14. Chapter Fourteen - Abby
Abby
“W hy are you getting dressed?” Reed asks curiously, watching me from the bed where he’s cuddling a pillow to his chest.
I glance at him over my shoulder with a grin before I lean down to step into my dress. The rest of my time in Paris passed in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, my last day arrived.
And it was a good last day. In the morning, we took a stroll along the Seine, then he took me to a little museum tucked right in the Montmatre neighborhood that hosted an exhibit on women in Romanticisim. For once, he didn’t know details about every painting, which was refreshing. It made him seem a little more human.
We stayed there until the afternoon, grabbing lunch on our way back to the hotel. And while we sat there, at the Seine shore, watching boats pass us by, we got the bright idea to book ourselves a little round trip as well.
Sadly, that turned out quite underwhelming and Paris looks mostly the same from the water. Who knew?
And lastly, I convinced him to ride up the Eiffel tower with me. What can I say, had he told me before we entered the elevator that he might be okay with a hotel room on the seventh floor but height to Eiffel tower degree is an issue, I wouldn’t have pushed him to come with me.
So we stood up there, Reed’s arm firmly around me, his knees trembling as we watched Paris from above. It’s amazing how far we could look, how symmetric the city looks from above. Wandering the streets it might seem chaotic, but from up there? You realize how much effort must have gone into planning out a city like this.
We’d watched the sun set on the horizon from up there, walking back to the hotel wordlessly afterwards. Him, probably still shaky from the height, but me? I kept trying to keep myself together. I can’t believe that after today, it’s over. Just like that.
“I’m not ready for this day to end yet,” I admit in a whisper, turning away from him as I pull the fabric of the dress up my body. It’s a cute one, white with purple flowers, perfect for a warmer day like today. “Mind zipping me up?”
I hear the bedsheets rustle, then the soft sound of his footsteps as he comes closer. His fingers trail down my back, raising goosebumps in their wake. He brushes my hair over one shoulder, then finds the zipper and slowly pulls it up, pausing to press a kiss into the bare nape of my neck, keeping his lips to my skin as he takes a deep breath.
“And how do you propose the day should end?” he asks in a soft murmur, snaking his hands around my middle, interlacing his fingers in front of my belly.
“Preferably in that bed over there,” I say with a grin, nodding toward it and feeling him chuckle behind me. Closing my eyes for a moment, I lean into his hug, feeling his hold around me tighten.
“But for now, I think I want to enjoy one last stroll through Paris.” I blink my eyes open again and glance up at him. “You in or what?”
“Give me two minutes,” he says, scrambling for his clothes, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s coming along. While he’s pulling on his jeans, I watch him in the mirror, trying to not look completely fucked, however true that assessment would be. My brown hair is quickly tamed with a hairbrush and I pull it together in a lazy half-updo, slipping into my purple ballerinas as he pulls on his shirt.
“Let’s go.”
“One thing,” I say with a grin and step closer, his amused eyes on me as I run my fingers through his hair, giving it a little rudimentary styling so it doesn’t scream, ‘she pulled my hair when she came.’
When I’m done, he reaches for my hand like it’s second nature—like we’ve done this a hundred times before instead of just a handful. I let him, watching as his fingers slip between mine. It feels easy. Familiar. I can’t stop staring at our hands, joined so effortlessly, as he leads me into the elevator, through the hotel lobby, and finally outside into the night.
I’m going to miss the feeling of my hand in his. Our conversations. The way he looks at me with a small smile on his lips and a happy twinkle in his eyes. The way his gaze darkens during sex when he thinks up the next wicked thing for me, that small crease between his eyebrows when he’s close to coming.
I never quite believed in the “right person, wrong place or time” idea, but I can’t help but wonder. Had I met him back home instead of on vacation in another country, what could this have become? Is this chemistry between us only enough for a week?
“Where do you want to go?” he asks when we step into the surprisingly warm night air, a soft wind playing around us.
I shrug and glance up at him. “I don’t care.”
As long as it’s with you, I silently add in my head. Even though unspoken, it hangs heavy in the air between us, wanting to be voiced, but I just can’t. Because that would make it real. And I don’t need this to become any more real than it already is if we’re saying ‘goodbye’ tomorrow.
Instinctively, we both turn to walk towards the Seine, our steps slow and measured on the cobblestones, walking beside each other silently, his hand on the small of my back and mine snaked around his middle, both of us trailing after our own thoughts with our impending goodbye looming over us like a cloud.
“What are you going to do back home?” he asks softly as we round a corner to the river, the water glistening in the night, reflecting the streetlamps from the opposite shore.
“I’ll try not to lose myself,” I whisper with a shrug. “I’ve got a full-time job waiting, and a new daily routine ahead. All I can do is hope that I won’t end up burned out like so many others and that my job turns out to be more fun than I currently anticipate.”
I take a deep breath, leaning my head against his shoulder. I’d pushed all thoughts of it aside, but now my worries come back with a vengeance. But I force them back into the dark corner of my mind that they came from. Not yet. Not today. “How about you?”
When I glance up at him, his face is unreadable.
