Read A Better Reason to Fall in Love Online
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Tags: #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Fiction
“Yes, child, I can!” Regina giggled as they paused before the door to one of the upstairs rooms. “Personally, this is my favorite room. We call it Evangeline.”
“Like the poem by Longfellow?” Tabby asked.
Regina smiled. “Exactly!”
Tabby smiled too, thinking how impressed Naomi and her new poetry-reciting professor husband would be.
“I hope you like it,” Regina said. “Jagger will probably have my head if you don’t.”
Regina opened the door, and Tabby gasped as she stepped into the room. It was ethereal! Decorated in soft browns, greens, ecru, and rose, the room drew Tabby in—enfolded her like a warm dream. A large four-poster eighteenth-century style bed was at its center, softened by quilts and pillows of a rose motif. There were antique chairs of the same period, an oval standing mirror, and an old washstand, complete with basin and a pitcher filled with fresh flowers. A mosquito-net canopy was gathered at the ceiling at the head of the bed and fanned out over the headboard. The scent of gardenia mingled with vanilla was light in the room, and Tabby thought she heard crickets.
“Crickets?” she asked. “In the middle of the day?”
Regina giggled as she walked to the little bedside table to the right of the bed.
“It’s one of those sound machines,” she said, pointing to a small electronic box. “It helps set the mood of the room, don’t you think?”
“It’s perfect!” Tabby exclaimed.
Regina put a hand to her chest and sighed with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad you like it! Jagger wanted everything to be perfect and comfortable for you…and I was so afraid you’d think it was too…too…you know…historical.”
“Nothing is too historical for me,” Tabby said.
“Good!” Regina said. “Then you’ll love this city.”
“So?” Jagger asked, stepping into the room. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful!” Tabby exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Seriously.”
“I’m glad,” he said, taking her hand and lacing their fingers. He led her toward the bed. “That’s an awfully big bed…for one person, I mean.”
Tabby giggled as Regina took hold of Jagger’s free hand and began pulling him toward the door. “Oh no, you don’t, Jagger!” she scolded. “I promised Maw Maw I’d keep you respectable while you were here.”
Tabby’s smile broadened as Regina slapped Jagger on the bottom once. “Now you take this girl to dinner. I called and got that reservation at Broussard’s for you, and you need to be at Uncle Leon’s place at eight. So go on!”
“She’s always been pretty bossy,” Jagger whispered to Tabby.
“I ain’t bossy!” Regina argued as they descended the stairs.
“Yes, you are,” Mike exclaimed. He was still standing in the entryway, still enormous and intimidating.
“You hush,” Regina scolded the large man. Mike simply shrugged his gargantuan shoulders and smiled.
“Now you keep that Jagger in line, darlin’,” Mike said. “N’awlins can have a mighty scandalous effect on a man.”
“I will,” Tabby said as Mike bent way, way down and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“She won’t,” Jagger mumbled.
Tabby laughed as Regina swatted his behind again. She pointed a warning index finger at him and said, “You behave boy…else I’ll tell Maw Maw.”
“Come on, Tabby,” Jagger said, leading her out of the bed-and-breakfast by way of the front door. “They won’t let us have any fun if we stay here.”
“Jagger Brodie! I’ll tell Maw Maw on you! You behave now, you hear?” Regina called.
“Now you leave that boy alone, Regina,” Tabby heard Mike say.
Once they were on their way, leisurely walking through the French Quarter, Jagger shook his head. “She wouldn’t dare tell Maw Maw on me,” he mumbled. He grinned at Tabby. “I know too many things about her I could threaten to tell Maw Maw.”
“They’re, like…adorable!” Tabby said.
Jagger chuckled. “Yeah…they’re pretty funny.”
The air was heavy, hot, and moist. Still, there was something relaxing in the atmosphere of the old city. Jagger told her he pretty much knew his way around the quarter blindfolded—and that he probably ought to blindfold her before wandering down some of the streets. “The skanky part of the city,” he called it.
