Chapter 33
33
11 DECEMBER
I’m meeting Noah at the Tuileries Marché de No?l, across from the Louvre. Every year at Christmas, the garden is transformed into a Christmas market with pop-up wooden chalets, serving festive fare and warm drinks. There’s an ice-skating rink and a Ferris wheel, as well as stalls selling gifts and plenty of places to sit and take in the ambiance.
The nutty smell of roasted chestnuts is enough to make my mouth water, so I hope eating is part of the plan when Noah finally arrives.
I catch sight of him at a kiosk, chattering away. I take a moment to survey him. He really is the whole package, a man who drinks words like they’re life-affirming; and let’s be honest, to us bookworms, they are. He also has that je ne sais quoi, a certain appeal that can’t be explained. If I were writing a hero like him, the heroine would be at a crossroads right now. Facing the dilemma of the whole will they, won’t they thing, but this is not a romantic comedy. This is not fiction. Am I actually falling for the guy? Am I the heroine here?
Noah turns away from the kiosk and catches me daydreaming, gazing adoringly at him like he’s the delicious crème patissière in the centre of a profiterole. I squint and pretend to look straight through him, acting oh so surprised when he gets to me. ‘Noah! Sorry, I was a million miles away.’
His lips twitch as if he doesn’t believe me, so I press on. ‘There’s such a glare off the white of the rink. Makes it hard to see, doesn’t it?’ Why don’t I stop talking?
‘These are for you. If the size is wrong you can exchange them.’ Maybe the glare really is harsh because Noah is holding two pairs of ice skates, which can only mean…?
‘Ah…’
‘Let’s skate!’
I scrunch my nose. ‘But the markets, the roasted chest?—’
‘We’ll work up a good appetite burning off some energy.’
‘I don’t know how to skate.’ OK, it’s more like I can’t skate and stand upright at the same time.
Noah’s busy unlacing his boots so I reluctantly follow suit. This is going to be a disaster. I despise exercise at the best of times but add in some public humiliation and possibly a broken ankle when I fall, and I think we might have the trifecta of embarrassment.
‘Why don’t I watch? I can get us some vin chaud? ’
‘Let me help.’ Noah drops to his knees and unlaces my boots, as if we’re the best of friends and this is totally natural, which it is not. It feels wildly intimate as he wiggles off my boots and replaces them with skates, looking up at me every now and then as if to check he’s being gentle enough. My heart bongoes against my ribs and I remind myself to remain at least outwardly calm. I give him a toothy smile to express my absolute feelings of ease and he frowns. Perhaps that smile needs some work.
‘Ah – are you OK?’
‘ Oui , just a little cold.’
‘I can help with that. May I?’ He gestures to my jean-clad legs.
I nod.
He runs his hands up and down my calves, trying to warm them. ‘You’ll be OK when you’re on the ice, you’ll warm up then.’
Not if I faceplant.
‘Ready?’ He stands and holds out a hand to me. I clasp it like my very life depends on it and, if you’d seen my previous attempts at ice skating, you’d know that to be true. I send up a prayer to the ice-skating gods: Please don’t let me fall in a bloody messy heap. If I must fall, please let it be one of those delicate swan-like kisses with the ice .
We crunch our way to the rink, my breath coming out in foggy gasps. As soon as the metal spike from my skate hits the ice, my legs slip out from under me and I let out a very unladylike scream.
Noah jumps out of his skin at the sound but grabs me around my waist and rights me.
‘Breathe,’ he says, holding me tight. I’m sure he can feel the thundering of my heart, which isn’t helped by us being pressed against one another. ‘Breathe. You can do this.’
‘I’ll need a few more minutes.’ I rest my head on his shoulder so I don’t have to look into the intensity of his gaze.
He wraps his arms tighter around me. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘ Merci. ’ In his arms, I feel warm and safe. ‘If I accidentally take you down with me and we end up losing consciousness in a bloody heap, I want you to know I’ve really enjoyed today.’
‘It’s been all of twelve minutes.’
‘And I’ve loved every single one of them.’
‘Me too, Anais. But do you actually want to skate or shall we follow your suggestion and drink some vin chaud and keep warm that way?’ He must now realise there is a high probability that we will both be injured with the lack of my skating abilities.
‘ Vin chaud seems the safer option.’
I don’t want to leave the comfort of his warm embrace. If this were a romcom, the heroine would strategically slip over as she exits the rink, thus the dashing hero would have to wrap his arms around her and support her as they wandered the Christmas markets and chatted about everything and nothing.
‘Let me help you out of the rink,’ Noah says. ‘I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.’
‘I’m fine. I can take it from here,’ I say, giving him a bold brave smile as I step out of his arms and slide to the exit gate.
‘If you’re su?—’
‘ARGH!’ And down I go in a messy heap.
‘Anais! Let me help you.’
He scoops me up, into his arms. Who knew romantic comedy moves would come in so handy in real life?