Chapter 17 Seven Days in New Orleans
SEVEN DAYS IN NEW ORLEANS
New Orleans, Louisiana Sunday Morning
Mara met Logan at Café Du Monde at nine in the morning. He was already there, sitting at an outside table watching tourists shuffle past in various states of hangover and caffeine deprivation. When he saw her, his whole face lit up in a way that made her stomach flip.
"Morning," he said, standing to pull her into a kiss that tasted like coffee and felt like coming home.
"Morning yourself." She sat down across from him. "Ready for the full New Orleans experience?"
"Born ready. What's first?"
"Beignets. The real ones. Not the tourist trap version but the actual best beignets in the city." She flagged down a server and ordered in French. Logan raised an eyebrow and she grinned. "What? I've lived here long enough to pick up the language."
"That was hot."
"Wait until you taste the beignets. That'll really impress you."
The beignets arrived and Logan took one bite, got powdered sugar all over his shirt, and declared them the best thing he'd ever eaten. Mara laughed and took a photo of him covered in white powder looking blissful.
"Delete that," he said, not meaning it.
"Never. This is going in my blackmail folder." She took another photo. "Besides, you're cute when you're messy."
"Cute. Every operator's dream description."
"Would you prefer ruggedly handsome?"
"I'd prefer you stop taking pictures and eat your beignets before I steal them."
They spent the morning wandering through the French Quarter.
Mara showed him the hidden courtyards and the buildings with the best architecture and the spots where locals actually went instead of tourists.
They stopped at a spice shop and Logan bought hot sauce he'd never use.
They browsed a bookstore that smelled like old paper and possibilities.
They found street musicians on every corner and Logan dropped bills in every hat.
"You don't have to tip everyone," Mara said after the fifth musician.
"They're out here making art. That deserves support." He took her hand as they walked. "Besides, I'm in a good mood. Seems like a good day to spread it around."
"What's got you in such a good mood?"
Logan stopped walking and turned to face her. Right there in the middle of Royal Street with people flowing around them, he cupped her face and kissed her thoroughly. "You. This. Getting to spend a whole week with someone I can't stop thinking about."
Mara felt heat creep up her neck. Six weeks of texts and one incredible date, and he could still make her blush like a teenager. "Keep talking like that and we might not make it to the rest of the itinerary."
"What's next on the itinerary?"
"Lunch. Then the World War Two Museum. Then live music on Frenchmen Street." She leaned into him. "But we could also just go back to your hotel."
"Tempting. Really tempting. But I want to see everything. Want to experience it all with you." He kissed her forehead. "We've got all week."
They had lunch at a hole-in-the-wall place that served the best gumbo Logan had ever tasted.
He asked for the recipe and the chef just laughed and said it was a family secret passed down for generations.
Logan looked so disappointed that Mara promised to learn how to make it herself just so she could teach him.
The museum was Logan's idea. He'd mentioned wanting to see it and Mara had never been, so they spent three hours walking through exhibits and reading about battles and looking at artifacts that told stories of sacrifice and courage.
Logan got quiet in the D-Day section, standing in front of a display about paratroopers for a long time.
"You thinking about your dad?" Mara asked quietly.
"You thinking about your dad?" Mara asked quietly.
"Yeah. He was there. Vietnam. Never talked about it much but sometimes he'd get this look, like he was somewhere else." Logan reached for her hand. "He'd have liked you. Respected what you do."
"I wish I could have met him."
"Me too." Logan squeezed her hand. "He died three years ago. Heart attack. Sudden. I was deployed when it happened. Didn't make it home in time."
Mara wrapped her arms around him right there in the middle of the museum. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks." He held her for a moment, then pulled back with a slight smile. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I need music and dancing and something that isn't heavy."
Frenchmen Street was everything Logan had hoped for and more.
Live music spilling from every doorway. People dancing on sidewalks.
The energy of a city that knew how to celebrate being alive.
They went into a jazz club and found a spot near the stage.
