I FOCUSED ON THE EXCITEMENT humming through my veins as I pushed open the lobby door and stepped onto Bourbon Street. The concierge had written down a list of shops that I should try if I wanted to get a true New Orleans shopping experience, along with a map. Thankfully, the list jogged my memory. The place Delilah had mentioned was included—Dirty Dog. I had to resist the urge to pump my fist in the air at the familiar name. Small victories.
In the light of day, Bourbon Street was a completely different experience. It wasn’t empty, by any means, and given that Mardi Gras was right around the corner, that didn’t surprise me at all. Obviously, there were still the obligatory partiers who either hadn’t quit from the night before or were getting an early start, but it seemed that the crush of people from last night had moved on to sleep it off.
The concierge had also been so kind as to let me know that there were several other parades today, each put on by a different krewe, groups that organized parades and parties for Mardi Gras. I tucked the information away for later.
The first stop on the concierge’s list was only a block and a half away, and I breathed a small sigh of relief when I saw the black sign with red letters on a brick building. HELL’S ANGEL. I reached for the door handle and turned.
Locked.
I checked the hours on the window and groaned. It didn’t open until two. Well, that was disappointing. I peeked through the windows to see what exactly I would be missing if I skipped to the next place.
Everything looked either black or red or covered with skulls or spikes—or all of the above. Like the black-and-red corset with skulls on each boob that were covered in spikes.
“Oh wow,” I mumbled. “Maybe I should come back to this one later.” I caught my reflection in the mirror. Eyes wide, looking like I’d discovered an alien planet.
Maybe I could find something a little more . . . practical. That wasn’t unreasonable, right? I mean, how often would I really wear a spiked corset?
Dirty Dog had to be more promising, especially given Delilah’s personal seal of approval. Decision made, I twisted the map around to match the configuration of the streets ahead of me. It wasn’t far, only a couple of turns and a couple of blocks. Even I couldn’t get lost in this perfect grid of streets. I hoped.
The map also noted where I could find Anthropologie and H&M, but I wasn’t looking for the same kind of clothes I could buy in New York. I wanted something local. Something that wasn’t mass produced and sold in a thousand locations.
I set off down the street, only to be distracted by the delicious scent of coffee and fresh yeasty bread. My feet practically directed themselves as I stepped inside the tiny little café and selected a fresh croissant and the largest coffee they sold.
Nectar of the gods, I thought as I devoured the croissant in three bites and nearly burned my tongue on my sweet praline latte. Totally worth it.
Coffee cup in hand, I returned to the street and kept walking.
Distracted by the fabulous architecture, I made it a solid four blocks before I realized I had to be lost.
The pedestrians that wandered the streets of the Quarter had disappeared, and in front of me was a boulevard and a park. Thankful for the easy-to-find street signs, I pulled out my map again and twisted it around to try to figure out where I’d gone wrong.
The freaking café. It had been on a corner, and I’d gone in a door on one street and come out the door on the other street and kept walking. Honest mistake, right?
Not willing to let my minor detour get me down, I turned back around and walked in the direction of the café so I could find my way again.
Thirty minutes later, I found myself in front of a big teal-and-white sign with DIRTY DOG wrapped around the outside and a white bulldog in the middle. The front of the building was painted a cheery yellow, and the old dress forms in the window sported the cutest retro dresses I’d ever seen. One was pink with white paisley print and a white belt around the waist, and the other was the same dress, but in deep purple with black paisley.
Immediately, I wondered if I could get away with wearing either of them. Or both.
Please be open. Please be open.
My thoughts were answered when the door chimed and a girl poked her head out. “Hey! I’m JP. Are you coming in?”
“If you’re open, I’d love to find a dress or two.” I gestured down at my jeans and cardigan and Sperrys. “Actually, I need more than just a dress.”
The girl smiled at me. “Well, honey, you’ve come to the right place. Me and Yve will get you all set up. She’s got the cutest stuff in the whole city.”