Still, as the scents, the sights, and the sounds of the ancient, weather-beaten city enveloped her, Tabby surrendered at last. As Jagger put his arm around her, pulled her close to him as they walked, she sighed. All the stress of work—all the doubters of romance and true love—seemed far away. Here with Jagger, she could dream the wildest dreams of him that she wanted—dreams of love, marriage, a future lived only with him. Here she could more than dream. Here she could breathe him—keep him all to herself.
❦
Tabby joined the crowd in applauding. In the dimly lit blues club, teeming with every sort of blues fan imaginable, Tabby gazed at Jagger as he said his final, “Thank you. Thank y’all very much.”
He was phenomenal! She could see he was more at home here—more comfortable in a room filled with a sea of people who really loved his kind of music—than he was at home in his grandmother’s restaurant. And the sea of people loved him! All night they’d called out requests, grooved to his music as they sat in their chairs, or stood lining the walls of Chiasson’s. They loved him—loved him differently than the patrons of Sweet Genevieve’s loved him. The people at Sweet Genevieve’s did love him, but not with the depth and appreciation the people of New Orleans did. These people had blues and jazz running through their veins. This was the birthplace of such music, the hub of the soulful music Jagger loved.
She watched as he stepped off the stage and was instantly set upon by admirers—men and women wanting to compliment him, wanting to know when he’d be back.
Tabby smiled as she saw him working his way toward her—and it
was
work. He was kind to everyone—thanked them and accepted their handshakes and hugs. Yet it was obvious she was his goal—and the realization thrilled her!
“So you’re the drip-drop of nectar that’s got our Jagger in her clutches,” Leon Chiasson said, taking a seat beside her at the small table.
Tabby blushed, uncomfortable not only because Jagger’s uncle was complimenting her but also because Jagger’s uncle was Leon Chiasson!
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “I’m not even sure I have clutches.”
Leon Chiasson—one of the most famous blues artists to ever walk the earth—chuckled. His voice was low and gravelly, like he’d been singing his whole life without a break.
“Oh, baby, you got clutches. Sure enough you do, darlin’. In fact,” he said, lowering his voice and taking her hand in his, “if little ol’ Jagger wasn’t my nephew…I’d pursue you for my own purpose.”
Tabby smiled. Oh, he was a shameless flirt. Still, not a disgusting one, and she countered, “Aren’t you married, Mr. Chiasson?”
“Not currently, sweet thing,” he said, kissing the back of her hand.
“You better watch out for Uncle Leon, Tabby,” Jagger said as he finally reached her table. “He’s a real player.”
Leon Chiasson released Tabby’s hand, chuckling.
“Bone-sexy redhead indeed,” Leon said. “You keep this little jar a clover honey close, boy.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about it, Uncle Leon,” Jagger said, kissing the top of Tabby’s head.
“It was nice to meet you, Miss Tabby,” Leon Chiasson said then. “You comin’ back with my boy next month? He promised the manager of this place he’d do a gig here every month or so from here on.”
“I…I…um…” Tabby stammered.
“Hmm. Gonna wait and see if he rings your bell this first time, is it?” the man teased.
“She won’t ever want to come back if she thinks all this city is, is a breeding ground for old lechers like you,” Jagger teased.
Leon Chiasson laughed. “Fair enough, Jagger. Fair enough.” He nodded to Jagger once more. “I’ll see you in the studio next month. You’re still gonna lick that guitar on that track for me, ain’t ya?”
“Yes, sir,” Jagger said.
Leon pointed an index finger at his nephew. “And don’t you go tossin’ nothin’ away without thinkin’ on it first. You hear me?”
“I wouldn’t,” Jagger said.
“Now, you take this girl over to the Cafe du Monde and intoxicate her with your charms and a few beignets.” He leaned over and kissed Tabby’s cheek before rising from his chair and pulling Jagger into an affectionate hug.
“Yes, sir,” Jagger said, patting his uncle on the back.
“I’ll see you next time around, you little drip-drop of nectar,” Leon Chiasson said with a wink. He turned then, and Tabby was relieved to see him go.
“He’s a shameless flirt,” Jagger said.
“You’re going to record with him?” Tabby asked.
