Good Times
Table of Contents
More Books by Jiffy Kate
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Reading Recommendations
Preview of The Vet and the Vixen
Acknowledgments
About The Authors
Good Times
Copyright © 2020 Jiffy Kate
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imaginations and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
Editor
Nichole Strauss
Insight Editing Services
Cover Designer, Interior Design and Formatting
Juliana Cabrera
Jersey Girl Design
www.jerseygirl-design.com
Proofreading
Janice Owen
Cover Model
Lucas Loyola
Photographer
Wander Aguiar
www.wanderbookclub.com
More Books by Jiffy Kate
Finding Focus Series
Finding Focus
Chasing Castles
Fighting Fire
Taming Trouble
French Quarter Collection
Turn of Fate
Blue Bayou
Come Again
Neutral Grounds
Good Times (coming May 28, 2020)
Ever After (coming Winter 2020)
Table 10 Novella Series
Table 10 part 1
Table 10 part 2
Table 10 part 3
New Orleans Revelers
The Rookie and The Rockstar
TVATV (coming Fall 2020)
Smartypants Romance
Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery, book 2)
Beef Cake (Donner Bakery, book 4)
Standalones
Watch and See
No Strings Attached
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Chapter One
Finley
“Happy New Year!” I hear someone yell, or slur rather, as I lock up the door in the narrow back alley behind Neutral Grounds. Shaking my head, I chuckle to myself. In the short time I’ve lived here, I’ve become accustomed to the liveliness of the city. It’s not just a New Year’s Eve thing, it’s a New Orleans thing.
This city is like a living, breathing creature, more vibrant than any city I’ve ever been in.
And who would’ve thought I’d be here?
On New Year’s Eve, no less?
Not me, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never been one to plan out my life or look too far into the future, taking each day as it comes and rolling with each punch life has given me. But if you would’ve asked me last year on New Year’s Eve where I saw myself in a year, I probably would’ve said right where I was—at a bar in downtown Dallas—living what I thought was my best life.
But that was before Shep planted the seed of starting fresh in New Orleans.
And then Maggie went to live with her sister.
The stars aligned, and here I am.
As I walk past a group of musicians pounding out a rhythmic soundtrack to the evening, I toss a few dollars in the upturned bucket. Being a musician myself, and a street musician at that, I know every little bit helps. It’s impossible for me to pass a bucket or open instrument case and not drop in whatever change is in my pocket. If I didn’t, I’m afraid some bad juju would jump right on me and I don’t need any of that.
“Thanks, man,” one of the guys calls out, giving me a nod of his head as he continues to beat the side of a five-gallon bucket, sounding better than a drummer with a high-dollar set of drums.
Every night here in New Orleans is electric, but tonight is even more so. There’s a very distinct hum, an intense charge, I can feel deep down to my bones as I make my way through the French Quarter.
When CeCe offered to let me stay in the apartment above her coffee shop, I had no idea how perfect the location would be. Honestly, I was just happy to have a clean and safe place to stay. And the super cheap rent was something I couldn’t afford to pass up either.
Once I realized how close I was to the heart of New Orleans, with all of the eclectic people and musicians roaming around, I knew I’d found a place to call home.
That’s exactly what it feels like, too.
Home.
With my saxophone case in hand and equipment bag over my shoulder, I walk quickly toward Lagniappe, a popular restaurant here in the Quarter. I haven’t been yet, but it’s owned by Micah Landry, a friend of Shep and CeCe, and has a reputation for good food, as well as good times, so I’ve been looking forward to this gig for weeks.
In the few months since I moved down here, I’ve quickly made a name for myself as a local musician and I’ve made some great connections, thanks to CeCe, Shep, and their friends. At times, it almost feels too good to be true, especially with the way I’ve been able to fit in with the locals. Back home in Dallas, I had a few trusted people I liked to work with, but I never truly felt like I belonged. It was like I was always trying to prove myself. Don’t get me wrong, I have to prove myself here, too, but it’s with a more creative vibe rather than a competitive one.
I walk into the building and have to admit I’m impressed. At first glance, it definitely lives up to the hype. Hardwood floors, leather seating, and warm lighting give the place a really cool vibe.
“Hey, Finley,” someone calls out, catching my attention.
Turning, I see Micah Landry walking toward me with a huge-ass grin on his face. I’ve only met him once, to set up this gig, but I’m a fairly good judge of character and I know he’s a nice, genuine guy. I’ve had to deal with some shady fuckers in the past so it’s a relief to work with someone with Micah’s reputation and good nature to back it up.
