17
WE STROLL BY THE SEINE and take in the views.
“There’s a shit ton of bridges in this town,” Oscar says, stating the obvious. He’s still snapping pics.
My phone dings, and I’m surprised by my reaction when I see a text from Matt; it’s a mix of excitement and curiosity.
Hey, Kayla. Hope you’re having a great day in Paris. Had a great time last night. What are you up to today?
I reply instantly, careful to make sure Oscar is not snooping over my shoulder.
We’re on a walking tour. We’re walking by the Seine right now.
—
Cool! I’ve spoken to Nicole. She’s in… I need to know my dad’s plans for tonight. I texted him but he didn’t reply yet. :( Can you talk to your mother and try to find out?
—
I’ll see what I can do.
—
Thanks. Bye. xoxo
Next, we’re touring Le Marais, a quaint little village called Saint Paul. Corrie is chatting with Antoine, undoubtedly finding out if he’s married. My feet are starting to ache, the soles of my shoes too flat for long distance walking.
Thankfully we stop and take a break at a local art gallery. I’m not much of an artist myself, but I’ve always appreciated art. Oscar and I peruse the works quietly without a word. “Gabbie would love this place,” I tell him.
“Yeah, her new guy too. I hope she remembers to feed the cats.”
I smile. “You’re still worried about Nellie?”
“I can’t help it.”
“You’re sweet.”
Corrie sneaks up behind us quietly. “So here’s what I’ve found out,” she says in hushed tones. “He’s not married. He’s divorced. Two grown daughters. He’s fifty-eight. When he’s not doing tours, he’s an art curator. He’s a country boy, originally from Avignon. He loves crime fiction and American folk music. He speaks five languages.”
“Wow, did he ask you if you were writing his biography?” I tease.
“Well, I told you I’d find out shit,” she says. “And he even showed me a picture of his ex-wife and daughters. She looks a lot like your mom… the man has a type.”
I smile. “Okay then, how do we get them together? We need to break up the wedding first. And that’s in two days,” I point out, feeling slightly defeated.
“How’s your brother doing?” she asks.
“My brother?” I ask, confused for a second, and then I laugh. “Oh yes, my future brother. He’s still working on it. Speaking of which, I really need to talk to my mom.”
I scurry over to my mother who is quietly observing a beautiful painting; a country scene painted in vibrant oils. Antoine is chatting with one of the other tourists. “Hey, Mom. Having fun?”
She beams. “Yes, this tour was such a great idea. I’m glad I let Corrie convince me to come.”
“Well, she is pretty convincing. So what do you think of our tour guide?” I ask with a playful smile.
She visibly blushes and pulls her gaze from mine, back to the painting. “He’s very nice.”
“More than nice,” I say. “I wouldn’t kick him out my bed for eating baguettes and leaving crumbs, if you know what I mean.”
