L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

dressed, mostly.
“Let me help you clean up,” he said, kicking an empty garbage pail to the center of the
room. It took us ten minutes to toss all the broken boxes, salvaging two. I lled a pail
with hot water to wash the floor and I told him I could do the rest.
“Don’t want to, but I gotta go now. Those are the rules. Thanks for dessert. And the
cracked rib. And the broken elbow,” he said, inching towards me. He hesitated at rst,
and then he stepped forward and placed a firm kiss on my lips.
“You’re cool,” he said.
“You’re cool too,” I said, surprised to hear myself say it out loud. “Will I see you
again?”
“It’s possible. But the odds are against me.”
Then he backed out of the kitchen door, winked and left the Café. I watched him trot
down the darkened street, the door chimes ringing goodbye.
I thought I had gotten rid of all the evidence. But there in the bright light of the next
morning, I watched as Dell went over the stainless steel with a cloth and some special
solvent. Maybe it was my imagination, but while she worked it was almost as if she was
shooting me an admonishing look, one that said: I don’t know how a butt print got on my
table, but I am not about to ask.
I scanned the kitchen for my tray and, when I found it, bolted out the door to the
dining room, only to run into another set of equally accusatorial eyes, this time
Matilda’s. She was sitting stock-still at table eight. I made my way towards her.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered, looking around.
“What do you mean, Cassie? This is one of my favorite cafés in New Orleans. Do you
have a second to chat?”
“I only have a second,” I said, lying, dropping a menu on the table. “It’s been so busy.
We’ve been down a waitress, and I’ve been working like a dog.”
Truthfully, I was avoiding this conversation with Matilda because I was worried I’d
broken the rules by talking to last night’s man for too long and asking too many
personal questions. I looked around the nearly empty restaurant. The breakfast crowd
wouldn’t hit for another half hour. Will was probably still at Tracina’s, knowing I was
scheduled for the breakfast shift. I slid into the chair, feeling guilty, but for what I didn’t
know.
“Did you have fun last night? With Jesse?” she asked.
“Jesse? That’s his name?” Butterflies roused in my stomach.
“Yes. Jesse. First of all, I’m sorry if you were at all taken aback by his late arrival.”
“It all worked out. Really well, actually,” I said, looking down. “I … liked him.”
“That’s the other thing I’m here for. I think you’ve left an impression on him too,
Cassie.”
My heart leapt a little at the idea, and yet it was also ooded with the strange
improbability of it all.
“Listen, it happens sometimes. People make a connection. Something clicks, and