Cole went outside and was hit with a wall of humidity, his shirt sticking to his back within seconds of the doors sliding shut.
The construction signs were everywhere, the men moving at the strange pace New Orleans demanded—not fast enough to get dehydrated, but slow enough to be that bit of annoying to those not familiar with it.
And the Majestic was changing.
The dying trees were gone, replaced with vibrant bushes already on the verge of blooming, the gardeners pampering them like mothers with spoiled children. The lampposts he'd walked under with Kat on their first night had been refurbished and restored to their original form, the black paint no longer dulled with garish white lights.
The shoreline had been cleaned and cut back, the grass now neatly leading to the waves lapping up
