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Today I am trying to be less of a caber-stuffed ogre by letting Emery pick the destinations for our sightseeing tour. While we tour the sights, she periodically brings out her mobile to take a picture—of me. The voodoo museum in the French Quarter forces me to exercise all my restraint, which seems contradictory to Emery's stated mission of loosening me up. But how does she expect me to react? Darkened rooms harboring strange altars, candles in glass holders that bear the names of voodoo deities… I am not equipped for this. Fortunately, Emery takes pity on me and suggests we head for a more mainstream museum, the Historic New Orleans Collection.
The museum consists of several historic buildings, and as we wander through them, I begin to enjoy myself. Every time I look at Emery—while we survey the displays of period clothing and weapons, or examine the artwork on display—she smiles sweetly. I find myself growing more relaxed and even becoming somewhat enthusiastic when we discuss the period furnishings. They remind me of my home, but I don't mention that to Emery.
After that, we visit the National World War II Museum. I share stories about my grandfather's aerial exploits during the war, but Emery seems to be tired of history. Outside the war museum, she stops me with a hand on my arm.
I gaze down at her, lifting my brows.
"We've done the history thing," she says. "Are you up for something a bit more audacious?"
"This would be your attempt to make me have fun."
"Yep." She slips her arm around mine, clasping my bicep. "Think you can handle it?"
"I can." I duck my head to meet her gaze. "If you're expecting me to become more like you, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."
"Like me?" She pokes me with her elbow. "What am I like?"
"You are open and free, unafraid of what anyone thinks of you. I admire that, but I will never be like you."
"Do you want to be?"
I raise my head, my lips working though I can't formulate a response. So I reassert my neutral expression. "I'm comfortable the way I am."
Emery insists we should have lunch at SoBou, a Cajun restaurant in the French Quarter. It doesn't sound like my sort of place, but since I made her endure the war museum, I agree to the restaurant she chose. The lass gently pushes me to try gumbo with her. Once again, I give in. It's not the worst thing I've ever eaten, but the next dish she suggests forces me to put my foot down.
When the lass offers me a bite of her oyster taco, I jerk my head back and curl my lip. "No thank you."
She waves the taco near my mouth. "Come on, Rory, live a little. One bite won't kill you."
"Oysters can be appealing, but not in a…taco." I bar my arms over my chest. "Again, no thank you."
"This is a vacation day. Take a risk." She touches the taco to my lips. "One teeny bite."
I roll my eyes heavenward, sigh, and lower my arms. "All right."
Why can't I say no to this woman?
Leaning forward, I take a wee bite of the taco and chew carefully. I've tasted worse foods. Swallowing, I sink back in my chair. "Happy?"
"Yes. Wasn't awful, was it?"
"Not entirely." I almost smile again. "You do realize oysters are thought to be an aphrodisiac."
"Guess you'll find out later if that's true." She eyes me with curiosity. "How old are you?"
"Thirty-nine. I'll be forty in a month or so."
She gives me an assessing glance. "You don't look forty, but you act ninety."
"Thank you," I say crisply. Aidan has told me the same thing, but I don't glower at Emery the way I do when my brother speaks those words.
"Don't worry," she says, "your stuffiness is cute, and kind of a turn-on."
"I feel the same way about your silliness."
When we've finished our meal, Emery springs to her feet. "Buckle up, we're off to our next stop."
I get up and stretch. "What now?"
"I want to drive a Lamborghini at over a hundred miles an hour." She seizes my hand. "Come on, there's a place where you can do that."
My eyes must be bulging, and I'm dead certain my face has gone slack. She must be off her head this time.
"Relax," she tells me. "You can sit and watch while I take all the risks. Or, you could be my copilot. How brave are you, Mr. MacTaggart?"
"Not that brave."
