Chapter 22
CALLUM
I’m stuck.
In the grand scheme of things, maybe being stuck in a comfortable bed in Paris with an attractive woman would not be the end-of-the-world situation that I’m making it out to be.
But the woman is aggravating, has terrible taste in souvenirs, and has discharged snot on my jumper. And there was no sex leading up to this current situation.
After we finished dinner, I didn’t want to leave Asha. To make sure that she didn’t get worse without me here, because I am very dedicated to this job that I only like half of.
So I stayed and we watched some of The Office in French. The only good view of the TV was from the bed, so that’s where we went. On opposite sides of the bed, like the platonic coworkers we are.
But then the night wore on, and Asha took some cold medication, the night version.
In retrospect, I should have left at that point.
Because very soon after those meds, she started drifting off and waking up, repeating the process of her fitful sleep while Jim flirted with Pam. I should really have left then.
But I didn’t.
Then, in Asha’s drug-fueled sleep, she decided I made a better pillow than the ones provided by our affordable hotel, burrowing under my arm, which is still wrapped around her. Then I couldn’t leave.
I don’t like cuddling. I don’t understand why so many people sing its praises. It creates too much heat and makes body parts (mine) inevitably fall asleep. But Asha looked comfortable. She needs all the rest she can, to get better. So I left her for a bit.
And then I fell asleep.
So now I have tingling body parts (not that one), the aforementioned snot, and a pain in my neck every time I think of moving it. All practical examples of why I’m morally opposed to cuddling. There’s no reason to be that near someone at night, which is for rest.
But she looked like she was enjoying herself. And then I surprised myself by falling asleep, too.
I shift to retrieve my phone from my pocket, freezing when Asha moves in response, and moving when she settles against me again. I turn the screen on and sag in relief that today is a free day. Because we would be late if it was a tour day.
My sag is the thing that finally wakes Asha up. “Hi.” She smiles up at me, and I don’t think she’s fully realized where, and how, we’re positioned. I hold my breath and stay still until she realizes and slaps me for having my arm around her all night. And I’ll enjoy her smile in the meantime.
“Oh shit. Sorry about that.” Asha notices the snot on my jumper and grimaces as she tries to wipe it with one of the tissues. Then she gives up when that doesn’t work and sets the tissue on top of it.
Out of sight, out of mind, apparently.
“Does everyone know what they’re going to do today and how they’re going to get there?” Asha gets up and stretches, the movement pulling her shirt up to show a tantalizing bit of soft stomach.
Now that I’m not trapped by her slight weight, I bound up from the bed and look away before I can embarrass myself by reacting to the small amount of skin I saw. Reacting in a very obvious way that I wouldn’t be able to hide, if she chose to look over.
“Yes. I asked, and did they take me up on it. I was standing like an eejit in the Tuileries Garden for almost an hour repeating the same instructions while the tourists refused to write anything down until the third explanation. Despite the fact that I had handed them all the very comprehensive lists and maps I made for Paris. Very frustrating.”
“I’m sure they appreciated it.”
“Probably not. Ungrateful brats.”
Asha checks her phone. “No one has sent a help-me text, so they must all be having a good day.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You couldn’t just trust me?”
“I do trust you. But who knows what the babies get up to?”
“As the grown adults are fine, we have the whole day unbothered.”
“Right, the next group thing is Versailles tomorrow.”
“How are you feeling?”
Asha looks confused at the abrupt subject change. “Much better. I don’t have a fever, and I feel much more energetic.”
“Check.” I toss the thermometer her way.
She rolls her eyes but puts the instrument in her mouth. She does look better this morning, remnants of congestion on my jumper aside.
“It’s green! This piece of plastic and metal and whatever else makes up a thermometer says we don’t have to be worried.” She does a happy dance around the room and I try not to notice how her breasts bounce at the movement.
“Good. Then if you want to get out of the room and get some air, do you want to see the city with me?”
She stops her dance. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, if it doesn’t meet your strict qualifications, will you not come?”
“Nah, I’m in for whatever. Especially since you nursed me back to health and brought me fine dining and a souvenir, both of which I loved. And you let me use your clothes as a tissue while I was unconscious. So my treat, wherever we go. And a new sweater.”
I try not to think too much about me nursing her back to health. She makes it sound so…intimate. Like I was at her bedside patting her feverish forehead with a damp cloth. Like a cherished lover or a dear friend.
But I’m none of those things. And it’s what any coworker would do.
“You’re not buying me clothes. I was thinking of going to Sainte-Chapelle. Maybe the catacombs, too. We could catch a cab today and Sainte-Chapelle is small. We can skip the catacombs if you’re not up for it, walking-wise.”
They’re the perfect set of sites for a date, if I were asking her on one.
Which I’m not. Sainte-Chapelle is a royal chapel with some relics of the Passion.
And it’s housed in a Gothic building with soaring walls made of stained glass on every side that lets in colorful light, giving it the nickname the Jewelry Box.
And on a day like today, with the sun shining, the light will bathe Asha and she’ll be stunning. She’ll shine as much on the outside as she does in the inside. And she’ll love the bright colors. Usually I don’t agree with her taste, but this is one exception that even I’ll enjoy.
And the catacombs, those will have the opposite effect. It’ll be dark and cramped, and more than a bit scary with all the human remains. Maybe she’ll want to stand a wee bit closer to me. Maybe she’ll need to hold a hand, or tuck herself under my arm.
…are all thoughts I would have if I was asking her on a date. But those sites are also historically significant, and places I haven’t been. So it has nothing to do with the potential for romantic moments and that nonsense.
And frankly, it’s Paris. There’s not much I could choose that wouldn’t be romantic.
I did put a cemetery in the plan; that’s the best I could do to keep some professional distance between us.
I don’t want to do things separately, which would be the smartest option, but this is the second best, enough that I can see her without getting deeper involved.
“I haven’t been to Sainte-Chapelle in forever, and I’ve never been to the catacombs. That sounds like a good plan.”
“Her Majesty approves of the itinerary?” There. If I was trying to ask her on a date, I wouldn’t be so sarcastic with her.
But wee sunshines are made of sterner stuff than to be defeated by some sarcasm, so she sticks her nose in the air. “The terms are acceptable.”
Then she sails out of the bedroom and into the bathroom without looking back at me.
“I’ll just go change then, shall I?” I ask, already halfway out the door. I don’t get a response, not that I expected one. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
I don’t think I want to be away from her for much longer than that.