SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH THE GAPS in the drapes, dragging me from a sleep that was more like a coma. I’d lain awake for so long last night, I thought I’d never doze off with the raucous noise from the never-ending party on the street below invading my room.
But apparently I was wrong.
I rolled out of bed and walked to the French doors to pull back the blinds. I needed to make sure this morning was real and not a dream.
The iconic buildings that lined Bourbon Street stared back at me from beyond the balcony, and a rush of feelings invaded.
Anxiety. Excitement. Nerves. Anticipation.
I was a girl forced from my home because of whatever messed-up stuff my father was involved in, and I’d proven yesterday that I wasn’t nearly as street-smart as I thought I was. Reading about adventuring to new places wasn’t exactly the same as doing it in real life. The confidence I’d had when I stepped on that plane at JFK had faded when I’d nearly gotten assaulted.
But today was a fresh start. The city didn’t seem quite so intimidating with the morning light, and I could pretend I was a normal girl on vacation. I could start on my list and do all the things I’d dreamed about doing.
I remembered Angelo’s orders—stay in your room, get room service, get a massage.
Sorry, Angelo. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
And then Bishop’s words as he left last night popped into my head. Stay out of trouble, kid.
I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble, but I wasn’t going to let yesterday stop me. Today I wasn’t going to be carrying around a suitcase like the target he’d told me I was. Today I could blend in.
When would I ever have another chance?
Staring into the mirror, I gave myself a pep talk. “I can do this. I don’t have to go far. I can just walk around the French Quarter and be normal. I’ll be fine.”
Rationalizations in place and confidence buoyed, I showered and got ready for the day. Obviously, I hadn’t had the luxury of time to deliberate over what I packed, so I pulled some of the mishmash of clothes from my suitcase.
Jeans, a white cami, and a pale pink cardigan wouldn’t stick out during the day, right?
I slipped into my Sperrys and headed out of my room, feeling like today was the beginning of something completely new. My first taste of real life and the uncertainty of how my choices would play out. No safety net or security here. Just . . . me.
It was long overdue.
I found the green-and-white-striped awnings of the famous Café du Monde about the time my stomach was grumbling to be filled. Once I was seated at a little table, I devoured the delicious powdered-sugar-covered confection that was their famous beignet and guzzled a cup of coffee while I people-watched. It was a habit of mine honed from years of living on the sidelines and watching life go by.
I refused to acknowledge that I might have been scanning the crowd for a certain man-bunned giant. Maybe I should walk by the tattoo shop . . . see if he’s there.
I didn’t know where that idea came from, but it was a terrible one. I would do no such thing. Even if he had been the most intimidatingly beautiful man I’d ever seen, I had no business seeking him out. It wasn’t like he seemed eager to stick around and get to know me either.
Which was good because no one could get to know me here. I was still kicking myself for giving him my real name. How could I possibly screw up something so basic and important?
You’re not going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter.
It wasn’t like we would cross paths. New Orleans was a big city. And we especially wouldn’t cross paths if I stayed away from a certain tattoo shop. Not that I had a reason to walk by there, anyway. It wasn’t like I wanted a tattoo or something.
Right?
It wasn’t something I’d ever considered. Getting a tattoo hadn’t made any of my lists because it had literally never crossed my mind. Until now . . .
Pushing the ridiculous thought away, I left my seat at Café du Monde and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was terrifyingly exciting to know that there would be no security trailing me through the streets. Tendrils of freedom wrapped around me, and I savored them.
At least until I remembered that if something happened to me, like yesterday when those guys grabbed me, I’d be completely on my own without any way to defend myself. Except now I knew how not to throw a punch.
Why hadn’t Dom insisted on self-defense? Oh, that’s right, he never expected me to be outside the bubble I’d existed within.
Deciding that I’d keep a close eye on my surroundings, I walked toward Jackson Square and watched street artists create their works as jazz from a brass quartet filled the air. I stood for long minutes, letting the music sweep me up, and inch by inch, I began to relax.