I followed JP into the store. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
She nodded and clapped her hands. “Yve! We’ve got a live one!”
Her high-pitched voice screeched without warning, and another woman peered out from what looked like a back room, her arms full of dresses.
“Knock off the yelling about customers, girl.”
“It’s only one customer, and she doesn’t mind.”
Shifting the dresses to one arm, a gorgeous woman with golden tanned skin and dark hair stepped across the floor toward me.
“Ignore her. She still doesn’t have any manners. We’re working on it.” She unearthed a hand from beneath the dresses and offered it to me. “Welcome to Dirty Dog. I’m Yve, and this is my shop.”
“Eden. I’m . . . new in town. Delilah from Voodoo Ink sent me your way.”
Yve’s tawny gaze lit with recognition before sizing me up. “Ah, you’re the one she mentioned might be coming by. She said she hasn’t seen Bishop act like that . . . ever. He’s turned silence into just as much of an art form as the ink he puts down on skin.”
JP gasped. “Oh God, don’t tell me you’re the one who’s going to be responsible for breaking my heart and killing all my bearded and man-bunned dreams.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t mind JP. Her crush is a thing of legend.”
“And Bishop keeps shooting me down. He won’t touch any clients. Who knew the best artist I’d ever meet would be the man of my dreams with such a stupid rule?” JP’s tone was distraught, but clearly overdramatic.
I hoarded the little pieces of information about Bishop like a junkie. Because that’s normal.
“We’ve only met a couple times.” I didn’t want to bring up the fact that he’d rescued me from being possibly raped last night. Today was too nice and new to be focusing on that. Instead, I changed the subject. “So, I was hoping you could help me find some dresses. Actually, for whatever won’t make me look like a tourist. I just . . . I need a change.”
Yve appraised my outfit and nodded. “I can see what you mean. Let’s get started.” She spun away, her sunny yellow dress, the color of the outside of the building, swishing as she turned to a rack.
JP was already ahead of her. “As much as it sucks knowing that you can pull this off in a way I never could, and Bishop will probably fall all over himself when he sees it, you have to try it on.” She holds up a white dress with pink polka dots. “We have the perfect shoes to go with it too, if you’re not on too tight of a budget.”
I thought of the credit card in my purse. I had no idea what the limit was, but knowing my father, it couldn’t be less than five figures.
“Can I try it on?”
“Absolutely. I’ll start putting stuff in the fitting room. You’re going to want to try on way more than just one.”
“Let’s try the teal and the red too. Both of these are fun.” Yve held up a hanger in each hand. The teal dress had a boat neckline that managed to look both sexy and classy, and the red dress had a wide vee that would show a little more without making me feel overexposed.
She carried the dresses toward the fitting room, and I followed. Or I tried. I only made it three steps before a lavender leopard-print dress caught my eye. It reminded me of the one Delilah had worn the other day, but this color was softer and quieter but still fun.
“Oh, I love that one. Delilah has the neon version. She said this was too tame for her inner kitty cat.” JP followed the statement with a rawr and a clawing motion with her hand, and I could picture Delilah doing exactly the same thing.
It wasn’t like I’d be wearing it at the same time and place as Delilah, so . . . “I’ll try that one too, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Try on anything you want. We’ve got cute lingerie, and some awesome skirts, and vintage tops and tees too.”
Yve slipped out of the dressing room to take the lavender dress from JP. “Don’t overwhelm the girl, just funnel some of it into the fitting room and she can try whatever she likes.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got a lunch date at noon, so I’ll let y’all get started while I fix my makeup.”
“Ooh, is that sexy hubby of yours coming to take you somewhere he can have you for lunch instead? And by have you for lunch, I mean bang you over a table for your nooner.”
A hint of a blush stained Yve’s cheekbones, and I couldn’t help but grin at JP’s unfiltered comments.
“I should fire you.” Yve narrowed her eyes. “Tell me again why I haven’t fired you?”
“Because I’m irreplaceable.”
