6. Chapter Six - Reed
Reed
“I think I’ve seen more dicks in the last two hours than I’ve seen in my whole life,” she says as we walk out of the museum, looking up at me with a grin tugging at her lips. “And now I’m starving.” Her smile turns sly, a mischievous glint flickering in her eyes. “For food,” she adds quickly with a wink, as if I needed clarification.
“I know a place nearby,” I propose, watching her face for a reaction. “That is, if it’s okay I’m crashing your day.” I know I wouldn’t want to spend a day with the guy who ran me over and I later watched screaming at front desk workers, but I can’t help but hope that she’ll say yes.
Because I’m growing tired of spending my vacations either at work or alone. And this was without a doubt the most fun I ever had visiting the Louvre.
“I did,” she shrugs and my heart sinks, “but this seems more fun. So crash away, buddy.” She glances up at me. “You know, the great thing about vacations is, there are no plans that can’t be changed if you really want to.” Our eyes meet and my heart starts beating rapidly in my chest, an unspoken ‘and I really want to’ hovering in the air between us.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper vacation,” I admit with a low chuckle. “I’m still re-learning how to relax.”
We exit the museum near the glass pyramid entrance, almost getting blinded by the bright sunlight reflecting off the panels. I love how it looks when I get here in the morning, just before the sun rises, when it’s illuminated in a warm orange from below, a stark contrast to the centuries old buildings that constitute the rest of the museum.
We head past it, my hand instinctively finding the small of her back, and I notice her staring at the massive line building outside the security gates, stretching over most of the courtyard, and catch a small smile playing at her lips.
“So glad I went early,” she whispers as I lead her past the queue and through the courtyard, out to a busy street, where a towering church stands across from us.
“That church is Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois,” I tell her, pointing at it, proud that I remember the name. “It was built in the thirteenth century and used to be the main church for the royal palace before Notre-Dame.”
The church is pretty in its own right. Not quite as elegant as Notre-Dame in my opinion, but it can absolutely hold a candle to it.
The outside is full of tall pointed arches and detailed stonework, a little less grand than Notre-Dame but just as beautiful in its own way. Its tower stands proudly above the street, and the mix of old Gothic shapes and soft colors makes it feel like a quiet, forgotten cousin of the more famous cathedral.
“Thirteenth century,” she whispers, eyes wide with amazement. “That’s so wild.”
“Would you like to get a closer look?”
“Maybe later.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t kidding about starving.”
“Good news then,” I say with a grin, nodding toward a restaurant right by the square in front of the church. “That’s the place I was talking about.”
We head inside, and I pull out a chair for her, the way I’ve done it for my sister Zoey since I was a child after seeing it in a movie once.
The restaurant feels timeless: wooden floors, heavy dark tables, a softly glowing bar with bottles lined up behind it, and pale curtains letting in just the right amount of light, making it feel like we’ve travelled back in time.
“This feels so homey,” she whispers, looking around the room to take it all in. “If my home were sixty years old. How did you find this place?” she asks, eyes narrowing curiously, glancing over the menu I handed her.
“One of my… coworkers brought me here,” I say quickly, making it up on the spot. Obviously, my job is not exactly a secret, but even though it’s embarrassing to admit, I love that she doesn’t know who I am. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her my whole name this morning, afraid she’d somehow find out who I am. If she did, would she be just as snarky?
I find once people know who I am, and who my brothers are, they become too scared to voice their real thoughts. When she snapped at me yesterday in the lobby, that’s the first time in what must be years that someone outside my siblings dared to speak up when I acted like a dick.
I don’t want her to become just another ‘yes’ sayer. So, selfishly, I just can’t bring myself to be completely honest.
“We finished a sho-… er, project and he said this bar was perfect for celebrating.”
She hums, not quite happy with that answer. “What kind of project was it?”
“Erm…” I utter, trying to come up with a nice description for ‘I was the final model he photographed for his campaign’ when a waiter appears by our table.
I order in English. I catch a small twitch on his face, maybe surprise, but more likely a bit of judgment. She notices it too, biting her lip to keep from grinning. And then she speaks up once he turns to her, trying her best in French.
Her words are a little shaky, her pronunciation slipping on some words, but she gives it a real shot. The waiter smiles, and this one seems genuine, like he appreciates the effort. Or maybe he just finds it charming. Either way, the mood shifts and I have to say, I found it charming as hell.
“You speak French?” I lean in, resting my elbow on the table and propping my chin on my hand. “I’m impressed.”
“I don’t want to brag,” she says, raising one finger, “but I know exactly five sentences that will help me in everyday life. My name is Abby. One water, or coffee, please. Good evening. Excuse me. I don’t speak French. And thanks to a little green owl: I don’t like snails.”
“Well, that’s certainly the essentials,” I say with a chuckle, watching her fidget with the hem of the tablecloth. While I know some basics, I don’t really like to speak it. My tongue struggles with the pronunciation and some days I prefer to just stick to English and keep my dignity, instead of doing the whole ‘I speak in French that the natives find so bad they switch to English’ game.
“It’s all I need,” she points out, giggling. “My brother said most people here speak or at least understand English, but they appreciate it if tourists at least try. I figured it was better than getting my food spit in, because when you ordered, he certainly looked like he was contemplating it.”
When the waiter returns with our drinks, I press out a thankful ‘merci,’ but it only earns me a glare from him.
“A solid reason,” I point out once he’s gone again, lifting my glass to the middle of the table.
“What are we drinking to?” she asks, lifting hers as well.
“To new beginnings?”
She clinks her glass gently against mine. “To new beginnings.” She takes a sip of her cocktail and grimaces, half amused, half unsure. “Wow. That tastes like coconut, a whole lot of alcohol and bad ideas.”
