Chapter 15
ANYA
The morale on set is significantly lighter after Danny pulls the stick out of his ass. Tensions stay high whenever Callum is on set, but Danny does his best not to let his niggling get to him.
Today is my first day off in what feels like weeks and I feel like a spare part without Danny to follow around all day. I clean the whole apartment, even polishing the bare kitchen cupboards. It’s not even eleven o’clock.
Slumping on the couch and pulling out my phone I send a text to Danny.
Me: Everything okay?
The phone buzzes in my hands.
Danny: Why are you texting me?
Lovely. I roll my eyes and ignore his reply.
I debate checking in on Rosie so I swipe through her Instagram story. Looks like she’s at our favorite brunch spot in London. Why am I not having brunch in London?
I wallow in my pity before it hits me. I’m in Paris and I’m lounging on the couch wishing I was in a different city. Shaking my head I stand and rush to my suitcase (which is still half packed) and pull on the red polka dot dress that I packed with no reason to wear.
I swan out of the heavy front doors and onto the quiet street, the heat rising from the pavement. I slip my sunglasses over my eyes and feel lighter than I have in weeks.
I wander with no intention until I eventually stumble upon more crowded streets. The Seine glistens in the sunshine and I stop and take photos to send to my mother. The narrow alleyways of the Latin Quarter create a maze that I meander through, dodging tourists and waiters enticing me into their restaurants. I feel the muscle memory kicking in as I walk up the steep incline that leads to the grand blue dome of the Pantheon.
I used to come here with my mum and Claudette. Inside, I would hang over the banister and watch the Foucault pendulum that shows the earth’s rotation, mesmerized by its constant motion.
Once I turn the corner, I take in the building in all its glory. Definitely not one of the most famous sites in Paris, but popular enough that it’s still be considered a tourist hotspot.
I make my way up the boulevard towards it, debating whether to go inside. One look at the queue and I quickly change my mind, instead, opting for sitting at one of the cafe tables opposite, where I can have the perfect view as I drink coffee from a mug and not a styrofoam cup.
A waiter appears. “ Bonjour , manger ou boire ?” he asks in a monotone voice,
I order a coffee and a croissant before sitting back and soaking in the June sun.
I watch the hustle of the street from my small table and pull my phone out. I take a few pictures of Pantheon, and then without thinking, turn my attention to the people. An old lady leaving the bookshop opposite, a stack of books under her arm, a glamorous woman striding down the street wearing stylish sunglasses, a young couple talking quietly together at the bus stop, a young man in a baseball cap staring at me mouth agape. I lower my phone blinking.
Across the road and staring right at me is Danny Covington.
Once our eyes meet I quickly look away but not before he crosses the road and heads my way.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask as soon as he is within talking distance.
He laughs, “I’d ask you the same thing.” I squint up at him as he stops in front of me. His usual attire of dark jeans and plain t-shirt is familiar, but the bright smile on his face is not one I’m used to.
“I don’t remember inviting you,” I say pointedly as he settles into the chair opposite me.
“Must have missed it,” he says cheekily. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m exploring.”
“Well I’m exploring here, go explore somewhere else.”
He smiles at me, as the waiter arrives with my espresso. He looks up at him. “I’ll have the same, please.” The waiter bobs his head.
I roll my eyes. “We can’t spend every second of the day together, it’s not healthy.”
“We don’t spend every day together, just Monday through Saturday.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Yes, so this doesn’t count.” Danny chuckles. “Come on, I won’t ask you to do anything for me all day. Not one single thing.” The waiter returns with Danny’s espresso.
I drop my head back.
“So what shall we do?” he asks, taking my silence for acquiescence. I look at him flatly. “Come on, what shall we do?”
“We–” I gesture between us, “–won’t be doing anything.”
“Come on, it’s not like either of us have anything better to do with our day.” He spreads his arms as if lounging in a cafe is not very much doing something.
Who is this man? He’s nothing like the grumpy, snappy actor I’ve known the past few weeks.
“Speak for yourself.” I throw a balled up napkin at him and glare. I try to get the attention of the waiter which is, typically, impossible.
Eventually one saunters over with a pompous “ Oui ?”
“ L’addition, s’il vous plait .” I say.
The waiter nods and wanders off.
I look through my bag hunting for my purse.
“Come on freckles, we can do boring things you want to do like go take photos of strangers.”
I give him a scathing look, before returning to my rummaging. I look up when I hear a beep, Danny is removing his card from the card machine with a knowing smile. “Well it seems you owe me lunch.”
Ugh.
“Fine, we can walk to the next place together but then you go back to the hole you crawled out of and leave me alone.”
“A few hours and you’ll be begging me to stay.”
“It doesn’t even take thirty minutes to get to where we’re going.”
I get up and walk away. Danny comes up beside me. I take a moment to appreciate the new dynamic we’ve slipped into. I’m usually the one doing the chasing. I lead him away from the Pantheon and down the hill.
“So, do you bring headphones on these walks?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets.
“No, of course not,” I scoff.
“Don’t scoff as if that’s a stupid question. Everyone listens to music as they walk.”
“But then you don’t soak in the atmosphere.”
He laughs. “I’d argue that you absorb more atmosphere whilst listening to heartbreak ballads.”
“That’s not how you flaneur .”
“Bless you.”
My eyes will most likely roll out of my head by the end of the day.
“I’m only playing. Come on, what’s a flaneur?” He butchers that so it comes out fl-egh-ne-uh .
“Thank god you don’t have any lines in French.”
“It’d just mean you’d have to help me run them.”
“Thank god you don’t have any lines in French.” I repeat, smiling sweetly.
