18. Chapter Eighteen - Abby
Abby - 3 Months Later
I t doesn't feel the same to climb off the train. Last year, I was full of eagerness. I couldn't wait to enjoy my last days of freedom.
But now? Everything feels different. Heavier. Like a weight got added to my shoulders.
The station hasn’t changed, though. It’s still the same shade of grey, just as bleak as I remember. The people are just as rushed, their footsteps echoing, suitcases rattling over the concrete as they hurry off the platform like they can’t get away fast enough.
And then there's me.
I wonder if I've also changed so little over the past year or if this is just nervousness speaking.
I take a deep breath and sling my backpack over one shoulder, tightening my grip on the suitcase handle as I step forward. But I don’t make it far. Halfway to the exit, I slow, then stop, taking a deep breath as I find a calm place out of the way.
I can’t help myself. My eyes dart over the people running past me, still foolishly hoping to spot a familiar face in the chaos. There are families reuniting, lovers folding into each other's arms, a girl running to a couple who are clearly her parents, falling into their arms. There’s laughter and joy and loud greetings.
But no Reed. Of course there wouldn't be.
I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose, blinking back tears, burning in my eyes.
"Why am I already regretting this?" I whisper to myself and clear my throat to push away the knot of emotions forming in there.
It was Max's idea, really. He insisted on me coming here, even threatening to pull a move similar to last year and break his leg if it made me go, so I found myself agreeing. There’s no way I could take another three months of his not at all subtle suffering. One time was more than enough.
It’s the last straw I'm gripping before I give up.
Because the number Reed gave me? Well, turns out it was wrong.
I tried calling him the very day I found out who he was. There was a hot, burning urge in me to tell him off for lying to me, however understandable his reasoning might have been. Our time together made me feel like I’d known him for years and all of a sudden, I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it's already been a few months. The way my finger trembled over his name in my contacts, how I tapped beside the call icon twice because my hand was shaking so much with nervousness.
And the way my heart sank when the female robot voice sounded from my phone:
The number you have dialed is not connected.
Other people would probably say, Girl, get the hint. He didn't want you to contact him after all. But my brother thought differently. Before I could throw my phone against the nearest wall, pissed that Reed lied to me, yet again, it started buzzing in my hand, my brother's name blinking on the screen like he’d somehow sensed what was going on.
He convinced me Reed just messed up, but I’m not sure I can believe that.
"There is only one thing that connects you with Reed, and that's Paris," Max pointed out, hope glimmering in his eyes, along with his urge to see cupid at work. "Go back there in a year. Maybe you'll meet again."
So one year to the date, I packed my bag and traveled all the way to Paris for the off-chance that the famous model actually wanted to give me his right number. It sounds crazy. And hopeless.
I asked him skeptically whether he thought this famous supermodel who could probably have any woman in the world would remember little old me after all this time and actually think of me fondly enough to fly halfway across the world for the off-chance he'd meet me again.
"What if he does and you'll never know?" Max said with a shrug, and I remember the way my shoulders had slumped, the way they always do when it turns out Max has a point.
"Okay," I whispered before lifting my head and shooting him a glare. "But if he's not there, we don't speak another word about it. Deal?"
We shook hands on it, and truth be told, this deal is the only reason I'm here. Because my hope is close to zero; there is just no way. Even if he was in Paris, what if we just keep missing each other? It’s a big city, and I, for one, don’t want to spend my hard-earned vacation days sitting around or doing the exact same thing as last year, for the one in a billion chance that Reed is here. That sounds miserable.
Well. I will give it my best shot. I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath.
Let's do this. Even if it's only to get Max to shut up.
Finding the hotel again is so much easier now that I know where to go and walking through the way-too-slow revolving door feels like stepping into a portal to the past. Everything still looks exactly the same. Even André and Julia are working at the reception, the only difference being Julia’s hair color.
I even splurged on a suite, too spoiled by the upgrade last time to settle for anything less. No Eiffel Tower view this time, but I can live with that. Once I’ve unpacked the essentials, I let myself fall back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a quiet sigh and closing my eyes for just a moment.
"This is ridiculous," I whisper into the empty room, gulping down a knot of emotions forming in my throat. "So fucking ridiculous."
But I made a promise to Max, and I fully intend to keep it. Although I have no idea where to start.
It’s still early afternoon. Thinking back, Reed and I had no interaction on that first day, beyond him running me over and me telling him off in the lobby. So I might as well get some sightseeing in today and try to come up with a gameplan when I’m back.
The metro is packed as I make my way toward Notre Dame—one of the biggest things still left unchecked on my to-see list. I didn’t get the chance last time, but a few months ago, I read that the iconic cathedral would finally reopen its doors after years of reconstruction.
Now, I'm no stranger to old churches. Hell, I'm pretty sure I've been to at least three that are older than Notre Dame, back in London. But this? I look up at the giant structure when I step in front of it again, this time without the scaffolds and a ticket to have a look at the inside on my phone.
My throat tightens. This is it. The place of my childhood nightmares. God, I just hope this brings me some closure and doesn’t make me dream of being caught in a fire again.
Heart beating into my throat, I step inside and my breath catches when I see the full beauty of it. Vaulted ceilings stretch high above me, ribbed and massive, their stonework carved in incredibly fine detail. Colored light spills in through the towering stained-glass windows, scattering fractured reds and blues across the worn stone floor.
