The vibrant afternoon unfolded across the French Quarter in New Orleans, where lively crowds filled the cobblestone streets, their cheerful chatter creating a symphony of joy and excitement. The blend of aromas wafted through the air—rich Cajun spices from restaurant kitchens, the sweet perfume of powdered sugar dusting fresh beignets, and the distinct fragrance of jasmine spilling over wrought-iron balconies—surrounding Angel and Charlotte as they explored the Crescent City.
They strolled hand in hand down Royal Street, taking in the diverse array of establishments lining the historic thoroughfare. Quaint boutiques showcased the crafts of local artisans behind glass windows framed by centuries-old architecture, while vibrant galleries displayed the work of talented artists beneath the shade of ornate Spanish Colonial balconies. Each corner revealed something new—a street performer captivating an audience near the imposing spires of St. Louis Cathedral, or the rhythmic sounds of jazz spilling from nearby clubs on Chartres Street, inviting passersby to pause and listen.
As they walked comfortably along the uneven bricks, occasionally commenting on the scenery or the colorful characters around them, Angel couldn't take his eyes off Charlotte. The way she moved in her red sundress, the fabric catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the ancient oak trees, highlighted her graceful curves and the warm glow of her rosy cheeks against her lightly dusted alabaster skin. In this moment, she looked far more like an angel than a demon.
He noticed how her eyes lit up as she watched the various street performances scattered throughout Jackson Square. Each artist held her attention, drawing her into the lively atmosphere of the Quarter.
When she turned to smile at him, pointing excitedly at a juggler balancing colorful balls in the air near the equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson, Angel found himself smiling back with genuine warmth. Unlike the forced expressions he'd worn in darker days, this smile felt real, as if some of the weight he carried had lifted.
Ever since Charlotte stepped into his life, much of the emotional burden that had been part of his existence had gradually faded. It was as if she'd opened a window within him, allowing light to illuminate the shadows that had clouded his mind. As he continued to watch the performers alongside her, he realized he was rediscovering the simple joy of living, one moment at a time.
He also felt relief that she seemed to have moved past the previous night's events, or at least wasn't letting them dominate her enjoyment of the day. He'd expected her to remain withdrawn, perhaps even to avoid physical contact as a way of coping with her pain. Yet, as soon as they left the apartment, with Angel pointing out the way to the French Market to start their adventure, she reached for him without hesitation, taking his hand. Her grip was firm and reassuring.
It helped him feel at ease as they began their day, surrounded by the vibrant bustle of tourists and locals navigating the narrow streets. Despite the crowds around them—families posing for photos, tour groups following guides with raised umbrellas, artists setting up easels—they felt like they were in their own world. The city's noise faded into the background as their connection deepened with each step they took together through the storied streets.
He loved the feel of her hand in his, especially when she gave it a little squeeze as if to remind him she was there, or traced her thumb along his knuckles in a subtle caress that stirred up the feelings he'd pushed away the other night.
To distract himself from these emotions, Angel assumed the role of tour guide. He led her first to the bustling French Market, where vendors hawked everything from handcrafted jewelry to locally made hot sauces beneath the long, covered pavilions that had sheltered commerce for over two centuries. He then treated her to lunch at Meals From The Heart, a vegetarian restaurant he'd researched that morning, knowing Charlotte's dietary preferences. This choice was a hit with her, and she beamed with appreciation at his thoughtfulness.
After their lunch, he brought her to a charming boutique nestled between an antique shop and a vintage bookstore on Royal Street, where she could browse various makeup options—lipsticks in jewel tones and blushes that complemented her natural coloring. Once she made a few selections, they stepped outside into the afternoon sunshine, where she spotted a shoe store across the street.
"I have an idea!" she exclaimed, giggling as she tugged him across the street and through the shop's door. She quickly scanned the interior and found exactly what she had in mind. With light steps and a bright smile, she rushed to grab a pair of soft cotton slip-on shoes in a muted gray.
"So my cloven hooves don't make noise when I haunt," she whispered playfully in his ear, her warm breath making him blush. He nodded in agreement, charmed by her humor. With a happy squeal that drew amused glances from other shoppers, she led him toward the checkout counter.
As their day of exploration came to a close and their shopping wrapped up, the pair found a secluded spot in a narrow alley between two historic buildings, away from the steady stream of tourists. Once they were alone beneath the shade of a centuries-old balcony, she took their shopping bags in her hands. As he watched, they simply vanished from her grasp. He knew their purchases would be waiting in their bedroom when they returned home.
