She typed out a quick response that she was twenty minutes out, tucked her phone back in the side pocket of her purse and rifled through the main compartment for her notes. Since moving into Kir’s house, she’d done a lot of experimenting with different types of photography. Mixing images with graphic alterations for a unique blend of modern art had proven to be unexpectedly gratifying. Especially when Evette had turned around and sold a few of her pieces at a charity event for an impressive sum.

But the biggest surprise? She really did have a thing for live work. And hallelujah for having a family who not only supported her passion, but was patient while she’d honed her skills through weekend outings and too many rowdy dinners to count. Emerson, in particular, had proven to be quite the clown when there was a camera in close proximity.

Last-minute cramming completed, she stuffed her notepad back where she’d stowed it earlier and eyed New Orleans’s Central Business District to one side of the Pontchartrain Expressway. Traffic on the highway wasn’t much, but wow, had the people congregated around the Smoothie King Center for the show. Not surprising, given how the arena could hold nearly 18,000 people, but watching the masses stream in to watch someone she not only knew, but had exclusive rights to photograph was a rush.

Sam drove to the back of the arena, past at least a dozen matching semis with red cabs and gleaming silver trailers, to the iron gate where the die-hard fans were camped out in hopes of a Lizzy sighting.

The gate trundled open, and the guards at either side crowded close to keep the fans well behind them. Up ahead, four pimped-out Prevost buses sat side by side, every one of them painted in glossy black with sweeping gold and silver swirls. Impressive as they were, they only held her gaze for a minute, because the sight of her man strolling from the loading area was far more appealing.

And Lordy, was he a sight. He’d forgone his usual suit and donned jeans and a black Lizzy Hemming concert shirt that fit his torso perfectly. Seriously, if Lizzy needed a marketing vehicle to up concert T-shirt sales, having her guy stroll past the merchandise booths would be the way to do it.

The Mercedes rolled to a stop, and Kir opened her door before Abel could even get one foot on the pavement. He held out his hand and helped her from the car.

On the street side of the gate, the crowd let out a swell of cheers—right up until they realized it wasn’t Lizzy getting out, but some blonde chick in unremarkable attire.

Cassie wrinkled her nose at Kir. “I think they’re disappointed.”

“I’m not.” As was his penchant these days, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a sweet, yet lingering kiss. “Are you ready?”

Funny. All he’d done was give her a simple kiss, and all of the anxiousness that had built in the hours before this moment vanished. She smoothed her hands atop his pecs and practically purred. “I’m not sure. I might need a minute or two alone with you to appreciate this shift in attire.”