"Holy shit," I mutter, slowly turning around myself, before I slowly wander further inside.
This is it? The place from that giant painting in the Louvre? My heart beats into my throat when the gravity of its history hits me. This is where kings were crowned. That thought is kind of incredible.
And its impressiveness overshadows any apprehension I had about this place. It's a lot less scary than I imagined it would be. No, all I can think of is how impressive this church is.
Before I know it, I'm back outside, still awestruck by the architecture, the details and the way the setting sun shone through the glass windows. I take a deep breath. The air is nice and cool, the clear blue sky slowly starting to turn orange, heavy shadows from the buildings and trees falling on the probably century-old cobblestone.
My phone starts buzzing, and I answer it blindly, knowing exactly who it is.
"The mission’s not successful so far," I tell Max and start walking. The walk from hell is still fresh in my mind, but knowing I’d be back here, I trained for this, determined to walk it without starting to suffer halfway through. I’ve brought solid, comfortable shoes, packed my bag lightly and my trusty sunglasses are on my nose. I feel unstoppable.
Just like last year. If I follow the Seine, I'm going to arrive at my hotel sooner or later, and now I know to keep to the shore if I don’t want to make detours through gardens or Place de la Concorde.
"You know, I've been keeping an eye on celebrity news, jet trackers and the like," Max explains, but there's something in his voice that makes my heart sink. “And since it’s fashion week in Paris I spent hours combing through info on the shows to see which models they booked.”
“And?” I ask, already knowing the answer thanks to the disappointed undertone in his voice.
"Reed hasn't been booked for any shows that I found."
"I told you it was useless," I say dejectedly, walking towards the bridge that will bring me to the right shore.
"You only just arrived," he scolds me. “Give it a chance. You have to believe in it to make the universe do its thing.”
“Reed is not Tinkerbell,” I point out and shake my head, even though he can't see it.
"You still have a week to find him, and I do expect you to put your all into it."
"There's not exactly much I can do," I point out and roll my eyes. "I can't exactly reenact our whole itinerary from last year."
"Why not?" he wonders, and I fight the urge to hit my palm against my forehead.
"Well, for one, the Louvre had no more tickets available for my slot," I explain, dodging a biker at the last moment before he crashes into me, letting out a surprised squeak before I continue. "And really, Max, it's just unrealistic. Who says he even remembers me, let alone our whole itinerary? And don't hit me with 'only one way to find out.'"
I know it was on the tip of his tongue but thankfully, he swallows the words. I’ve heard them enough over the past year.
"And I'm definitely not going to waste my whole vacation here trying to find someone who might not even be in the same country." Taking a deep breath I square my shoulders. "I'm going to have a marvelous time here. And maybe I'll run into him, but most likely, I won't. This will be a vacation to remember either way."
"Atta girl," he says, sounding kind of proud. "Then have fun. Listen, can you bring me some cheese back here?"
"Send me a list and I’ll see what I can do. I'll call you if anything happens," I assure him before cutting the call and putting away my phone securely in the inner pocket of my jacket.
The walk back to the hotel is still long, still grueling, but I find myself enjoying it a lot more than last year when I didn’t know what I was getting into. Now I’m not distracted by aching feet and can focus on my surroundings and all the facets I can see of the city.
There are people picnicking along the shore, right by the river, or perched on the barricade lining the street, letting the last rays of sun soak into their skin. A bit further down, I head toward the Seine, choosing to walk along the water, past a bridge so intricate it almost feels illegal to see it out here in the open.
Walking closer, my eyes wander over the carvings and statues, ornate, weathered, impossibly detailed. They never get old. I could stand here a whole afternoon and still find something new the next time I look.
A bit further down the river, I spot a boat pulsing with muffled bass, a small line of what I assume to be university students ready to party already forming in front of it.
Other boats drift along the shore as I continue my walk, their owners lounging on deck chairs, drinks in hand, watching as the sun completely disappears behind buildings, turning the whole sky into a dark orange and blue, highlighted with the golden glow of street lanterns.
The closer I get to the Eiffel Tower, the more careful I have to be not to walk into someone’s photo.
Girls in stunning dresses pose along the shore, their hair and makeup flawless, while a friend, or maybe a hired photographer by the looks of it, crouches behind a professional camera, doing their best to capture that perfect moment of them twirling in their dresses with the Eiffel Tower in the background.
By the time I arrive where I want to go, my feet are still feeling okay—no aches, no blisters, only a little discomfort that I can easily ignore.
But all is forgotten, because now I’m here . The very same spot we'd sat in that first evening.Or rather, my second evening.
I freeze, just staring at the stone edge for a moment.
Fuck, this brings back memories. Ones that used to feel warm, but now come edged with a faint gray of anxiety.
I sigh, adjust the strap of my bag, and lower myself onto the cool stone edge.
Pulling out the snack I packed, I sit there, waiting, watching, as the orange fully disappears from the sky, only the Eiffel Tower glowing in its golden light.
It’s just as pretty as I remember. A calmness washes over me, and a small smile plays on my lips as I take it all in: the cool spring air, couples around me on quiet dates, the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.
I take the last bite of my baguette piece, letting a few crumbs fall into the water, far below my feet.
He's not going to come. But you know what? That's fine. I tried. It wasn't meant to be.
I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. It just means the universe has other plans for me.
And suddenly, a voice, familiar, low, unmistakable, sends a shiver down my spine.
"I thought I'd find you here."