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“No, Ronan. I want to pay for these.”
“I’m happy to,” I say.
“I know, but you’ve paid for everything so far. Let this be for me.”
She’s resisting. Even after our amazing vanilla sex, she’s still resisting.
I vow to be understanding.
When we leave the shop, I take her on a whirlwind tour of the city. We start at Jackson Square, the heart of the French Quarter, where we see the iconic St. Louis Cathedral, the oldest cathedral in North America.
My stomach is nearly empty by the time we hit the French Market, a bustling, open-air marketplace that features a range of vendors selling everything from handmade crafts to fresh produce. We walk along the streets of the French Quarter, taking in the colorful architecture and historic landmarks, my favorite of which is Napoleon House.
“Here’s where we get a Pimm’s Cup,” I say. “And a sandwich for me.”
“Oh!” She gasps. “I guess we should eat, shouldn’t we? I’ve just been so involved in everything. I can’t believe you grew up here. This is simply the most marvelous place in the world.”
We step inside the historic building, which is characterized by high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and antique furniture.
“This place was originally intended to be the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte during his exile, but he never actually lived here.”
“It’s all so fascinating.”
A host leads us to a table, and within a minute, a server appears.
“What can I get you today?”
“Two Pimm’s cups,” I say, “and a muffuletta for me. Do you want something to eat, Mary?”
“What’s a muffuletta?”
“It’s a sandwich that originated here in New Orleans. It’s sesame bread filled with layers of Italian cold cuts, cheese, and a tangy olive salad.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Make that two,” I say to the server.
“Right away. I’ll get you some water, too.”
“Great, thanks.” I turn back to Mary.
“So what exactly is a Pimm’s cup?” she asks.
“It’s a refreshing drink made from Pimm’s No. 1, which is a gin and herbal liqueur, lemonade, lemon-lime soda, and a cucumber garnish.”
“That does sound good.”
“You’ll love it.” I look into her brown eyes.
The word “love” isn’t lost on me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mary
Back at the hotel, I shower, washing the day away but keeping the memories.
How have I never left New York before?
