Bourbon Street Blues by Maureen Child Read Free Book Online

in.
    He’d never really thought about the advantages his family’s wealth had given him. Now that he did, he felt almost guilty.
    “At sixteen,” he said, “I was playing cricket on a public school field outside London.”
    She laughed. “London. I’d like to see it sometime myself. When I was sixteen, I got my first long-time gig singing to the late-night drunks at Frenchy’s over on Bourbon Street.”
    “Frenchy’s?” Parker gave a low whistle and shook his head slowly. He couldn’t imagine someone who looked as delicate and… fresh as Holly workingin a dive like Frenchy’s. “I know grown men too scared to go into that joint.”
    “Didn’t say I wasn’t scared,” she pointed out. “But all in all, it wasn’t so bad. Frenchy looked out for me. And he let me live above the bar.”
    “You lived alone? In that neighborhood?”
    She shrugged. “I’d have been alone anywhere—and that apartment over Frenchy’s was cheap. I had Tommy and Shana, too. I spent a lot of time at their place.”
    “You’re amazing.”
    “Thanks, but I’m not, really.” Holly spoke with a forced lightness. “Trust me. Being out on my own was way better than living in the foster system.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You don’t have to be. It was a long time ago. And I’ve done just fine.”
    “How old were you when—”
    “I was two.” She blew out a breath, rubbed her palms across her knees. “I have no idea who my parents were, but I used to make up some great stories about them.”
    “Like what?”
    “You know, like they died saving me from a fire. Or a crashed plane. Or…”
    “You poor kid.”
    She looked at him warily. “Hey, no point in gettingall sympathetic on me. I’m fine. I like my life just the way it is. Wouldn’t change a thing.”
    “Right. No sympathy.” It impressed him that she could dismiss a background that a lot of people would use to garner sympathy. But despite what he’d said, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the abandoned child she’d once been.
    Pushing herself to her feet, Holly spun in a slow circle and lifted both hands to encompass the entire room. “Enough about me, Parker. I want to hear more about why you did this. Why it means so much to you.”
    He stood, too. “Remember what you said earlier? About being remembered?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, maybe I don’t want to be remembered just for great coffee.”
    “Makes sense to me.”
    “Is that right?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting. “Aren’t you the one who just yesterday said that I shouldn’t quit? Shouldn’t just walk away?”
    “Well, yeah,” she admitted, “but I didn’t know that you had this place to turn to. That you had a plan. A dream . I mean, I just thought you were, I don’t know…just quitting in general.”
    “That makes a difference?”
    “Does to me,” she said. “I understand dreams.”
    “So quitting something as long as you have another goal is okay?”
    “Sure, then it’s just starting over. That’s not walking away, it’s walking to . Makes perfect sense.”
    He grinned ruefully. “It won’t to my parents.”
    “Not happy about your new venture?”
    “They’re waiting for me to stop playing at this and concentrate on work again.”
    “And are you going to?”
    “No.” He inhaled sharply, deeply, then released the breath on a sigh. “I’ve been planning this for too long to give it up.” He looked from the wide front windows to the espresso machine, to the stage behind them. “This is what I want to do. Run my own place. Maybe sit in on some jazz occasionally.”
    “You sing?” she asked.
    “God, no.” He laughed, holding both hands up in surrender. “But I do play the sax a little.”
    “I’d like to hear you. Nothing like the sound of a good saxophone.”
    “That could be arranged.”
    “I like the shine in your eyes when you talk about this place.”
    “I like the shine in your eyes, period,” he said, meeting her gaze and holding it as seconds ticked