I lean back, letting the moment breathe, before I ask what’s been weighing on me since I joined her for breakfast this morning.
“So… what brings a pretty woman like you to the city of love all alone?”
“I’m a stand-in. Max broke his ankle two weeks ago and asked me to go so it wouldn’t be money down the drain.”
“What unfortunate timing.”
“Lucky for me,” she says. “You know I was apprehensive about coming here alone but so far, turns out traveling alone is actually pretty relaxing.”
“Is Max your boyfriend?” I ask, casually, but apparently not casually enough. Good thing Jackson is the brother who got into acting, I’d be a laughingstock.
“Is this your way of asking if I’m single?” She narrows her eyes at me and raises her eyebrow.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation and grin.
“I am.” She seems almost surprised that I didn’t dodge the question. “Max is my brother. How about you, Reed?” Her big blue eyes blink at me curiously. “Are you single?”
“I am.” I raise my glass again, not able to keep a smile from forming on my lips. “To being single.”
She laughs, her cheeks turning red as we clink glasses again. Then her stomach growls, loud enough to make her freeze.
“Good thing our food’s coming,” I laugh, and she hides her red face in her hands.
Something changed. Lunch was great, with amazing food and easy conversation, but now there’s this quiet tension hanging in the air between us. Not bad, just… charged.
Like a magnet, my hand found the small of her back again, my heart thundering as I felt her relax into my touch. The way she’s walking beside me now is quiet, thoughtful, like she’s trying to figure something out. How I wish I was able to read that brain in her beautiful head, eager to know what she’s thinking. Of me. Of today.
Of how inclined she’d be to join me in my room. Honestly, I’m having way too much fun with this though; the buildup, the teasing, the flirting . What if all of it went away after only one night?
“I hope I’ve redeemed myself today,” I say with a chuckle as we walk along the Seine. We took the bus for about half the way and decided to walk the rest, watching as the sun reflects on the water like glitter, the usual hustle and bustle of Paris around us.
“I have to admit, I was skeptical,” she starts amused. “But ultimately yes, I think you did.”
I let out a breath, surprisingly relieved at basically a stranger's opinion of me. “Great. Then there’s only one more thing to do. Wait here for a moment, please.”
I know I have a bad habit of acting before letting people answer, but she just looks after me amusedly as I duck into a small shop and head straight for the wine aisle.
The wine selection is giant, especially for a shop of this size, but I quickly find a decent wine, one that’s expensive enough that André and Julia won’t think ‘what a cheapskate,’ but still inexpensive enough that it’s not awkward for them to accept it. I grab two bottles, then head back out. Abby is still standing where I left her, turning her head to try and peek inside.
“Can you hold this for a second?” I hand her the wine so I can tuck my wallet back into my coat.
“Do you plan to court someone on the way back?” she teases, inspecting the label curiously. And again, I wonder what she’s thinking. Maybe she’s hoping it’s her I’m looking to court?
“You told me to apologize to the two receptionists from yesterday,” I remind her, grinning when her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. “Do you think they like wine?”
She shrugs and I take the bottles out of her hands again to carry them. “They’re French, so probably?”
“Well, even if they don’t, I hope the message comes across.” I tuck it under my arm as we walk, keeping the other in my hand.
“Do you know if they’re even working today?”
“Yeah. I asked at the front desk before I left. She said they’re on the afternoon shift and gave me a pretty hostile look.”
I glance over when I hear her giggle. “I bet that was because your little outburst has made the rounds among the team.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve worked in hospitality,” she says, clearly amused. “Rude customers are always backroom gossip. I bet they’ve watched the security footage at least twice, probably while munching popcorn. And I just know they were cheering when André put you in your place.”
“Deservedly,” I say and shake my head, feeling my cheeks heat. It really wasn’t my best moment. “As long as they cheered for you too. If you hadn’t gotten your upgrade yesterday, I’m sure you’d have it today.”
We reach the hotel, and she greets the concierge and security guard with a polite smile and a soft “hello.” I watch her step into the revolving door, and for a moment, I’m caught up in the memory of how clumsy those things always feel.
There’s no elegant way to go through them, just a weird shuffle and a hope you don’t time it wrong. Even she looks a little uncertain as the glass panels spin her forward. It’s oddly endearing.
At the front desk, Julia spots us and her smile slowly drops before she turns around and quickly disappears. Moments later, André takes her place, and I just know they’ve done this ‘rude guest incoming’ dance before.
I walk up to him and clear my throat. “Hi, André. I’m not going to beat around the bush, my behavior yesterday was out of line. I’m very sorry.” I hand him both bottles of wine. “Please give one of these to your colleague as well, along with my apology.”
He looks surprised but manages a polite “Thank you.”
There’s a flicker in his eyes, like he’s biting back a sarcastic remark, but he swallows it down. We trade a few brief words, enough to smooth things over, and then I head toward the elevators, where Abby is already waiting, watching me with an unreadable little smile.
“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” I ask once the elevator doors close behind us.
She thinks for a second. I’m close enough now that I can see the way her breath changes, the little pause when I step closer.
“First, I need a nap,” she says, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Who knew looking at art was this exhausting? And then maybe a walk. I haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower up close yet. And tonight, I’ll enjoy the view of it from my balcony with a cold glass of champagne, preferably.” She shoots me a gloating wink.
“If you want company for any of that, let me know.” I smile and hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
She hands me her phone, a little unsure, and I can see the moment it hits her how much trust that takes.
I type in my number quickly and hand it back as the elevator doors slide open.
“I saved my number. Text me,” I say, holding her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
“Later,” she says, her voice soft, like the word barely made it out.
The doors close, and I walk away, leaving her alone with the kind of thoughts I’m pretty sure are spinning as fast as mine.