I take a croissant and practically moan when my first bite exposes rich dark chocolate in the center.
I wipe my crumbs from the counter, grab one of the key cards lying beside the tray of food, and head toward the elevator that will bring me to the lobby.
When the doors open, the perfumed air greets me along with the brightly polished floor. The atrium taunts me, calling for me to discover all that a luxury hotel offers its guests—how the other half lives, as Cooper put it. But, I opt to explore it later tonight when I don’t have the distraction of a full and untouched list on my mind.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Robinson.” Natasha, my inspiration to attempt appearing elegant and put together this morning while I got ready, greets me with a smile. My khaki green shorts with the cute belt now seem simple, and my white tank top with patterned buttons down the front scream their discounted price as she wipes a piece of imaginary lint from her fitted purple blouse with an elegant and sexy neckline that she paired with a killer black pencil skirt. “How was your evening? Did you have a nice time at Taste?”
“It was amazing,” I tell her. “That was the best shrimp I’ve ever tasted.”
She smiles, but it lacks friendliness and sincerity. “Wonderful. I’m so glad to hear that. Can I help you with something? Do you need a car? A reservation? Would you like to visit the spa?” I swear she looks from my hair to my bare nails.
“Thank you, but I’m just going to head out and do some sightseeing.”
She nods. “Perfect.” Maybe it’s a coincidence that she walks me all the way to the front door, but it almost feels like she’s escorting me, like she doesn’t trust me to be in here unattended.
I smile at her before moving through the revolving doors at the front, determined not to let a stranger spoil my day. After all, this is pretty high on describing a perfect day for me: sun, summer, a new city, and a plan.
The air is thick with humidity and feels warmer after the coolness of the hotel, but I welcome it, knowing I’m about to endure ten months in the Pacific Northwest where I’ll be homesick for the humidity and warm summer days.
I pull up the map app on my phone that’s already programmed with my destinations, and follow narrow streets lined with a canopy of oak trees with thickly wavering branches covered in broad, green leaves that shield me from the sun. When I cross the street, large plots are marked with mansions that are set back from the road. Pristine yards with crepe myrtles and their two-toned trunks and millions of blooms, brightly colored bougainvillea, angel trumpets, and hibiscuses are artfully planted among massive magnolia trees with giant waxy leaves that are almost as beautiful as the homes tucked behind them.
It feels like I’m on a movie set, each block an image of perfection and money that turns into a new wave of history. I come to a stop in front of giant cement structures that are equally eerie and beautiful and surrounded by a black wrought iron fence that I follow to where the doors are propped open. The fence winds its way up into an arch that reads: “Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.”
I’ve never seen an above-ground cemetery, and like everything else in this city, it screams of intrigue and history, forcing me to add another item to my to-do-later list so I can remain focused on my current sightseeing list.
I walk by row houses that lead me into a more industrial district, where the heat isn’t as charming, and when a driver slows down to yell something from their window, I wish I’d made Nessie or Cooper come with me.
It takes me a full hour to reach my first destination: Jackson Square. I’m so glad I read the suggestion to approach from Decatur Street to see the park with St. Louis Cathedral in the background and the statue of President Andrew Jackson at the forefront. It’s picturesque; something from a postcard that has me standing in place for several long minutes, taking in the view before I snap a picture and send it along with a quick text to Mom and Dad.
I spend the afternoon checking each item off my list until my phone rings, and Nessie’s face appears on the screen, her tongue out.
“Hey.”
“How’s sightseeing?” she asks.
“I’m moving here,” I tell her.
She laughs. “Me too. I’m pretty sure that bed is a cloud.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re still in it.”
She sighs happily. “Actually, Cooper and I went and tried bubble tea and walked around the Garden District.”
“Bubble tea?”
“Add it to your list. You’ll love it. Also, the Garden District is fab. It’s so beautiful.”
“The French District is pretty amazing as well. You won’t believe some of these pictures I’ve taken. Did you know the city was under French rule, then Spanish, and then French again before America purchased it?”
“Did you know the hotel makes a jambalaya with shrimp and has an outdoor pool with a full bar where they come to your beach chair and take your order?”
“So, you’re telling me you stood me up to hang out with your crush and then sunbathed like a celebrity?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m eating the beignets I bought you as we speak.”
She laughs. “When are you on your way back? Tyler and Cooper made plans for tonight.”
“What kind of plans?”
“A masquerade club. I looked it up, and it says it’s super hard to get into, and we have VIP passes.”
“We aren’t going to do the bar and club scene every night, are we?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that question. Where are you? How far away are you?”
“I’m back at Jackson Square. I basically made a giant circle today and came back to get more beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde.”
She repeats my location to Cooper.
“Tyler’s going to send a car to get you.”
“I can take an Uber or a Lyft or something,” I protest.
“Too late. He’s already calling someone.”
“How will I know which car it is?”
She repeats my question.
“He said it’s the same car that dropped us off last night.”
“Did you tell him I can’t remember what car dropped us off last night?”
“Nice. Black sedan.”
“I feel like it’s necessary to tell you I see six nice, black sedans right this very second.”
“Don’t get into the wrong one. You may not get to sleep on our cloud bed again.”
I chuckle. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I was kidding. Stay on the phone with me.”
I do, but it turns out to be unnecessary because the same driver from the night before finds me sitting on my park bench, fingers still sticky with powdered sugar, and calls me by name.
“I’ll see you in fifteen,” I tell Nessie and dust off my hands. I grab the paper bag filled with beignets and my purse, and follow him to the car.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he opens the door for me.
He nods. “Ms. Robinson.”
“You can call me Chloe.”
“You can call me Miles.” He smiles before closing my door.
“How was your afternoon?” he asks, and unlike this morning when Natasha asked me about last night, Miles makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, like he’s genuinely interested to hear my answer.