“Leif Montgomery, you know your brother’s listening.”
“Boobs are gross,” Colin said, and as my mom admonished him for that, I chuckled.
“But you’re enjoying yourself?” my dad asked as my mom and Colin laughed in the background.
“I am. It’s a little overwhelming, and I don’t have the talent of some of the others, but I’m learning.”
“Leif, you have immense talent. And I’m so damn proud of you for going outside your experience and comfort zone in order to become a better tattoo artist. And I can’t fucking wait for you to work alongside me.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tight. “I want to do you proud.”
“I already am.”
We each cleared our throats, because while we were comfortable with emotion, I didn’t want to dive into it in the middle of a Parisian walkway.
I told them a little bit more about my afternoon, and then we said our goodbyes, as they were just getting ready for the day and I had a late evening class. I was going to meet up with friends afterwards, and I was excited.
I turned the corner, heading to the market, trying to figure out what colors of flowers I wanted. I would just let the inspiration strike. We had to work on still life for the next week, with a different image each day, and I wanted to add color to my repertoire.
I turned another corner, my thoughts on something other than what was in front of me, when someone rammed into me. The flower she held slapped my face before fluttering to the ground, and I moved my arms, trying to catch her.
“Crap!” she called out, and I gripped one shoulder and one hip, trying to keep steady, but then it was no use. I fell back and pulled her on top of me so she wouldn’t get hurt, then slammed onto the brick pathway.
Somebody called out and ran towards us, and I just lay there, looking into the most gorgeous hazel eyes I had ever seen. Reddish brown hair fell over her face and into mine, and I reached up and plucked a yellow flower that had laced itself into her hair.
“Hey there. Are you okay?” I asked. I cleared my throat and realized we had been silent for a little too long as people came towards us, asking questions in French that took me a moment to translate. I hadn’t hit my head, but it sure felt like it.
And as the woman looked down at me and blinked, I couldn’t help but smile.
Because if this was going to be how I ended the day, having a beautiful woman land on top of me and stare at me with those soulful eyes that I couldn’t wait to draw, it was going to be a hell of a night.
Chapter Two
Brooke
To say my European vacation hadn’t gone quite as planned would be an understatement.
I’d been pickpocketed in London. I’d chased the girl down, ripped my purse from her arms, and made her cry. I hadn’t truly cared, and the moment had gone semi-viral on the internet. But I had my purse, my ID, and what little money I had for the trip.
I’d missed the train twice, all because people kept standing in my way and refused to “let the young idiot by”—at least that’s what some man in a business suit had mumbled.
I had tripped over a curb on my way to the Louvre and skinned my elbow, as well as put a hole in my favorite jeans.
Then a bird had pooped on me, but apparently that was supposed to be good luck.
I only had a couple of more weeks in Paris, and then I would be going home.
Away from the very odd, not so great vacation. The one that was supposed to begin my life as an adult where I could start over. Where I would head to California, begin college, and begin my new life.
Of course, as I lay on top of a very attractive man, with firm muscles that oddly held me close, I realized my humiliation in this country wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
People walked past us as if I hadn’t run straight into a man and dropped every flower I had just purchased all around us. They looked down at their phones, or spoke on them, and walking in their quick way told me they had places to go, but at the same time, they would take a leisurely pace if they wanted to. Because nothing was too important to stress about.
But I still found myself draped over a stranger as a few people stared.
“Hi,” I said, blinking and wondering when the mortification would go away. “I’m Brooke.”
The man below me smiled—a slow smile that crept over his face, brightened his eyes, and made my breath catch. “I’m Leif. And you’re still on top of me.” His lips quirked as he said it, but I noticed he didn’t let go of my hips. Those large, firm hands seemed steady in place.