“You haven’t answered me, what’s a flan-her ?”
I sigh. “It basically means to wander around, look, take in the surroundings. The Parisians are experts at looking, it’s like the whole point of Paris and why all the buildings are so beautiful and the cafes have seats facing out, so people can observe strangers.”
“Like stalkers.”
“ No, ” I say exasperatedly . “It’s just a way of life — here.” I pull out my phone and show Danny a black and white image of two men in trench coats with their hands behind their backs smoking cigars.
He nods, taking it all in.
“I’ve got it.” He says seriously. I take the phone back and walk on only to realize he is no longer behind me. I turn and see him ambling behind me with his hands behind his back and his purple vape hanging in his mouth like a cigar.
He looks up, and pulls the vape from his mouth pensively. “I must say zee architect-teur is magnifique .”
I laugh, the sound making him grin around his ridiculous vape.
“I’m flaneuring !” He says
I pull the vape from his mouth “You’re an idiot. And these are bad for you.” I say as I take a drag of the sweet smoke. He smiles.
“Better than crack,” he jokes.
I hand him back his vape. Why did I do that? Our lips just touched the same thing. We basically just kissed! I can’t bring myself to look at him as I speed up.
“I’ve never done it, you know. Crack.” I glance up at him, surprised. Where did that come from?
“Oh I—”
“I only stick to the posh people drugs. Like cocaine.”
The glint in his eyes tells me he’s joking so I slap him gently on the arm as we amble through the gates of the Jardin de Luxumbourg.
“I like your hat and sunglasses.” I say “Very celebrity in disguise .”
He laughs. “Yeah I sometimes think that it’s less of a disguise and more of a glowing neon sign saying ‘hey this guy thinks he’s being sneaky’.”
“Would you even wear a baseball hat if you weren’t famous?”
“Nah, it doesn’t suit my jawline.”
I roll my eyes. “That jawline gets a million likes on Instagram.”
His smirk grows. “You follow me on Instagram?”
Feeling heat rise through my neck, I scoff. “Oh please, you just come up on my explore sometimes.”
He raises his eyebrows as if to say that he knows I’m lying.
“Do you think paparazzi will be around?” I ask flustered, gesturing to his get up.
He adjusts his hat. “Unlikely, this is more for if a random fan with a phone spots me. Paparazzi rarely come unless called.”
I blink “Is that true?”
“Oh yeah, whenever you see a celebrity papped it’s usually orchestrated by them so they can sell clothes or whatever.”
I mull this over. “Do you call them?”
“I don’t but sometimes my agent does. Or my parents. Especially if we’re all together — they love getting the family shots.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Yeah, it just sucks when I just want to hang out with my sister. We usually just have to order sushi in or something. But yeah we can almost never go out all together.”
I nod. I can’t comprehend never having any privacy when hanging out with family and having to stay in and—
“Wait, did you just say you order in sushi?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Ugh,” I groan dramatically. “I was actually feeling bad for you for a second then and then you ruined it. Sushi. That’s the most rich boy takeout ever.”
“What!” He exclaims. “It’s very affordable now, everyone eats it.”
I peel into laughter “Yeah, from Yo Sushi, I bet you get a five star restaurant to send a waiter with a fresh china plate.”
He doesn’t answer.
“You do!” I howl. “Just get a pizza like the rest of us, you psycho.”
“Right, well I’ll take you to Nobu and then you’ll change your tune.”
My laugh gets caught in my throat. That sounds like he wants to take me to a restaurant. Just the two of us. Like a date .
Desperate to avoid thinking about that for too long, I scan our surroundings. “Here, here’s something better than sushi.”
I pull him towards a créperie stand with bright blue shutters leaning open.
The hot plate near the window is an excellent sign. “What do you want?” I ask him.
Danny squints at the menu, “Is this not just a plate of sugar?”
“Of course not,” I scoff, “You get a little bag to eat it from.”
He chuckles, “I’ll have what you have.”
I turn to the man behind the counter
“ Bonjour , deux chocolate crépes , si’l vous plait .”
I see him reach for his wallet and stop him with a hand on his arm.
“Oh please, put that away.”
“Let me, freckles,” he insists.
“Absolutely not. It’s eight euros, calm down.”
I hand my euro over to the man in exchange for two juicy crépes.
“Now we’re even,” I say as I hand him his crépe.
I watch as he takes his first bite, gripping it tightly in his hands as he closes his mouth around it. His eyes flutter and I swear I hear a…moan? Suddenly feeling very hot, I focus on my own crépe. No way am I salivating at the sight of Danny eating a crépe. I sound like the worst half-French pervert ever.
Taking a deep breath through a mouth full of chocolate goodness, I gather my composure enough to ask, “You like it?”
He groans in agreement.
For god’s sake, he needs to start verbalizing before I collapse on the ground in a puddle.
I clear my throat. “Yeah I love these. My grandmamma used to make the best sugar crépes but she always used to say the Paris ones were the best. Even though it’s touristy, she always said it was worth it.”
“Smart woman,” he mutters.
“The biggest red flag is if you see they already have a pile of premade crépe that they just reheat.” I shudder. “That happens in the touristy spots so keep an eye out for that,” I tell him seriously.
“Understood.” He nods “If I see it happen, I will be sure to spit on them.”
“As is right,” I nod around another bite. I concentrate on not letting the melted chocolate run down my palm. I look up to see Danny staring right at me.
I lick my lips, heat flushing across my body.
Who knew crépes were an aphrodisiac?
Turning away I say, “Let’s go this way.” I march ahead, scoffing my crépe down so we can move past whatever is flowing between us.