“I don’t know,” he admits softly, his shoulders sagging in what looks like defeat. “I need to make some changes, that much I know. But I don’t know what they are yet, or what my life will look like.”
“Sounds ominous,” I tease him playfully bumping into him, making him take a step to the side.
“Well, that’s life,” he says with an emotionless chuckle. “You never quite know what comes next.” His voice softens, as does his expression. “Like you. I didn’t expect you either, Abby. But you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”
I go quiet, my skin prickling with questions I’m not brave enough to ask. Part of me wants to ask what he means. To reach for something more. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because even if there’s more behind his words, chasing it won’t change the reality: in a few hours, we’ll be living in different worlds, a goddamn ocean apart.
No. I’m better off not knowing, not making this any harder than it already is.
“Can you do me a favor?” I whisper, after minutes of silence, a small smile tugging at my lips as the Eiffel Tower starts sparkling for the last time today, just as we walk past it.
“Anything,” he mumbles, reaching for my hand.
I keep my eyes fixed on a spot ahead, afraid that if I look at him, I’ll lose my nerve, the words sitting on the edge of my tongue, heavy, yet fragile. Should I really say it? It feels ridiculous. Too much.
But I blurt them out anyway.
“Don’t forget about me. Please?” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear.
I feel him stiffen beside me in surprise. We keep walking, our footsteps falling into sync, but the silence stretches, until it becomes unbearable.
“You know what, forget I said that,” I mumble, the words tumbling out. “We don’t even really know each other, and… Oh God, it’s not like we’ll see each other again, and—”
He pulls me to a halt, turning me toward him and lets go of my hand to wrap his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“Even if I wanted to,” he says with a tender voice, his blue eyes searching mine, “which I don’t, just to make that clear, there’s no way I could ever forget about you, Abby.”
“You promise?” My throat tightens and I can’t help but stare at him, tears welling in my eyes.
“I promise,” he says softly, and there is just something about the way he looks at me, the way he’s holding me, about the tone of his voice that makes me believe him.
Looping my arms around his neck, I lift myself onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his, trying to burn this feeling into my memory.
“Good,” I breathe against them, “because there’s no fucking way I could ever forget you either.”
“You better not,” he mumbles, capturing my lips in another kiss, pushing me against the closest wall as he deepens it.
But then, as if on cue, it starts to rain.
“Oh my god,” I giggle when the sudden surge of water makes us break the kiss, and he grins, raindrops dripping from his hair as snakes his arms around my middle and pulls me closer. I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his clean, spring-like scent.
“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper, trying to blink back the tears threatening to stream down my cheeks along with the rainwater.
“I’m going to miss you too, firecracker,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of my head before letting go of me, only to immediately reach for my hand.
“Oh god, I’m drenched,” I laugh, looking down at myself, my cheeks warming even though the rain makes me shiver.
Just my luck that I picked an almost white dress for this walk. I’m not saying it’s completely see-through now, but well, you can definitely tell the color of my underwear.
“Come on, let’s go back to the hotel,” Reed proposes, throwing his warm arm over my shoulders and I’ve never quite been so happy to cuddle against his side.
We find a different route back, not along the river, but through the dimly lit streets, past tall, timeworn buildings with shuttered windows, stretching high into the rain-darkened sky. The scent of rain on asphalt is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of wisteria snaking their way up the facades.
I catch Reed sneaking glances—again—at the spot where my dress has gone a little too sheer, and I bite my lip, giggling just to mess with him, when I suddenly stop in my tracks.
I hear a faint melody, lovely classical music from an open window.
“Stop,” I whisper, and look at him with wide eyes. “Do you hear that?”
He tilts his head, eyebrows creasing as he tries to focus. It is such a pretty melody, a light and slightly melancholic, jazzy violin, only just audible over the heavy rain sputtering on the cobblestone. I can see the exact moment when he hears it, because his face lights up with a smile.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me close until there’s barely any space between us, one hand laced with mine, the other resting warm and steady at his favorite spot at the small of my back.
“What are you doing?” I giggle, already suspicious. He just grins and starts to sway us. “Reed, seriously. Stop. I can’t dance. I’m going to break your ankle or something.”
“You don’t have to know how to dance,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Just trust me. Let me lead.”
And he does. I step on his toes more than once, but he just laughs, holding me steady. Then he lifts my arm, guiding me into a twirl before pulling me right back into his arms.
“You’re making it very hard not to fall for you if you pull romantic shit like this,” I whisper, and he chuckles, low and warm against my ear.
I bite the inside of my cheek. He’s just about to ruin dating for me, I fear. How is any other man ever going to hold a candle to this?
Tomorrow is going to be the hardest day of my entire life. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do it, how I can just go back to my life in London like I’m not leaving my heart here with him.
Then I take a deep breath.
There’s no use thinking about tomorrow. Tonight is all we have left. So I’ll make our last moments count and stay right here, in this moment, with Reed, dancing in the night, the Eiffel tower glowing in the distance, beneath the wisteria climbing the facades, and with a lovely melody playing just for us, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as I can.