Logan laughed and pocketed his phone. He followed Mara's directions away from Bourbon Street and found himself on a quieter stretch where the music was live instead of recorded and the people looked like locals instead of tourists. He stopped outside a small club where a jazz trio was playing through the open door. The trumpet player was doing something complicated that made the whole thing feel both structured and improvised at the same time.
He stood there listening for twenty minutes. Let the music settle something in his chest that had been wound tight since he'd boarded the plane. This was Mara's city. The place she'd told him about in voice messages and video calls. The place that had shaped her in ways he was just beginning to understand.
By the time he made it back to his hotel it was past midnight and exhaustion was finally catching up with him. He fell into bed and managed about five hours of restless sleep before his alarm went off at 0600.
Saturday
Logan woke up before his alarm and immediately grabbed his phone. No new messages from Mara, which made sense because it was barely 0530 and she'd said she had an early morning. He forced himself to go through the motions. Shower. Shave. The physical therapy exercises Martinez had made him promise to keep doing even on leave. By 0700 he was dressed and staring at himself in the mirror trying to decide if he looked presentable or like he was trying too hard.
Dark jeans. The green henley Bulldog had picked out before he left. Leather jacket that was probably overkill for March in Louisiana but made him feel more put together. He'd debated bringing flowers and decided against it because showing up to a first real date with roses felt like something out of a movie. His phone buzzed and he grabbed for it with embarrassing speed.
Bulldog."You alive? Haven't heard from you since you landed."
"I'm alive. Just nervous."
"It's going to be fine. She already likes you. Now stop overthinking and go meet her."
Logan typed back a thumbs up and checked the time. 0847. Ten hours and thirteen minutes until he was supposed to meet Mara at Quarter Moon. He could do this. He'd survived worse. He'd been tortured for three days and lived to tell about it. He could handle sitting in a hotel room waiting for the evening.
Except he couldn't. By 0900 he was pacing. By 0930 he'd reorganized his bag twice. By 1000 he admitted defeat and went out to find breakfast.
The city looked different in daylight. Still crowded but the energy was calmer. Families instead of party groups. People stopping to take pictures instead of stumbling from bar to bar. Logan found a cafe that served beignets and coffee and sat outside watching the street while powdered sugar got all over his shirt.
His phone buzzed. Mara this time."How's New Orleans treating you?"
"Good. Currently covered in powdered sugar. These beignets are dangerous."
"Told you. Where are you?"
"Cafe Du Monde."
"Tourist trap. But the beignets are worth it."There was a pause."I'm getting ready to head out soon. Should be there right on time."
"I thought you were going to be late on purpose."
"I changed my mind. I don't want to wait any longer than I have to."
Logan's chest did that thing it had been doing for six weeks every time she said something that made him feel like this was real. Like she was just as invested in whatever this was as he was."I'll see you at eight."
"See you at eight."
The rest of the day crawled by. Logan walked through the Quarter trying to distract himself. Stopped in a record store andbought something Mara had mentioned she liked. Wandered through Jackson Square and watched street performers. Checked his phone every ten minutes like she might text him something new even though they'd already said everything there was to say before tonight.
By 1800 hours he was back at his hotel trying to decide if he should change or if the outfit he'd picked that morning still worked. By 1830 he'd given up on staying in the room and headed to Quarter Moon early because waiting alone was worse than waiting at the bar.
The place was exactly like Mara had described it. Dark wood and low lighting and the kind of atmosphere that felt like it had been the same for fifty years. Not crowded. Just a handful of people scattered at tables and the bar. Logan took a seat where he could see the door and ordered a local IPA the bartender recommended.
He didn't touch the beer. Just sat there with his hands wrapped around the cold glass and watched the entrance. 1845. 1850. 1855. Every time the door opened his heart rate kicked up and then crashed when it wasn't her.
At 1903 the door opened again and this time it was Mara.
Logan's brain short-circuited for a second. He'd seen her on video calls. Had memorized her face from those conversations. But seeing her in person was different. She was wearing a navy dress that hit just above her knees and a leather jacket that looked worn in and comfortable. Her dark hair was down instead of pulled back like it had been in Mosul. She looked beautiful and confident and slightly nervous as her eyes scanned the bar.
When she saw him she smiled and something in Logan's chest unlocked.
He stood up as she crossed to him and for a moment they just looked at each other. All the texts and calls and video chatshadn't quite prepared him for this. For seeing her in person, healthy and whole and looking at him like he'd made her entire night by just being there.
"Hi," she said.