“Hey,” I reply, walking toward him and offering my hand for him to shake. “Thanks, again, for hooking me up with this gig tonight.” It is, after all, New Year’s Eve in New Orleans, and though it’s not the biggest holiday for the city, it’s still a busy, high-demand kind of night and I appreciate the opportunity.
Instead of shaking my hand, he uses it to pull me into a sturdy hug, beating my back for good measure. “Don’t mention it.” Releasing me, he grabs the
equipment bag from my shoulder and takes off toward the back corner. “Come on, let’s get you set up. Then, we’ll get you some food and I’ll introduce you to some people.”
“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” I say, allowing my nose to entertain the amazing aroma filling the restaurant.
Micah laughs. “I’d hope not. My brother basically took over the kitchen and made our family’s New Year’s Eve favorites—jambalaya, fresh oysters, and crème brûlée.”
My mouth is watering at the mere mention of jambalaya. I’ve had it a few times since I’ve been in the city and each time it’s been a little different, but every time it’s been some of the best food I’ve ever put in my mouth.
Before I can even get my amp and stand set up, Micah is pulling me away from the stage and shoving a plate of food in my hands as he walks me around the room, introducing me, not as tonight’s entertainment, but as his friend, Finley Lawson.
It makes me feel like more than the hired help and I try not to let that affect me, but it does.
Once I’ve finished my plate, I excuse myself and head to the stage. Regardless of how at home I feel, I was hired to do a job and it just so happens to be something I love doing. Even though I’m getting paid to be here, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I’m here, in an amazing restaurant in the middle of New Orleans, playing for a group of people who make me feel like I belong.
After my first set, I take a short break and make my way around the room mingling and grabbing a drink as I take in the crowd. Most of the people I’ve been introduced to so far are family members of Micah or are friends or local business acquaintances.
One thing I’ve noticed is the people around here treat each other like family and are very close knit, looking out for one another. It’s different from any other place I’ve ever lived or worked before, and I love it.
Glancing across the room, I spot Shep standing in a corner with his best friend and business partner, Maverick Kensington. Maverick and Shep have always been thick as thieves, the three of us go way back. My grandmother, Maggie, was the housekeeper for Shep’s family. After she took me in, Shep took me under his wing, which was more than most of the people in my life had attempted.
If it weren’t for Maggie and Shep, no telling where I’d be today—probably living on the streets or following in my parents’ footsteps with drugs and violence.
Shep is basically the big brother I never had.
He took a chance on a kid from the wrong side of the tracks and never looked down on me for where I came from. Shit, he bought me my first saxophone, and through the years, has paid for lessons and helped me find gigs, never judging me for my choices in education or employment.
So, sitting in this room tonight, with him and his friends, it feels like the best way to ring in the New Year.
The possibilities feel endless and within reach.
It’s a heady feeling and I try not to let my mind get too carried away. I still have a gig to play and people to entertain. Speaking of, everyone seems to be having a great time and it makes me happy to know I’ve helped create this atmosphere, if only a little; it means I’m doing my job. But even more than that, it’s fun. I fucking love what I do, which is why, even when the pay is shit, I continue to follow my passion.
There’s a special high a performer gets when the music they create is enjoyed by others, even on a smaller level like this. I can only imagine what it must feel like to experience the high multi-million-dollar performers out there get, selling out stadiums night after night. I don’t really have those aspirations, personally, but I can certainly appreciate the appeal.
Right now, at this moment, this is enough.
“Dude! I’ve never seen anyone wail on a sax like that before,” a guy with sandy-blond hair says, walking up and clapping me on the shoulder. “And using looper pedals? Genius!”
His enthusiasm is contagious, and I instantly smile, recognizing a fellow musician when I see one. No one else gets this geeked out by looper pedals. “Thanks, man.”
Just as I’m getting ready to ask what he plays, Deacon Landry, Micah’s brother and the creator of the amazing food I ate earlier, walks up and chimes in. “I told you, Tucker, this dude is the real deal!” He laughs, giving me a wink. “Finn, this is my brother-in-law, Tucker Benoit. He used to be a well-known guitarist around these parts back in the day.”
“What the hell, man,” Tucker says, obviously taking offense to Deacon’s ribbing. “I can still play. In fact, I think Finley and I should play together sometime. Whatcha think, Finn?” Tucker asks.
My eyes grow wide at the thought. I love any type of collaboration. “Absolutely,” I tell him, nodding. “I’d be down. Just say when and where.”
