“Here we are,” she said, “at the Ursuline Convent. Would you like to hear about the filles à la cassette?”

Her eyes found Greta’s, and she smiled. Greta recognized the place and the story from the other day and smiled back.

“They were rumored to be vampires,” Carys said, looking right at the man who’d been giving her shit.

The tour went on like that for another hour and a half, and when they finally rounded the corner to the place they’d met, Greta was tired and very ready to be out of a group of strangers.

She hung back, and several members of the group clustered to ask Carys follow-up questions as well as questions about how to get back to their hotels on Canal Street. A few slipped her bills and thanked her for a great tour.

Finally, even the football fans left, and Carys slumped against the lamppost and pulled off her shawl.

“Thank god,” she groaned.

“That must be exhausting,” Greta said, approaching.

“Some nights are more than others.”

“The population of New Orleans is just under four hundred thousand,” Greta offered, feeling a bit silly. “Just, I googled it before I came.”

“I know,” Carys said and winked. “Thanks.”

“Oh, I just thought you told that guy… Oh.”

Carys yawned and stretched. “He annoyed me. I’m not Wikipedia. Guys like him want to get the most for their money, so they ask a million questions they don’t care about just to feel like it was worth it. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

Greta nodded and Carys got to her feet again with another stretch. “You wanna hang out back at my place?”

“Yeah, okay. If you’re not too tired.”

“Just don’t ask me any fact-based questions on the walk there and I’ll recharge.”

“Okay,” Greta said before she realized Carys was kidding. “Sorry, I’m really nervous,” she confessed.

“How come?”

Carys faced her and seemed to be asking sincerely.

“Well. I guess because you’re really beautiful and smart. And you seem…cool? That’s not what I mean, but like what cool would mean if it were actually cool. You know?”

Carys didn’t nod. She just looked deep into Greta’s eyes. Greta’s impulse was to look away, but Carys’ gaze wasn’t challenging. It was open, vulnerable, intimate.

“I hope being nervous doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun hanging out,” she said finally.

Something bright broke open in Greta. Her gratitude that Carys wasn’t trying to talk her out of how she felt made her buoyant.

“I’m hopeful,” she said and grinned.

Carys’ answering smile was warm, and they walked into the night together.