It was about us. Together.
The thought was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly undeniable. She made me feel like the best version of myself—the real me, not the polished version Hollywood paraded around. And I wanted to take a leap of faith, not for a role or a career move, but for her.
I exhaled, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom as she folded a T-shirt. She glanced up at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s up?”
I walked into the room. My voice wavered, but I pushed through. “I need to tell you something.”
Her hands stilled, the shirt forgotten on the desk. “What is it?”
I hesitated, my heart pounding, but then I took another step closer. “I don’t want just to be the guy you give tours to, or the one who happens to share a roof with you. I want to be more. I wantusto be more.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The silence stretched, and my chest tightened as the fear of rejection clawed at me. But then, her lips curved into a tentative smile. “You’re serious?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded. “Completely.”
Her smile grew, lighting up her whole face. “Then yes.”
Relief and joy crashed into me all at once, and I didn’t think. I just closed the distance between us. My hand found her cheek, and I tilted her face toward mine. When our lips met, it wasn’t hesitant or cautious. It was full of everything I’d been holding back—hope, fear, want.
Her hands gripped my shirt, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepened. The world outside faded away until it was just us, wrapped in a moment I never wanted to end.
When we finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at me. “So, what happens now?”
I leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “We figure it out. Together.”
29
ANNA
If a movie star—onewho’s not just gorgeous but also funny, sweet, and so protective it makes my heart ache—wanted me for a tour guide (and more), who was I to say no? Twist my arm, right?
For the next ten days, Luke and I were inseparable. It was like stepping into a dream, only better because it was real. Apart from the nights I was hustling at Muses, we explored every corner of New Orleans together, and I’d never been so happy.
It wasn’t just his looks. Though let’s be honest, those were definitely part of the package. Luke made me laugh, and he also had this way of making every moment feel like an adventure, of turning even the most minor things into something extraordinary.
We started with a swamp tour in the bayou, where Luke slipped into the persona of Dr. Archibald P. Featherbottom, a Harvard professor with an impeccable Boston accent and an even more impressive handlebar mustache. He asked the most absurdly “academic” questions, like, “Do alligators prefer their lobster bisque with or without sherry?” and “Do you think gators ever pause to ponder their place in the ecosystem?”
At the National World War II Museum, he morphed into Trevor, an overenthusiastic tourist from Minnesota in a Hawaiian shirt so loud it could have stopped traffic. He took pictures of everything—including the restroom signs—and exclaimed, “Oh geez, this one’s definitely going in the scrapbook” in an accent so thick it fooled the tour guide.
And then there was Pierre Le Pencil, a flamboyant French “artist” who visited the New Orleans Museum of Art. With his beret and comically crooked fake mustache, Pierre sketched a masterpiece titledStarry Night at a Bourbon Street Karaoke Bar.A group of tourists gathered around, nodding as if they were witnessing the birth of a new Picasso. I was dying inside, trying not to burst out laughing.
But the disguises and the jokes were just part of it. The real magic was in the quieter moments. When we sat at Preservation Hall, letting the raw, soulful jazz wash over us, or when we swayed to blues at Le Bon Temps Roule, or got lost in the rhythm at Vaughn’s in Tremé. And almost every night ended at the Spotted Cat in the Marigny, where the music flowed freely, and I felt like I was falling—into the music, into the city, into him.
Luke was different. Sure, he was still every bit the charming, quick-witted Hollywood star, but there was something more thoughtful about him. I’d catch him watching people when he thought I wasn’t looking, like he was studying them, trying to figure out what made them tick.
It happened on the swamp tour when a little boy asked the guide how alligators slept without drowning. The guide had explained their special muscles and floating habits, but Luke had stayed focused on the child, as if marveling at the way children see the world.
At the National World War II Museum, he’d lingered in front of a display about the homefront, reading every word about the sacrifices ordinary people had made. Later, he struck up a conversation with a couple who were visiting from Kansas. They talked about their parents, who’d lived through the war, and Luke listened as if their stories were the most important thing in the world.
Even at Preservation Hall, where most people were lost in the music, Luke’s eyes wandered over the crowd. He watched the older man in the corner, tapping his foot with the precision of someone who had probably played jazz in his younger years. He noticed the couple holding hands as if they were the only two people in the room. He noticedeverything.
And he asked endless questions of everyone, from other tourists, the jazz musicians, the waitstaff, and the guides. “What brought them here? What do they love about New Orleans?”
One night, as we walked home from a late dinner, I finally asked, “What’s with all the questions?”
Luke shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I spent so much of my life in a bubble. People were telling me what I wanted to hear, selling me versions of myself they thought I wanted to buy. Out here, people are real. They’ll tell you about their day, their struggles, and their joys. It’s grounding.”
I smiled, tucking that thought away. He wasn’t just seeing people; he was learning from them. And somehow, watching him do that made me want to be better, too. It made me want to be real, to show him all the messy, unpolished parts of myself that I usually kept hidden.