The band was incredible, all improvisation and skill and the kind of chemistry that only came from playing together for years.
Logan pulled Mara onto the small dance floor. He wasn't a great dancer but he was enthusiastic, and Mara found herself laughing as he spun her around and dipped her dramatically. When the song ended, he kept her close, both of them swaying even though the next song was upbeat.
"I could get used to this," he said against her ear.
"Dancing?"
"This. You. Us. All of it." He pulled back to look at her. "I know it's only been a day since we met in person. I know we're still figuring this out. But Mara, I don't want this to end when I have to go back to North Carolina."
"Neither do I."
"So what do we do? Long distance? Video calls and texts until I can get leave again?"
"We figure it out. One day at a time." Mara touched his face. "I'm not ready to let this go either, Logan. Whatever we have to do to make it work, we'll do it."
He kissed her then. Soft and sweet and full of promise. When they broke apart, the band had started a new song and people were staring and Mara didn't care even a little bit.
They stayed until closing, then walked along the river. The Mississippi was dark and quiet, the city lights reflecting off the water. Logan had his arm around her shoulders and Mara fit perfectly against his side.
"Tell me something," Logan said. "Something real. Something you don't tell many people."
Mara was quiet for a moment, watching the water.
"When I was seventeen, I tried to run away three times.
Got caught every time. The last time, I was so close.
Had a bus ticket, had money I'd saved. But I got scared at the last minute.
Thought maybe I deserved what was happening to me. That maybe I'd asked for it somehow."
Logan's arm tightened around her. "You didn't."
"I know that now. Took a long time to really believe it, but I know.
" She leaned into him. "The woman who eventually got me out, she asked me a question that changed everything.
She said 'what if you could be the person who comes for them?
' And I realized that's what I wanted. To be the person I needed when I was fifteen and terrified and alone. "
"That's why you do it."
"That's why I do it." She looked up at him. "What about you? Why Delta? Why twenty years of this life?"
Logan was quiet for a long moment. "My dad came back from Vietnam different.
My mom said he used to be lighter, easier.
But war changed him. Made him serious. Watchful.
He never talked about what he'd seen but I knew it was bad.
And despite that, despite everything it cost him, he told me once that he'd do it again.
Because someone had to stand between the people who couldn't fight and the people who wanted to hurt them. "
"That's who you are."
"That's who I try to be. Don't always succeed.
Made mistakes. Lost people I should have protected.
But I keep trying." He stopped walking and turned to face her.
"And then I met you. Someone who understands that.
Who does the same thing from a different angle.
Someone who gets why it matters even when it's hard. "
"We're quite a pair."
"Yeah. We really are." He kissed her again, longer this time. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "Come back to the hotel with me."
It wasn't a question but Mara answered anyway. "Okay."
They walked back through the Quarter hand in hand, the tension building with every step. Logan's hotel was in a renovated building on Chartres Street, all exposed brick and tall windows. They took the stairs instead of the elevator, neither of them willing to wait even thirty seconds.
Inside his room, Logan closed the door and pulled Mara against him. The kiss was different this time. Deeper. More urgent. Six weeks of texting and video calls and wanting had led to this moment.
"You sure?" he asked, his forehead resting against hers.
"I'm sure." Mara reached for the hem of his shirt. "I've been sure since that first text."
She tugged the fabric up and over his head, letting it drop to the thick carpet.
Logan's hands were already on her, sliding the zipper of her dress down her spine with deliberate slowness, as if unwrapping something he'd dreamed about for too long.
The silk pooled at her feet. He stepped back just enough to look—really look—his gaze tracing the black lace bra, the matching panties, the way her skin flushed under the warm glow of the bedside lamps.
"Jesus, Mara," he breathed, voice gravel-rough. "You're even more beautiful than I pictured."
She reached for his belt, fingers trembling only slightly as she worked the buckle free. His jeans followed, kicked aside. Then boxers. The sight of him—hard, ready, thick—made her pulse throb between her thighs.