache. He re-read the note and grinned. She was emailing on her phone for him. That had to count for something.



Dear Alice,

I’m sorry a customer was rude to you. Pope would say “never find fault with the absent,” but I don’t think that will bring our poet friend back into your good favors. Personally, I think anyone who would be unkind to a bookstore owner is clearly unhinged. This person must have succumbed to the urge to show off so “pride, the never-failing vice of fools” might fit well here. Anyway, “to err is human, to forgive divine.” (You knew that was coming.)