But my watch yanked me back to reality. I was already late for work. With a sigh, I carefully closed the book and set it on the table, vowing to unravel the mystery of Luke Fisher and his baffling generosity later.
When I arrived at Muses, Marie Antoinette was practically vibrating with anticipation. She looked like she'd been holding in a secret for hours and might combust.
“Anna Amato,” she said, arms folded, one perfectly arched brow raised. “You’ve been spotted in the French Quarter. With aman.A tall, mysterious, dangerously attractiveman.And you didn’t tell me?”
We were starting our shift, the bar mostly empty thanks to the looming rainstorm. A rival tour guide had seen me and Luke walking together and wasted no time feeding her the headline.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said quickly. “Very low key.
“Wait, was it the smoldering Brit? Or the charming Irish Hugh Grant lookalike?” Marie Antoinette quizzed.
“Nope, it was Jacques. The French romantic,” I said with a grin.
Her eyes widened. “Come again?”
“Yep, Jacques.”
She blinked in confusion. “Mercy! You’re changing dance partners faster than I can keep track. This isn’t like you at all. So, it’s Jacques now? Fine. But if tomorrow you introduce me to an Italian named Giorgio, I’m holding auditions to find the real Anna Amato.”
I exhaled deeply, trying to calm my emotions. “Listen,” I began, gripping her shoulders. “Somethingdidhappen in the French Quarter.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, we ran into these awful girls from Collegiate, and to make me feel better, Lu—Jacques kissed me.”
She leaned in. “Was it a good kiss?”
“Yes. It was…” Earth-shattering, life-altering, weak-in-the-knees-inducing. “Good. It was a good kiss.”
“That’s great news. It’s about time.”
“But I don’t know if it was just for show, because my high school frenemies were there,” I admitted, heart sinking at the memory of Luke’s change in behavior during the car ride. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it was just for show. Afterward, he said he had to read…”
Marie Antoinette leaned in like she was about to be handed state secrets. “Readwhat? His diary? A love poem? Don’t leave me hanging.”
My brain scrambled. I couldn’t tell her that he needed to read a movie script. That would give Luke away. “An instruction manual,” I said, cringing the moment the words left my mouth.
“He had to read awhatnow?” Her eyebrows shot up. “An instruction manual for what?”
“A blender,” I improvised, glancing at the daiquiri machine.
“A blender? How long does it take to read a blender manual?”
I coughed. “Well, they’re industrial-grade blenders.”
“Industrial-grade blenders? Girl, that’s just sad.”
“Well, he had to read the manual for work.” I felt a blush rise up my neck.
“For work? What does he do?”
I cleared my throat. “He’s a kitchen-appliance efficiency analyst.”
She shook her head, as though refusing to let her brain process this absurdity any further. “He’s from France, and he’s in America, reading about blenders. You sure know how to pick ’em, don’t you?” She cleared her throat. “Anna, what Beau did to you was unforgivable. I know it scarred you. But you’re strong. After all, women are like tea bags—we don’t know our true strength until we’re in hot water.”
“Women are like tea bags? Who said that?”
“Me. And Eleanor Roosevelt. So, if Jacques doesn’t realize how amazing you are, don’t waste time on him. He may be French, but if you’re feeling this conflicted after one kiss, I know your heart won’t heal if whatever this is goes any further.”