This city had its own rhythm, and I was feeling it in my blood.
I tossed the handful of change from Café du Monde in the open trombone case and continued to explore. I made my way around the Square, soaking up every detail of the architecture, the vivid colors, the eclectic street performers and artists, until a decadent sweet scent hit my nose. Letting my senses lead me, I turned in a slow circle to figure out where it was coming from. A woman stood in the window behind a hand-painted sign that read FRESH PRALINES.
Just because I’d stuffed myself on beignets didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy more of what New Orleans had to offer. I stepped toward the door, but a familiar voice caught me off guard.
“Hey, sugar. Didn’t expect to see you again.”
Coming out of the store right in front of me was the black-and-blue-haired woman from the tattoo shop. Delilah. Apparently New Orleans wasn’t nearly as big of a city as I’d thought.
“Delilah. Remember me?”
I shook off the momentary surprise at running into someone who wasn’t a stranger. “Yes, sorry.”
“No big deal. It’s good to see you looking a little less lost than last time.” She adjusted the bag over her shoulder. “So you decided to stick around, I see.”
“How could I not? This city seems to be a pretty special place.”
The smile that stretched across Delilah’s face was sincere. “It certainly is. I came with friends in 2005 for a weekend and never left. Definitely more my speed than Omaha.”
One look at her blue hair, retro Hawaiian print dress, tattoos, and vintage yellow Mary Janes would tell anyone that Omaha wasn’t exactly where Delilah was meant to live.
“So, now that you’re sucked in by the lure of this awesome place, are you ready to get a little wild and crazy like the rest of the Mardi Gras partiers? Maybe tattoo that virgin skin of yours?”
My earlier thought slammed into me. A tattoo meant seeing Bishop again, and as much as I wanted to deny it, the idea was tempting.
Maybe he could be one of your New Orleans experiences . . . That thought had to be from an inner troublemaker playing devil’s advocate, but I pushed it away.
“I should probably start with something a little less drastic.” I nodded at the door I’d been about to go in before she came out. “Like pralines.”
Delilah lifted her bag. “I got you covered. I had a major craving today and this is the only place I’ll buy them. And . . . if you want to get the inside scoop on all the non-touristy must-dos to check off while you’re here, I’m your girl.”
My inner list-lover surged to life at her tempting offer. “I’d love that.”
“Then come with me and prepare to be wowed. We’ll eat pralines until we’re sick, and see if you can get Bishop all stirred up again.” She winked at me, and I immediately regretted my hasty acceptance.
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
Delilah’s dark eyes shined with mischief. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in forever. Come on. I won’t take no for an answer.”
And that’s how I ended up allowing myself to be dragged back to Voodoo Ink within a half hour of deciding I wasn’t going to walk past the tattoo shop ever again—no matter how badly I wanted to.
“Dirty Dog is my absolute favorite for clothes. Some of their vintage stuff is a little pricey, but not overpriced, you know what I mean? It’s just good stuff. For eats, you have to check out the Cookery and Desire. I could literally give you a list as long as your arm. If you want to get out of the Quarter, it gets even longer.”
My anxiety rose with every step we took toward the shop, but Delilah’s cheerful monologue about awesome restaurants and shops helped drown it out, even if I didn’t think I’d recall the name of a single place. Before too long, we stood in front of the door I remembered all too well. When she yanked it open, I wasn’t ready.
My gaze scanned the vicinity for any kind of delay I could grasp.
The sign on the building next door read YOUR FAVORITE HOLE with a giant donut as the O in hole.
Coffee. They liked caffeine.
“Do you want me to grab some coffee from next door to go with those pralines?”
Delilah paused with her hand on the door as the chimes tinkled. “I sure wouldn’t turn it down.”
Grateful for the momentary reprieve to get my thoughts in order, I stepped away from the door of Voodoo like someone had put some kind of spell across the entrance specifically designed to keep me out.
