Stopping them dead, he spun her out and bent into a deep bow, doffing an imaginary hat. “Darling, I think I’m in love. Say you’ll be a Saints fan, and I’m yours forever.”

“Win a Super Bowl and we’ll talk,” Erin teased.

When he suddenly lunged, she tried to dart out of his way, to no avail. Gabriel swung her up into his arms as though she weighed nothing. One arm balanced her, and she clutched his neck as vertigo struck. He took quick advantage, digging mercilessly into her ribs, tickling.

Erin started and gasped, struggling for breath shortened by laughter. “Stop it, you maniac!”

Gabriel shifted her into a more secure hold and continued punishing her. “Say the Saints are supreme!” he demanded. “All hail the Saints!”

“Never,” she retorted. Wriggling in his arms, shaking with mirth, Erin realized how strong Gabriel was when she attempted to retaliate by poking him in his ribs. Her futile attempts met with solid flesh that scarcely moved beneath her touch.

“Sing the song, heretic. ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’!” To inspire, he began to hum the opening bars, then broke into the full song. Soon, passersby stopped and pointed at the madman and his captive as Gabriel high-stepped in time with his off-key singing. “Oh when the Saints, go marching in,” he belted out.

“You fool,” Erin giggled, and buried her head in his chest. “Cut it out. People are watching.”

Gabriel continued, undaunted by the attention. More captivating was the pleasure gleaming in her eyes. To keep her smiling, he’d do a chorus line, he realized. He’d do anything. For the moment, it meant making a fool of himself as he marched down Royal singing, “Yes, I want to be in that number.” He grinned down at the lovely woman in his arms and couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment. “Sing with me, Erin darling,” he crooned, and he carried her off the main thoroughfare onto a dimmer street. The sounds from the Quarter still reached them, but the tones were muted. Here a warehouse had been gutted in preparation for condominiums.

“When the Saints go marching in,” she joined in, her creamy contralto meeting his over the last line.

Satisfied, he nuzzled her forehead with his own. Close enough to hear her mutter, “Go marching into last place.”

“Heretic,” Gabriel denounced. He drew back, watching the satisfied smirk spread across her mouth. “I could fall in love with you,” he whispered dazedly.