My eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry.” I scrambled off and ended up on my knees. He got to his feet in a swift movement without any strain at all and held out his hand.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry for running into you.”
My cheeks heated, and I shook my head, and then nodded, realizing I wasn’t answering his question. “I’m fine. Mortified. But totally fine.”
He squatted next to me and tilted his head as he studied my face. “Let me help you pick up these flowers, because we’re already the tourists that made a scene for them. They’ll be able to tell their friends the story of the two Americans who decided to rumble in the middle of the market. We shouldn’t waste the flowers.”
I grinned and then let out a sigh. “I’ve had a really weird vacation so far, so I’m not surprised that I’m making a scene.”
“Since you most likely bruised me, don’t bruise my ego. Get a coffee with me.”
I couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “That was a marvelous line.”
He beamed and looked twice as sexy. Damn, this man was a problem. A good problem. But still. “I’m really proud of it. What do you say?”
I met his gaze, my mouth going dry just staring at him. “Coffee sounds good.”
As we picked up the remaining flowers, and he shielded me from others nearly running into me since they weren’t paying attention, I had a feeling my vacation was looking up.
One week later.
“I hate your ex,” Leif said as he tangled his fingers with mine. I rolled my eyes and brushed my shoulder against him as we made our way down the block.
“I’m not a fan of him either. But that’s what high school boyfriends are for. Either you love them forever, or you never want to see them again. Thankfully, he’s off to the East Coast for college, and I won’t have to think of him again.”
“And you got on the plane.” Leif smiled down at me, and my heart kicked.
When I had joked with my friends about finding a Parisian hookup, or even just a summer fling for my end of high school, beginning of college vacation, I hadn’t expected for it to truly happen. And frankly, even if it had, I hadn’t expected it to happen with a guy from the same city I lived in. I wasn’t supposed to meet a guy from Colorado when I was in Paris. I was supposed to meet a cute French boy who wanted to show me the local eats. We would have a mad affair, before we ended it, and it would be something I could tell my kids about in a far-off way just like Rose did on Titanic. Except for the fact that I was not Rose, Leif was not Jack, and there was plenty of room on that door.
“Are you sure the girls don’t want to join us?”
I shook my head, and we turned the corner, heading towards yet another cafe.
“Bethany is off with some guy she met at a party last night. Charity is with her boyfriend.” I rolled my eyes. “They broke up after graduation, and then he showed up, stalking her thanks to having her location on his phone, and she took him back. I don’t understand it, but they seem happy now, and I guess I’ll have to pick up the pieces—unless they break up after we get back to the U.S. Because they’re staying in Colorado, and I’m not.”
Leif squeezed my hand, and I once again had to remind myself to stop talking about California.
Leif and I were enjoying each other’s company, as both of us were here for similar and yet vastly different reasons. He was in an art program, learning new techniques that would help him be a tattoo artist—something that was incredibly sexy.
And I was trying to live life and not stress before I knew I would be working far too hard in classes, making sure that science was the way that I wanted to go. A new life, a new destination, and Leif wouldn’t be there.
And why did that feel so disappointing? Why did that settle so much disappointment on my shoulders even after only a week?
We found the cafe one of Leif’s art friends mentioned, and we took a seat out on the patio so we could people watch. I loved trying to figure out what people were thinking, or why they would be walking down that street at that particular time, and I knew Leif wanted to focus on the way people moved differently, what they wore, their shapes, sizes, anything that could lead to art. He had an exam coming up, one that I knew was stressing him, but he took every break he could to be with me, even in this one week.
And I loved the way that he tasted.
I loved the way that he put his hands on me to tell me exactly what he wanted.
“Look at that blush. What are you thinking about?” he asked as he met my gaze.
“Stop.”
“Are you thinking about exactly what we did last night?” A single raise of his eyebrow, and I wanted to throw a balled-up napkin at him. But we were trying to be the nice tourists. Not the ones they made stories about.
“Bonjour,” the waitress said as she came forward.
We each ordered a drink, and while he went for a normal latte, I went for the special.
