Every time we come.
That means coming back here, with him. Amos is making plans for the two of us—and right now, my stomach feels like a circus at the thought of spending an indefinite amount of time by his side.
“Can we really?” I ask.
“Yeah. Until you’ve tried everything,” he says without breaking eye contact, and now I’m certain he meant it.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I focus back on the menu. “I’m torn between the blueberry pancakes and the waffles with hot chocolate sauce and almond shavings.”
Amos is staring at my mouth—and that makes it hard to think about pancakes. “Why don’t we order both and share?” he suggests.
“I’d like that.”
The food arrives, and the waffle is perfectly crisp. I have to hold back a moan when I taste the chocolate sauce.
Half an hour later, he’s already devoured an omelet, a quiche, and now a pancake. “So . . . Paris. Tell me what it was like living there.”
“You really want to talk about that?”
“I want to know more about you. Not Ethan’s version. I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t really know you anymore. I wantyourtake on it.”
“Well . . . honestly? Amazing. I mean, it’s Paris. Have you ever been there?” I silently thank him for choosing a topic that’s easy for me. Paris is a safe space. Something I can talk about without fear of slipping up and revealing too much. Whowould’ve thought watching someone eat pancakes could be so sexy?
“Yeah, sure. Just for work, though. Where did you live there?”
“Michelle's apartment is just a few minutes from the Eiffel Tower, on Avenue de la Bourdonnais. I love Paris. It’s my favorite place in the world.”
I lose myself describing the streets I adore, talking nonstop.
“You’ve only been there for work? That’s a crime. We need to fix that. Would you trust me to give you a proper tour of the city? I know the kind of places that never show up in guidebooks. But if you’re thinking clubs or bars, you’ll be disappointed. I’d love to take you to a bistro I adore—it's run by a former chef from the Ritz. It’s called Café Constant. Martina and I used to go there all the time. I even bought one of his cookbooks and tried a few recipes.”
Jesus, what am I saying?
I just invited him on a trip. That’s got so many layers, I don’t even want to start unpacking it.
Maybe he was only talking about the near future, and here I am throwing Europe into the mix?
“I mean . . . you don’t have to go with me. I just meant . . . I could make you an itinerary.” A quick and painless death would be welcome right now. Or a power outage. Anything to make me stop talking.
“I’d like that.”
“Youwould?You’re not serious.”
“Why not?”
I don’t know, let me think . . . Maybe because in the real world, people like you and me don’t end up together?
For God’s sake, this man could have any woman he wants—and he’s saying he’d go to Europe with me?
I’m freaking out. I’m not the type to make plans I don’t follow through on. Once I get something in my head, I do it. If this thing between us doesn’t last, I’ll get hurt. So maybe it’s better to just let time run its course before jumping into future plans.
Unable to speak without giving myself away, I shove another piece of pancake into my mouth.
“Lilly?”
Why do I feel like he’s testing me—knowing full well I can’t lie to save my life?
I drop my fork and finally give in. “Okay, I said that without thinking. I have this problem where thoughts fly straight from my brain to my mouth without a filter.” I shake my head, frustrated. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up, alright? I know we’re from different worlds, Amos. Maybe this thing between us won’t even last the semester.”
