boisterous clamor of several dozen teen voices hit him as soon as he opened the doors to the single-story structure that housed A Fresh Start. April had previously explained that the building was once a small Catholic school affiliated with the church. When the school closed years ago, the building then became the church’s offices and community center, but its congregation had dwindled to the point where the extra space was unnecessary. The parish of Saint Katherine’s had generously offered the community-based summer program use of the building at an affordable rent.
There had been nothing like A Fresh Start when Damien had been a young boy running roughshod through the streets of this neighborhood. He hoped these kids appreciated the sacrifice and hard work of April and the other volunteers who ran the program.
He walked down the single corridor, peering into the various rooms where everything from a cooking demonstration to arts and crafts was being held. The hauntingly sweet notes of string instruments guided him toward the rear of the building. He stopped at the open doorway of a room with about a dozen students, each holding some kind of instrument.
April Knight crouched next to a girl who sat with a cello positioned between her spaced knees. The large, slightly scarred instrument dwarfed her, but the teen didn’t seem intimidated. She looked on intently as, with her signature calmness, April corrected whatever misstep the girl had just made on the piece they were practicing. She instructed her on how to glide the bow along the taut strings. The result was a fluid, mesmerizing note that resonated throughout the space.
Once she was done assisting the room’s lone cello player, April returned to the front of the room. When she turned and spotted him, her face lit up with a smile. Several of the students—those who were not engrossed in reading their sheet music—turned to see who had captured their teacher’s attention. April held up a hand and mouthed five minutes.
Damien nodded. Leaning a shoulder along the doorjamb, he folded his arms across his chest, crossed his ankles and studied the woman standing at the helm of the class. It had been months since he’d seen her, not since running into her at a Christmas party that one of his clients had invited him to at a loft in the Warehouse District. That had been what? Six months ago?
He’d arrived late, and April had been on her way out. Their encounter had been nothing more than a quick hug and profuse thanks from April for the donation Damien had given to A Fresh Start. They both promised each other that they would meet for coffee so they could catch up, but whenever he’d thought about calling her over the past six months something else always came up.
Five minutes came and went, but Damien didn’t dare interrupt April as she coached her pupils through a delicate piece. Besides, watching her in action was too entertaining to bring it to an end.
And to Damien’s surprise he was watching her with more interest than he ever remembered watching his friend before. She wore soft yellow capri pants that hit just past her calves, a smart choice on this warm day. She probably had the heat and humidity in mind when she chose to pair it with the white sleeveless button-down blouse, but Damien thought it was the right choice for an entirely different reason.
He studied the way she moved, her toned arms slicing the air as she directed the young musicians. Years of playing the cello had added definition to her muscles, which still managed to look delicate underneath her smooth skin. Her warm brown complexion looked radiant despite the harsh fluorescent lighting above. Her shoulder-length hair had been swept up in a messy bun atop her head, accenting those cheekbones that had always been her most standout feature.
Although, to be honest, everything about her seemed to stand out to him today.
April finally brought the class to an end, instructing the students to properly stow their instruments so that they would be ready for the next class. Once all students had vacated the room, she came up to Damien and wrapped him up in a big hug.
“Long time no see,” she said.
Damien returned the hug, discovering that the toned muscles applied to more than just her arms. That delicate thing she had going on was definitely a facade.
“Thanks for making time for me today,” Damien returned.
“Of course,” April said. “So, how has it been going, Mr. Bachelor of the Year?”
Damien’s head fell back as he released a strained breath. “Please, don’t start.” He looked at her again, one brow pitched upward. “And it isn’t Bachelor of the Year.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re just one of New Orleans’s top ten bachelors. My bad.”
“Are you finished?” Damien asked. “Or do you want to rub this in just a little more? It’s okay, I can handle anything you dish out.”
“Aw,” April said. “Been a rough one, has it? Okay,” she said, “I promise no more bachelor jokes for the next hour.”
“An entire hour? You’re such a giver, April.”
She laughed again, the sound echoing around the empty room. She grabbed him by the cuff of his light blue button-down and tugged.
“Come on, let’s get some coffee. The new café is finally operational and I cannot wait for you to see it.”
“You were able to make it happen?” Damien asked.
“Along with the kids and other volunteers, of course. But, yes, we made it happen. Thanks in no small part to donations from generous citizens such as yourself,” she said. She stopped and turned. “Did I tell you that I found a college in northern Mississippi that was replacing all of their string instruments?” She pointed over her shoulder, toward the room they’d just left. “Those violins and the double bass you saw the kids playing? All purchased with the money you donated. I can’t thank you enough, Damien.”
Damien could only hope that her giving spirit would still be there when he brought up the reason for his visit.
“Here it is,” April said as they arrived at the newly installed coffee bar and café.
Damien looked around the room, a grin slowly lifting up the corner of his mouth. The building’s rearmost room had been converted into a small eatery. A long counter ran nearly the entire length of the back wall. Behind it sat an industrial espresso/cappuccino maker and a professional blender. Three stainless steel pump-style coffee dispensers labeled Decaf, Medium Roast and Dark Roast sat on the counter next to glass domes that housed various pastries.
There were five small round tables inside, each with a small vase holding a single bud in their center, and two chairs. Just outside, on the brick patio on the rear eastern side of the building, sat three additional seating areas. There also looked to be a small vegetable garden just beyond it.
“You know, when you called asking for a donation from Alexander Properties to help fund this project, I pictured something that was a step above a lemonade stand. But this is a legitimate coffee shop.” He glanced over at April. “I guess I should have known better. When it comes to April Knight, there’s never any half stepping.”
“You got that right,” April said with a sharp nod, followed by that infectious laugh of hers.
When she’d approached him at the end of last summer with the idea for the café, she told him that she wanted it to serve two purposes. First, she assured him that it would be operated strictly by the youth who attended A Fresh Start and used foremost as a teaching tool, giving the kids
