She whispers and then kisses him quickly before heading out the door.He watches her with a fixed smirk on his face until the door closes and just the two of us are left standing here.
“Bonjour,” I say awkwardly.
“Américaine?”Even after one word, his accent is thick...and kind of dreamy.It’s his attitude that sucks.
“Yes.Do you speak English?”
“Do you?”he replies sarcastically.
I roll my eyes.“I’m here to check in.Do you know if I need to wait here or call someone?”
He walks to the computer on the desk and begins typing.Leaning over the keyboard he hunts and pecks while muttering something in French, but I hear ‘Americans’ mixed in.Again, not in a good way.Looking up, he eyes me from head to toe, then asks, “Kandeese?”
“Kandace.Kandace Miller.”
“That’s what I said.”
More mumbling is heard as I approach.“Sorry.”
“We have one bed left—”
“One bed?I reserved a room.”
He flips through a notebook and drags his finger down a page with today’s date on it.After two hard taps, he says, “We overbooked.Véronique put a couple in that room just this morning, but we have the bed.C’est Oui?”
With exhaustion weighing my shoulders down, I nod.“Oui.”
Holding a key in the palm of his hand, he says, “Quatre.Room quarante-deux.”
I pull out my pocket guide and flip through it, but he interrupts me and says, “Forty-two.Fourth floor.Room forty-two.”
“Merci.”
“Pas de problème.”I must look confused because he clarifies, “No problem.”
“Ah.Oui.”That French night class I took has not helped in real world situations at all.
Taking my suitcase, I walk toward the stairs, looking for the elevator, but don’t see one.“Is there an elevator?”
“Non.”
I was afraid he’d say that.Picking my suitcase up by the handle, I open the door and start up the four flights.I have to stop on the first level to rest.The case is heavy and my flat shoes do not provide stair-climbing support.One of the doors above opens and then I hear footsteps coming down quickly.The stairs are not wide, smaller than we have in the States, so when the footsteps get closer, I move to the side.
It’s one of those moments...like the ones in movies.Herounds the corner and I see him, my breath catching, my gaze fixed on him.His broad shoulders draw me in while his six plus foot build leaves a lot of body to cover in the mere seconds I have before it’s considered rude.Medium brown hair, olive skin, strong arms.His coloring is not entirely different from mine.I’m paler though with a few freckles left over from summer.I have a lighter version of his hair.When his eyes meet mine, a smile appears.“Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” I manage to reply like a native, though my heart is racing.
“Américaine?”
Frustrated my attempt failed, I say, “Yes.Bad attempt at French is always a dead giveaway.”
With a grin that stops somewhere between fully amused and just slightly, he looks down at my case and offers, “Would you like help?”
This is a surprise.Not wanting to drag it up three more flights by myself, I anxiously nod before I even reply.“Yes, thank you.Merci.”
He comes down the remaining five steps and takes the case in hand before turning around quickly and heading back up.“Floor?”
“Fourth floor.”