Jagger shrugged. “Yeah. It’s no big deal though. I’ve been doing it off and on for years.”
Tabby’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”
Jagger shook his head—said thank you as a patron patted him on the back and expressed admiration.
“It’s not that big a deal, Tabby…really.” He paused a moment, his demeanor changing. “He…uh…he’s gonna record a couple of my songs on his new album.”
Tabby smiled. “That’s wonderful! Are you just freaking out or what?” A nervous sort of pulse was coursing through her veins all of a sudden, but she wasn’t about to let on.
“Kind of,” he said. “I’m…I…” He glanced around. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her from her chair. “Let’s get of here.”
❦
“Well then, why don’t you have an accent?” Tabby asked.
Jagger smiled. She was so cute. Her little questions were so sweet.
“When we moved to Phoenix, everybody at school made fun of me,” he explained. “So, I worked on it…got rid of it. Became a fine grammarian.”
She giggled. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why Naomi was always going on and on about how great your office memos and e mails are.”
He chuckled, but it was somewhat feigned—for the time had come. Inhaling a deep breath of courage, Jagger sighed.
“I’ve made a decision, Tabby,” Jagger said as he watched Tabby put the straw from her glass of water on her front right incisor. He loved the way she did that—the way she always put her straw on her tooth. It made him smile, though it didn’t settle his fears.
“About what?” she asked. He could tell she was rattled. No telling what she thought he was going to say to her.
This was it. He knew it was—a pivotal moment in his life—
the
pivotal moment in his life. The next sentence he uttered—the next string of words he spoke to the woman he was in love with—would determine his course, the course of his entire future—of hers.
“There is a contract on the table,” he said. He watched the color drain from her face, the light snuff from her eyes. Yet this was the reaction he’d hoped for, the one that actually gave him hope.
“A-a recording contract,” she stammered.
The waiter brought out a plate of beignets. “Thank you,” Jagger said to him. “Yeah…a recording contract,” he told her.
“Is…is it lucrative? Promising?” she asked. She was trembling—but was it for the reasons he hoped?
“Very,” he said. “I’ve been offered contracts before, and I’ve always turned them down.”
“Just waiting for the perfect one for you, huh?” Tabby said, almost breathlessly.
Jagger smiled. He knew then. She loved him—and she wouldn’t care.
“I guess, when you put it that way, you hit the nail exactly on the head,” he said. She was the one, the perfect woman for him—the one he’d been waiting for all his life.
“So…you said you’ve made a decision,” she prodded. “You’re going to sign it, so to speak.”
It took every ounce of self-control Jagger had not to reach across the table, wrestle her to the ground, and do what he wanted with her right then and there.
“I have made a decision,” he said. “And you’re the only one who can make me change my mind.”
Jagger had fought long and hard with himself. He didn’t want fame or fortune. The only thing he wanted was sitting across the table from him. However, he loved Tabby, and if she wanted fame and fortune—if she wanted him to sign with the label and pursue a career in the music business—he would. He’d do it for her.
“I don’t want it, Tabby,” he told her. “I don’t want the misery and mess that comes with a life lived like the one my Uncle Leon has had. I don’t want any of it—not the fame…or even the fortune,” he said. He grinned. “I know you probably think I’m crazy, but it’s true.” He inhaled a deep breath—exhaled it slowly. “It messes too much with your head. People’s priorities get all jacked up. I don’t want that.” He paused a moment. Tabby knew her expression must be that of slight disbelief, for he said, “I’m serious. Look at famous performers in any category—actors, singers, athletes, anything like that. They don’t have any privacy. It’s impossible to have healthy relationships because they’ve got a skewed sense of priorities…and morality.” He shook his head again. “Nope. I’m a white picket fence kind of guy. I like the suburbs. I like real people—normal people with normal problems and a sense of what’s really important.” He shrugged. “And besides, I enjoy my music…and I want to continue to enjoy it. I don’t want to force and twist it and be told what to do with it just to make a buck. My music is what I do for fun…you know? I think I’d start to hate it if it became my job.” He smiled, “I already have a job…and I’d rather hate it than my music.”