Always and Forever by Farrah Rochon Page A

way I integrate this new technology into that house.”
    “It takes a lot to impress me,” she returned, taking a sip of her iced tea.
    “I guess I have my work cut out for me,” he murmured.
    The air crackled with electric heat. It pulsed like a living, breathing entity between them.
    “Are you ready to head to the club?” Phylicia asked.
    They had walked to the restaurant from the prime parking spot Jamal had found just a few yards away from the jazz club in the French Quarter. Mirroring the route they’d taken, they turned left down South Peters Street, walking past the bright lights of Harrah’s Casino. They made their way along Decatur Street, maneuvering around a crowd that had gathered to watch a couple of street performers. Jamal took a chance at reaching for her hand and experienced an overwhelming sense of accomplishment when she didn’t pull away but instead threaded her fingers with his.
    “You ever work on any of these buildings?” he asked as they strolled along Saint Ann Street in the heart of New Orleans’s most famous neighborhood.
    “Several of them.” She nodded. “My dad and I used to drive into the city at least twice a month to do restoration work.”
    “You enjoyed working with him.” It was more a statement than a question.
    “Absolutely,” she said. “I never considered doing anything else. It’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember.”
    “I can tell how much you love it. It shows in the care you take when you work,” he elaborated.
    “Thank you,” Phylicia replied. “It means a lot to hear that. My dad left some pretty big shoes to fill, and I’m working as hard as I can to fill them.”
    “You think he would be proud of what you’ve done with the business?”
    Her mood changed almost instantly, a shuttered look coming over her face.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. Because something was definitely wrong.
    She looked over at him and shook her head. “You just hit the sensitive button,” she said, but her somber smile told Jamal a whole lot more than her words.
    Just when he thought she would try to change the subject, Phylicia squeezed his hand and said, “My dad and I were closer than any two people I know. I suspected that he’d wished I was a boy, but he never let me feel unwanted. In fact, he spoiled me rotten. I could get away with just about anything.
    “From the minute I could grip a putty knife, I was in the workshop with him, handing him tools.”
    “So, what happened?” Jamal asked, running his thumb along her smooth skin.
    “We had different ideas about how to handle the business,” she said. “I thought it was time Dad branched out, hired additional people so we could take on bigger jobs. He didn’t agree.” She pulled in a deep breath. “My last conversation with him was a huge fight over the direction we should take the business. He died a couple of hours after I stormed out of his workshop. I would do anything to have that day back,” she finished in a small voice.
    “Your heart was in the right place,” Jamal said.
    “I know,” she said. “So did Dad. It still doesn’t erase what happened.”
    He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. He’d never seen Phylicia so vulnerable, and bastard that he was, he wanted to take full advantage of it. Having her emotions so exposed, it was hard not to give in to the need to comfort her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said with a delicate sniff. “Talk about a way to ruin a first date.”
    “You haven’t ruined anything,” he said. “I know a thing or two about having regrets, especially where family is concerned.”
    She looked up at him and squeezed his hand. In that moment, Jamal had never felt a deeper connection to a woman. It transcended mere attraction, burgeoning into something more profound.
    “We’re here,” Phylicia said as they came upon a nondescript building with a simple green door. “Are you ready to hear some of the best undiscovered jazz musicians in the