Return To Love. Betsy St. Amant

with suddenly sweaty fingers. “Oh?”

      “The Creole Boys are going to have to cancel.”

      Gracie rubbed her bare arms against the cool fall breeze blowing off the river. Late autumn had officially arrived in all its glory, scattering golden leaves across her path and casting dusky shadows under storefront awnings.

      After Lori finished her closing duties at the gift store, they decided to share a bowl of gumbo at Gumbo Shop before heading to their townhouse. They could brainstorm what to do about the gala over a steaming bowl of sausage and rice. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

      Lori tugged down the long sleeves of her uniform shirt. “Whew! It’s getting chilly.”

      “You’ll warm up after a few bites.” The hanging wooden sign of the famous restaurant swung into view. Gracie quickened her pace and breathed in the spicy aroma hovering outside the door. A few more steps, and she’d be inhaling the best gumbo this side of the Mississippi. She reached for the handle, her stomach growling in anticipation.

      A deep, familiar laugh penetrated the air.

      Grace’s fingers slipped off the door and she stared unseeing down the street. The bustling city sidewalks, the resonance of wind and boots scuffling leaves faded until only one sound reached her ears. Her back straightened and she drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Did you hear that?”

      “What? Your stomach growl?” Lori reached for the door of the restaurant.

      “No.” Gracie shoved the door shut and pulled Lori to one side. “That laugh.”

      Lori frowned. “I hear people laughing all the time. It’s a common expression of pleasure or enjoyment. You should try it more—”

      “It’s Carter.” Gracie slumped against the wall by the door. The husky, unique chuckle sounded again from the corner, and she knew without looking he must be a part of the crowd gathered around the performing street mime. His voice wrapped around her soul, pressing forbidden memories into the cracked pieces yet to heal. She’d missed that laugh.

      Lori’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

      Oh, she was sure. Her heart knew his voice—the same voice that serenaded the ripples in the Black Bayou Lake, that sang reassurances when they were ten years old and snuck out to watch a meteor shower and got lost on the way home. The same laugh that echoed across the dirty lake water while splashing waves in her face. No, she wouldn’t forget it—couldn’t. She nodded once.

      “Let’s go talk to him.”

      “Are you crazy?” Gracie stared at Lori in shock. “I don’t want to talk to him.” Yet some morbid, curious piece of her did.

      “He’s famous around this area, Gracie. You’ve gotta admit that’s pretty cool, jerk or not.” Lori craned her head to peer up the street at the patrons gathered around the clown.

      Bitterness crept back into the hollow places and Gracie’s fists clenched at her sides. It was always about Carter and his music, never about anything else. Never about his family—the way he hurt them with his rebellion and didn’t care. The way he broke his poor father’s heart by leaving town and never looking back. Never about his schoolwork and responsibilities, never about getting good grades for college, never about the church and the youth group.

      Never about her.

      His laugh sounded again, rising above the other chuckles in the crowd, and it sounded closer this time. Panic pounded in equal rhythm with her pulse. She couldn’t sit inside the Gumbo Shop now, couldn’t spoon rice from a bowl knowing Carter was mere feet away.

      “Let’s just say a quick hello.” Lori tugged at Gracie’s arm. “I want to see the man who’s had you all stirred up for a decade.”

      “Seven years.”

      “Whatever.” Lori pulled, and Gracie’s feet reacted against her will, following her friend down the cracked sidewalk and up the street to the corner of Royal and Saint Peter—her traitorous heart only an anxious beat behind.

      Carter joined in the crowd applauding the mime’s antics, then reached for his wallet and dropped a dollar bill into the box at the clown’s feet. “Great show!”

      The mime bowed in his direction and pretended to swipe tears of appreciation from his painted cheeks.

      Andy laughed. “See, I told you this was better than reruns on TV.” He elbowed Carter’s arm.

      “I never doubted you, man.”

      “I really like supporting the entertainment around here. We haven’t had nearly as many acts since Hurricane Katrina.”

      “I would imagine not.” Carter moved aside for another couple to drop a handful of change into the box, briefly wondering how much money the mime made on an average day performing. Was he a flood victim? Surely this wasn’t his only job.

      It reminded Carter he had a lot to be thankful for—the money he’d saved from his touring days and album releases guaranteed financial security for the next several years, if he was smart. Then he could work a side job and live comfortably while figuring out which path he was to take with his music ministry—while attempting to right the myriad wrongs in his life.

      And better yet, not having to touch the inheritance money his father left behind. He didn’t want any money from his father—ever.

      Ignoring the tightening in his stomach, Carter turned away from the crowd. “So what’s this about New Orleans cuisine? Are you guys all talk down here?”

      Andy puffed out his chest. “Hey, we don’t joke about food in this city. You want some jambalaya? The Gumbo Shop is just around the bend.”

      “Lead the way. My stomach will follow.”

      Carter moved behind Andy, and a flash of red on the corner caught his eye, hovering under the elaborate ironwork balcony on Royal Street. He blinked, then stared. It was Gracie, standing beside a tall brunette, both of them leaning against the window of an antique gallery and looking right at him.

      Gracie ducked behind Lori and turned to face the La-Branche House, heart pounding as she pretended to study the lacy iron scrollwork dripping off the three stories above her head. “Did he see me?”

      “Probably. Just go talk to him, for old times’ sake. You know you want to introduce me.”

      Oh, right. Gracie allowed Lori to pull her across the corner. Trusted new best friend, meet my backstabbing old best friend. They drew closer and Gracie’s pulse leaped at the sight of Carter’s unruly curls falling across his forehead. It brought another rush of forgotten memories and she paused, nearly yanking Lori backward. “You know, I’d really rather prefer a big bowl of gumbo. I’ll even pay.” She tried to tug her arm out of Lori’s grasp but her friend squeezed tighter.

      “No, ma’am. We’re almost there. Then you’ll thank me for getting you past this nightmare.”

      More like forcing her through it. Gracie took a shuddering breath and crossed the remaining feet of concrete separating her from her past. A light breeze wafted her hair across her eyes and she tossed her head to free the strands, not wanting to see Carter up close but unable to quell the urge—or Lori’s purposeful march.

      Carter looked up as they neared. “Gracie.” Warmth filled his eyes and a nervous shiver inched down her spine. “Hey. Wow, you look great.”

      So did he, but that was beyond the point. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, her back rigid. “Hi.”

      They stared at each other.

      A man walking ahead of Carter stopped and turned around. Gracie gasped. “Andy?” The street suddenly seemed much, much too small. “You know Carter?”

      “Pastor Andy!” Lori beamed. “Small world, huh?”

      “Carter