As soon as I walked into Your Favorite Hole, I realized my mistake in running away from the inevitable.
Because there he was. Standing in line one person ahead of me. He was unmistakable with that mane of brown-and-gold hair wrapped up in a man bun. At five foot six, I considered myself average height, but he had to have at least eight or ten inches on me.
I wonder what else is eight or ten inches. Where the thought came from, I had no idea, but I silenced it . . . although not before dropping my gaze to the worn jeans that cupped his ass below the hem of his black Voodoo Ink T-shirt. The memory of yesterday’s bulge stepped onto the center stage of my brain.
Bishop turned around, coffee cup in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
First the single-take. Then the double-take. Followed by the fleeting look of surprise.
“Eden.”
A stupid thrill ran through me when he said my name. I shouldn’t be impressed that he hasn’t forgotten it in twelve hours. And yet, I kind of was.
“Uh, hi?” I waved awkwardly, my wristlet dangling from my waving hand.
Wow. Smooth, E.
He backed away from the counter and came toward me. The woman in front of me in line turned and dragged her gaze from the thick black soles of his boots up to the top of his man-bunned head, all but salivating at the sight.
“How was the room?” he asked.
“Good. Fine. Great. Really nice. Thank you. I appreciate it. Really.”
He stayed silent after my word vomit.
The woman in front of me paid for her coffee and donuts and moved toward the counter, where the barista would undoubtedly set up the drinks.
“Ma’am, what can I get for ya?” the woman behind the cash register asked, providing the interruption I needed.
Bishop’s attention stayed on me and his feet remained planted on the floor. I opened my mouth to order before realizing I had no idea what kind of coffee I should order for Delilah.
Chancing another glance up at Bishop, I found him still watching me. “Do you know what Delilah drinks?”
His brows knitted together. “You’re coming to the shop?”
“Oh, hon, that’s all you had to say,” the cashier said. “We’ll whip her order right up. You want anything else?”
I turned from Bishop to the cashier. “Two of whatever Delilah gets is fine.”
“No problem.”
The heat from Bishop’s stare dissipated, and I glanced over my shoulder.
He was gone.
No good to see you again. No stay the hell away from the shop. Nothing.
The cashier read the confusion on my face when I faced the counter again. “Ah, don’t worry about Bishop making a quick exit. He don’t talk to many people, no matter how much they might want to talk to him.”
Her description echoed what I’d gathered yesterday.
“Do you know him well?” I asked as I handed over a twenty.
“As well as anyone, I guess. He comes in twice a day like clockwork, getting his caffeine fix and ignoring the ladies.” She jerked her head toward the woman waiting by the barista, whose eyes were fixed on the door Bishop had just exited. “And don’t forget those two.” She nodded toward the comfy seating area in the corner where two other women sat, their expressions disappointed and wistful all at the same time.
“They come in here at least three times a week to stare. He’s like our own little attraction drawing in customers ’round here, because they sure as hell don’t come for the donuts.”
I believed it. They didn’t exactly look like they ate a lot of donuts, given the way their knit blouses clung to their thin frames. Actually, I kind of wanted to buy a few donuts and drop them in front of the two women and walk away slowly.
Once the image evaporated from my mind, I turned my attention back to the cashier, whose name tag read FABIENNE. “This place is amazing. I can’t imagine you need an attraction to get people to come in here.” The wall of donuts behind her tempted the crap out of me, even though I’d already had beignets and planned to devour pralines.
If I work up the courage to go into Voodoo.
Fabienne smiled back at me. “It ain’t Starbucks, but we do all right. You want a donut to go with that order?”
“I’ve got some pralines waiting for me, but I’ll definitely take a rain check.”
The barista set two cups on the end of the counter. “Delilah’s order is ready.”
I moved toward the end of the counter and thanked her.
“Make sure to come back and try one.”
“I will, definitely.”
I refused to acknowledge that my promise meant that I’d be so close to Voodoo.
I collected the coffee and decided that regardless of what or who was next door, I would be back.