With both hands now free, he took the lead, intertwining his fingers with hers and guiding her toward the river. Their path took them past the imposing façade of the Cabildo and down toward the water. Before long, they arrived at the sprawling green expanse of Woldenberg Park, where the sounds of the river and distant jazz created a pleasant soundtrack. As they weaved through the crowd—couples walking dogs, children chasing pigeons, elderly men playing chess at weathered tables—they walked at an unhurried pace until they finally paused near the elegant River Walk Gazebo, its white columns standing against the backdrop of the mighty Mississippi.
Angel glanced at his watch, noting how the afternoon had flown by. "It's almost six. We should start heading back."
Charlotte nodded silently, but something in her expression had shifted.
"Is something wrong?" he questioned, studying her face.
She shook her head and focused her gaze on the river to her left, observing a paddle-wheel steamboat churn slowly upstream. Without a word, she gently pulled his hand, leading him toward the gazebo.
"Charlotte?" he asked again, his voice gentle but insistent. The day had been perfect, but now he feared her thoughts had returned to the previous night's events. He braced himself for whatever conversation might follow.
As they entered under the gazebo's roof, she released his hand and approached the ornate railing that overlooked the river. She stared at the muddy waters for a long moment before turning to face him.
Her eyes were determined, though her lips trembled slightly. "Angel, I've been thinking all day. I want you to know that I forgive you for what happened the other night."
He'd been correct. This conversation was about that terrible night in the hotel room. He'd already considered what he needed to say to her, even though the words felt inadequate. Even if she offered forgiveness, he still couldn't forgive himself. "It doesn't excuse what I said and how I treated you. It was wrong, and I am so sorry. I don't see you as anything other than a wonderful young woman. I hope in time you'll believe that."
"I do believe it," she assured him. "It's exactly why I can forgive you. You were looking out for both of us in your own way."
"I could have been a lot gentler, though." He sighed heavily, the weight of guilt still pressing on his chest.
She shook her head. "We were both hurting and not thinking clearly. What you told me about your past horrified me, and I could see so much pain in your eyes. I wanted to comfort you, but I didn't even consider if it was what you wanted."
"Don't." He shook his head firmly. "I'm not upset about that at all, far from it."
She moistened her lips nervously. "Really?"
He nodded, but he felt there was something else. "This isn't really what's bothering you, though, is it?"
She took a deep breath. "No, it isn't." She lifted her gaze to meet his directly. "I know we hadn't really talked it all out, and Cassie split us up because she didn't know. But I missed you terribly last night, Angel. Even though we had our own beds in that hotel, you were always close enough that I never felt truly alone." Her voice began to thicken with emotion. "But I suffered last night, sleeping in that room by myself."
"Charlotte…" He reached out and gently gripped her hands, encouraging her to continue.
She pressed her forehead against his, their noses touching, and her body went still. Time seemed to freeze for both of them as she whispered, "Even if we can't be together in that way—not yet…maybe never—I don't want to feel the way I felt last night, ever again. I miss your presence beside me." She shivered as she took the plunge. "Will you please sleep with me tonight?"
She felt his hands release hers and move to gently grasp her shoulders. His warm breath danced against her lips, making her want to close the small distance between them. As his head pulled back slightly, she couldn't hide her disappointment. His fingers lifted her chin, allowing their eyes to connect fully. She noticed the softest, most gentle smile he'd ever shared with her. "I would be honored to."
The moment felt suspended. With her chin cradled in his palm, he leaned in slowly, and she felt his lips brush against hers in the most delicate of kisses. It was tender and chaste but filled with emotion. When he pulled back, he noticed her eyes glistening and swept his thumbs beneath her lids to dry them.
She pressed her cheek into his palm, placing her hand over his to hold it there. "I was so scared that I would push you away again."
His tone was soft yet firm. "You couldn't."
Cassie was right. She knew her brother well.
"I wanted to be with you last night as well," he admitted.
"Already tired of sleeping on couches?" she whispered, a hint of humor in her voice.
He heard the teasing note and chuckled softly. "Maybe just a bit."
She smiled as she squeezed his hand, feeling the tension that had built up throughout the day finally ease away.
Without another word, he gave her a second kiss—more intense and lingering, yet still chaste and respectful. Then he pressed his forehead against hers again. "We'll find the answers together, Charlotte. We'll recover your memories and figure out our path forward. Together."
His words made her heart swell. Nodding softly against his forehead, she whispered back, "Together."
Then, stepping back with eyes that shimmered, she grinned with sudden excitement. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go find out what Cassie's discovered!"
Pulling on his hand, she urged him to walk briskly with her back toward the Quarter, both of them excited to uncover whatever answers awaited them in the witch's shop.