Page 54 of I Love You in French

Sparrow turns her attention back to me, and I smile. We each choose a piece of the fun-sized candy, and I shove the rest into the pocket of Sparrow’s sweater. Opening the wrapper, I take a bite and realize, once again, how sweet the candy is here in America. I make a face and put the rest of it in my pocket, trying to will myself to remember it’s there before it melts further. Sparrow is finishing off her candy and licking a hint of chocolate off her mouth, weaving a web of desire over me.

She looks up at the stars above, her eyes taking on a peaceful look. I step beside her and look up too, amazed at how bright the earth’s shining memories above us seem to look on a clear fall night.

“You dressed as Seb tonight,” she says happily.

I smile at this and turn to face her. “I did.”

As our eyes meet, she shifts her sweater closer around her, and a dimple appears on her face. I hold my breath and watch it release into the air with a puff of white from its warmth. If she notices I’m nervous, she’s being kind by not pointing it out.

“Good choice.”

I nod and dare to reach down and take her hand. I shift my fingers slowly, one by one, through hers. Now, it’s her turn to inhale and hold her breath.

“Is someone watching?” She doesn’t move her eyes from mine, and we both know she’s asking this question strictly to see if I’m pretending.

“I’m sure they are,” I say with a grin and without confirming. My shoulder still feels the weight of her head from the tavern. I can’t hold in my curiosity anymore. I need to know what happened. Now that I’m holding her hand, I can’t and won’t do any more before I have the facts. “Sparrow, what happened with Jacques?”

She lifts her chin a bit and shifts her mouth to the side. “He ... I ... nothing,” she says with a defeated sigh.

My free hand clenches into a fist while the one holding hers softens. “Did he hurt you?”

She shakes her head.

“Reject you?”

Another shake of head.

“Sugar, you’re killing my heart here.”

Her feet inch a bit closer to mine, our breath now close enough to mingle between us. “You don’t need to find creative ways to get rid of him if that’s what you’re asking.”

I let out a little sigh of relief but keep my voice clear. “It is.”

“No, he just ... he wasn’t ...” she starts. You. That’s what I want her to say. And I suddenly wish I could read her as easily as I can read music. When she’s hiding, I can’t. I see her, but none of the notes make sense. And I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me right now.

“You should get inside,” I say as my voice cracks. “You don’t want to get cold.”

“I’m already cold,” she whispers.

Her sweater has shifted off her shoulder, and before I can think too much about what I’m doing, I release her hand to reach over and nestle it back around her, the texture of it branding my fingers.

Her chocolatey eyes peeking up at me are warming me through. I take a deep breath, my arms sliding down. I see her hand start to extend like we’re puzzle pieces, needing the other to feel whole. But instead of lacing my fingers through hers again, I pull my hand back, leaving some space between us.

“You’re ... disappointed?” I ask while hoping she isn’t. Again, she shakes her head. And before I realize what’s happening, Sparrow’s arms are wrapped around me. She tucks her ear close to my heart like it’s the thing she’s been wishing to do all night. Her hands grip my shirt. At first, I think it’s because she’s still cold. But then I realize she’s just fine, her frame warm against mine. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and hold her close.

I know her enough to know that she wouldn’t hold me like this if she really was interested in Jacques. I know she wouldn’t hold me like this if she didn’t want something more. And like a Magic Shell topping, sweetness cracks over my heart.

When it comes to her, all my words are still stuck—so easy in my mind and so difficult to get out. There are moments in life where, no matter how much I’ve worked through healing the hurt from the past, sometimes a haunting memory will bring me to my knees. And I’m frozen.

“Sparrow,” I finally whisper when five or twenty minutes have passed.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“You really see me?”

She stiffens slightly. A chill from a gust of wind rattles through my spine, the scent of her vanilla meeting the smoke that laces the air from a nearby fire.

“Oui.” The word echoes through the still quiet night all around us. I grin as we grip each other a little tighter, the sweetest thing I could have ever hoped for wrapped around me.

---