Page 57 of I Love You in French

When I finally open my eyes, his face is all that I see. Everything I want to see.

I look into his eyes and repeat the motion he did to me earlier, hovering in front of his face, allowing my eyelashes to brush his cheeks. Except, this time, I softly leave a trail of kisses for him to remember and trace back when I’m no longer with him tonight—on his stubbled jaw, the scar on his eyebrow, and finally, the dimple in his cheek. It’s not nearly what he’s given me, but I do my best to make him feel cared for too.

His hand gently covers one side of my face, and with the back of the other, he wipes the tears streaming down my cheek. Sometime during the past several minutes, which I can now say were the best moments of my life, I started crying. I started healing. And the man in front of me is the reason.

Rafe’s face is a mixture of awe, intensity, and care. I grin softly, my body still pulsing with emotion. He studies my face and then surprises me in the most stunning way. Instead of pushing for more or speaking a word, he hugs me.

This isn’t a hug for the faint of heart. He wraps a hand in my hair and cradles my head against him. Even though his breathing is shallow, his pulse is steady and sure beneath my ear. I wrap my own arms around him and hold on for dear life. Every argument I’ve put between us now feels exposed and weary. The protection of his hold and the reverence of this moment allow me to take a deep breath. He’s letting me breathe. I let my walls down when I kissed him senseless, and now he’s protecting me—telling me I’m safe with him and letting me rest in the warmth of being held by someone who wants nothing more than for me to feel how much he wants me to glow.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rafe

I sit in my room at Graham’s house, a coffee mug in one hand and my face cradled in the other. Whatever I thought my life was before Sparrow is completely undone. When I left her yesterday, I had never been more grateful for a series of moments in my life. I didn’t intend to kiss her—I wanted to, of course, but I didn’t intend to. I just wanted to share the same air. Now, we’ve shared much more. After talking to Lily, I was ready to tell Sparrow everything.

Yesterday, I met with another singer in Boston while he was in town for a stop on his tour. He wants me to write a song for him, and we had an amazing brainstorming session. I think it might be one of my best songs yet. He invited me to meet him in Nashville next week, and since it lines up with my other meetings there, I would’ve been a fool to say no. So, I didn’t. I’ll have to leave a few days earlier than planned, but I’m hoping Sparrow will understand.

I know that it’s partially from being here that I have this new confidence, but I couldn’t get Sparrow out of my mind. So, when I remembered the bakery specializing in viennoiseries—a perfect blend of bread meets pastry—and the croissants she loves so much, I knew I had to stop. Had to.

I was disappointed when she wasn’t home, but right as I was about to walk away, she sent me a text. I had given myself thirty minutes to wait, and twenty-nine minutes later, the door opened, and like the angel she is, she appeared. I also didn’t mean to stay so quiet, but the silence felt necessary, given all that I was feeling.

When we started another sweet dance of silence, I leaned into the moment and saw on her face what I hadn’t fully seen before—that she wants me too. She wants me for me.

When I finally saw what I hoped for, something in me broke. And I spent the next several minutes lost in a world we were building all on our own. I memorized the feeling of her hips under my hands, the gentle slope of her waist, and the way her soft lips can feel like both a feather and an avalanche. I keep replaying her hands in my hair and the sound she made when I traced her spine. I couldn’t even bring myself to change my sweater last night—it smelled like her. And the way she traced kisses across my face . . . well, I’m pretty sure I forgot to breathe for a bit.

And after we were wrapped up in each other, pushing and pulling—it was so much that all I could think to do was hold her. To show her that she doesn’t have to stay in a castle on her own. That I can be her safe place. The best part was, she hugged me back. No one has ever treasured me the way she did in that moment. I swipe at my eyes, thinking about it. I’ve always been a poet with my songs but not much of a crier—until moving here.

“Get it together, man,” I mutter.

I don’t think I can. Even if I leave Birch Borough next week, which was always the plan, Sparrow now holds a part of me. What started as a moment on the train and an impulse to step in and help her get the man she wanted—which, I can admit, was stupid—has given me what I never saw coming: a glimpse at a life of love.

I sing about love for everyone else, and I’ve never had my own. Noémie played a game with my heart. I wasn’t enough, so I had to keep chasing it. Earning it. Making myself worthy of it. The same is true with my parents. With Sparrow, I can feel it kindling. But I don’t know where her heart is at. I don’t know if what we shared completely derailed her considering any other options but me. I’m not even sure she’d take me if she knew the truth. It’s one thing to see me the way she did; it’s another to discover the parts of myself that I’ve yet to share. And after feeling what it’s like to kiss her and have her in my arms, I’m terrified to know the answer.

I pace across the floor for God knows how long until I hear a rap at the door.

“Rafe? You all right, man?”

Attacking the door like it might hold the answer to my questions, I swing it open to find Graham home early from his business trip. He winces.

“Sorry, I’m stressed.”

He looks me over and shakes his head with a slight smile. “Man, you look terrible.” He looks at me again, and I don’t know whether to laugh or punch him for how he’s sizing me up. “You’re in love,” he finally concludes.

I hang my head at how easy it was for him to guess. Taking a brief look into the rest of the house to ensure no one else is lurking, I pull him into the room and slam the door. Everything outside is scary and unknown. I’m breathing heavily like I just ran from something chasing me.

Putting down his travel bag, he sits on the edge of the small couch in the corner and clasps his hands together, a little concerned and a little amused. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

A weird laugh escapes me. “I don’t know!” I’m unhinged, and I don’t even care anymore.

Graham is smug. It’s decided. I definitely want to punch him.

I start pacing. “Should I write another song?”

He shakes his head.

“Tell her?”

He shakes his head again.

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