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.