Tucker taps my beer with his own, like we’ve just sealed a deal. “Awesome,” he says finishing off his glass. “So, where are you from and how am I just now hearing about you?”
“Originally from Dallas,” I say, nodding as I run a hand through my hair. “But I’ve been down here for about four months. Shep,” I say, pointing over to where he and Maverick are still standing around talking, like two old biddies, but now have Carys and CeCe keeping them company. “He told me I should move down here and give the New Orleans life a shot, so I took him up on it for a change of scenery and better opportunities.”
“You remember CeCe’s husband, Shep,” Deacon says, turning to Tucker who nods his head in acknowledgment, and then back to me. “CeCe is old friends with my wife, Cami, who just happens to be Tucker’s sister.”
I shake my head, amused at how everyone is so connected. “Damn, did I just move into a soap opera?”
Tucker laughs, shaking his head. “It’s a small fucking world. Nola might be a big city, but it functions like a small town where everyone knows everything about everyone else’s business. There’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”
Deacon claps my shoulder, tipping up his beer before adding, “Don’t worry about all that, Finn. You keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be just fine.” His eyes trail off across the room and I watch as his entire face lights up. “Oh, speaking of, there’s my beautiful wife.” Stepping out of our circle, he calls out, “Cami, love, come and meet Finley.”
I watch as a petite, blonde woman walks our way, smiling and waving at various people until she stops and tucks herself into Deacon’s side. He immediately kisses the top of her head before introducing us properly.
“This is Finley,” he says, nothing but love for the woman at his side as he gazes down at her. “Finley, the one and only, Camille Benoit-Landry.”
Quirking an eyebrow, I offer her my hand. It’s obvious how much Deacon adores his wife, but there’s something else there too—pride… awe.
“Nice to meet you, Finley,” she finally says, giving her husband a slight eye roll. When she smiles at me, I can see the resemblance between her and Tucker but there’s something else familiar about her. “I’m sorry I missed your set; this baby is draining all my energy lately. Will you be playing again?” She rubs her belly, and it’s then I notice the quite pronounced basketball under her dress.
“No worries,” I say with a smile. “I’ll start my second set soon, and I’m taking requests. Would you like to sit down? I’m sure I can find you a chair.”
“Aren’t you a sweet potato?” she gushes. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I just got out of the car, so I need to stretch my legs a bit. I’ll be sitting soon enough.”
Deacon gives her a stern look. “You didn’t drive, did you? I thought the new girl was going to bring you?”
Cami looks at me and rolls her eyes again, this time not so subtly. “I’m perfectly fine to run my own art gallery, but drive myself at night? Forget it.”
“Well, if I had my way, you wouldn’t be working right now either. Is it so wrong for a man to worry about his wife?” Deacon asks.
Cami looks like she’s about to tell him off, so I interrupt an
d redirect the conversation. “Did you say you own an art gallery? Here in the Quarter?”
Tucker chuckles as he turns his back to our small group, murmuring under his breath in my direction, “Nice job. You’re gonna fit in perfectly.”
“Yes, I own 303 Royal Street Art Gallery,” Cami says sweetly, the glare she had on Deacon morphing into a smile. “We just recently opened. I’m planning on having a party soon, something low-key. I’ll make sure you’re on the invite list. Oh, you should bring your sax! We’d love for you to play for us, if you’re interested.”
“That’s where I know you from,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like a stalker. “I set up and play on the corner of Royal Street, close to your gallery.”
Her face lights up. “I think I’ve seen you there!”
“I guess that kind of makes us pseudo neighbors,” I say, smiling. “And I’d be happy to play for you.” I’m always up for something out of the ordinary. And just like tonight, you never know who you’ll meet. One opportunity can very well open the door for your next, and so on and so on. That’s pretty much how it’s always been for me.
“Wonderful,” she says, eyes darting around the restaurant. “Let me introduce you to the gallery’s new manager. She’s here somewhere… you know, since she drove me,” she says, taking the opportunity to get a dig in at Deacon while nailing him with a glare.
I’m guessing this is a sore subject around the Benoit-Landry household right now. Their easy banter makes me chuckle.
I watch as Cami continues to scan the crowd behind her before calling out to someone across the restaurant. With all the people mingling and chatting, it’s hard to hear much outside our small group.
“Here she comes,” she says, her smile beaming. “She just flew in this morning and I’ve already put her to work, poor thing. She’s probably already reconsidering taking the job.” Cami reaches for someone, bringing them into the center of our little circle. “Georgette, this is Finley.”
In an instant, my world freezes.
That small, small world Tucker was speaking of only moments prior comes to a startling halt.