“No, really. You don’t have to. I, uh, was just thinking out loud. I don’t really have the time.”

He smiles uneasily.

“Don’t be silly, Catia, honey,” my mom cuts in. “She doesn’t have any plans,” she tells Daniel.

I narrow my eyes.

“Well, you ladies enjoy your meal and let me know if you need anything else.” Daniel shakes his head as he leaves the table.

Once he’s gone, I put my head in my hands and just breathe. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I say.

“What?”

“Tell people about Moony, about my personal life. And stop calling me Catia.”

“There’s no shame in it, Cat. Old people die all the time. It’s part of life.”

I realize she doesn’t get it, never will, but at least she didn’t call me Catia that time. I eat the rest of my meal in silence while she goes on and on about some of the men she met and dated when she first got here, crazy parties she’s been to, and her first Mardi Gras when she got pickpocketed.

Daniel brings the check while she’s in the restroom, and I can’t help but think it’s too well-timed to be a mistake. He hands me a sheet of paper as he puts our ticket down.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“An application. You said you were interested…or something.”

I nod, mortified. “Oh. Um, thanks?”

He leans over, his mouth tantalizingly close to my ear. He smells like chicory root and cypress trees. Warm blood pulses through me. “I’ll give you a tip—if you don’t have a job history, just write that you volunteered at your local animal shelter in the town you came from. The owner is a dog nut, and she’ll never call to confirm.”

“Right.”

“I mean, it will mostly be seating people and bussing some tables and grunt work, but it pays,” he says, straightening.

“Okay,” I tell him. I could use a reason to be away from my mom several hours at a time and a way to save for New Hampshire or simply somewhere that isn’t here. I could have an escape plan in place by graduation, leave NOLA and its haunts in my dust.

“Don’t wait too long,” he says. “Positions fill quick in the Quarter. Can’t beat the tips.”

“Got it.” I fold up the application and tuck it in a pocket. I’ll fill it out tonight while my mom is in bed.

“So, hit me up?” he says, grinning awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure.” I can’t imagine anyone saying no to those dimples. I watch him walk back to the kitchen.