“You’re lucky I love you, kid.”
JP puckered up and blew Yve an air kiss. “Love you too, Yve.”
Yve straightened and looked to me. “Right this way. And get ready to put a dent in your credit-card limit, because I know you’re going to fall in love with these.”
Fifteen minutes later, I knew she was right. All four dresses were on the fitting-room hook I’d designated as the yes pile. The lingerie that mysteriously made it into the dressing room, by JP sliding it between T-shirts and skirts, also fit and hung on the yes hook.
The only things I didn’t plan to leave the store with were the three packs of pasties she’d included and the T-shirts that had the names of bands on them I’d never heard of. They were cute, but if someone started a conversation with me about them, I’d feel like a total poser because googling them to learn their history and songs didn’t seem quite right.
I stepped out of the dressing room with my arms full and ran smack into the side of a tall man coming into the shop through the back hallway.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“Looks like you could use some help.” He lifted the dresses from my arms and carried them to the counter, and hung them on the decorative hook beside it.
“JP, you want to ring these up so I can steal that woman of mine away?”
The man wore a perfectly tailored suit. Everything about him—from his casually styled hair, tanned skin, and French-blue shirt to his heavy watch and designer shoes—screamed money.
“Lucas, you’re early.” Yve looked down at her watch. “I’ve got seven minutes.”
“And what makes you think I’ve suddenly developed a streak of patience?”
Goose bumps peppered my skin at the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at Yve. JP was probably right—Yve was on the menu for lunch. If he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her out of here, I would have trouble acting surprised. It seemed at complete odds that a man in such a civilized suit could give off such a primitive vibe.
“Give me five minutes to get Eden rung up.”
“Do you want me to carry you out of here?”
My eyebrows shot up as my thoughts came out of his mouth.
“See, that’s all I want. A man who wants to carry me out of places because he can’t wait to get me alone. But noooo. Bishop has the hots for Eden instead.”
Lucas’s attention shifted from Yve to me. “I’d apologize for being rude, but I’m not sorry I’m stealing my wife away. Good luck with the lumberjack.”
“He’s not a lumberjack!” JP jumped instantly to Bishop’s defense as my body shook with unexpected laughter.
“Close enough. Yve, I’m giving you five seconds to back away from the cash register before the entire block hears you scream as I carry you out.”
He started his countdown, and Yve turned to me with a smile that told me she wasn’t all that upset about the idea of being carried out.
“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Eden. You’ll have to come back and let me know how those dresses work out. And if you’re going to a parade tonight, make sure you let JP set you up with a fascinator. You absolutely need a fascinator.”
Lucas finished his countdown, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her toward the back door. “And it’s time to go.”
JP and I were both staring down the back hallway when the door shut behind them.
“Well, that was interesting.”
JP sighed. “That was alpha.” She spun around to look at me. “Now, let’s get you a fascinator.”
“What exactly is a fascinator anyway?”
“Think Princess Kate’s cute little hats that aren’t really hats. You’ve gotta have one.”
I pictured myself in the retro dress with a cute little non-hat. Totally New Orleans.
“Let’s see ’em.”
I returned to the Royal Sonesta with two giant bags with the Dirty Dog logo on the side, and a smile on my face. I’d been determined to find my way back without carrying the map in my hand the entire way, and I’d only taken three wrong turns. I considered it sightseeing and was pretty pleased with myself.
The streets were already beginning to crowd with people who were intent on getting started early on their hangovers, but no one bothered me.
See, I can do this. No big deal.
The Royal Sonesta lobby was bustling, and the concierge was handing out maps with the route of the next parade and a coupon for a ghost tour of the Lafayette Cemeteries by horse-drawn carriage afterward.
Score.
I officially had plans for the day and night. I was going to check two things off my list—watching a Mardi Gras parade without getting manhandled or lost, and then a tour of the famous cemeteries. And I was going to wear a fabulous new dress and a fascinator while I did it.
Perfect.