Page 56 of Escorted

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Terrasse Dufferinwascrowded late on Saturday morning, and Lori and Ander milled through tourists,street performers, and vendors as they made their way along the promenade.

They’d gottenup early that morning to hit some of the most popular sites before the crowds,but now they were just leisurely wandering throughVieux Québec, the oldcity, without a particular plan or destination.

The sky wasblue and cloudless, the sunshine warm, and the breeze off the river brisk andfresh. Lori loved the feel of cobblestone under her shoes from the old streetsand the historic architecture of the buildings surrounding her. And she evenenjoyed some of the tacky tourist entertainment. She and Ander paused for afull ten minutes to watch two performers dressed as Wolfe and Montcalm fight amock duel in an amusing reflection on their historic battle.

As she’dexpected, Ander was both informed and witty. He told her details about militaryconfrontations along the St. Lawrence at various points in history, and hedidn’t hesitate to wryly point out inaccuracies in the various recreations ofhistory designed for gullible tourists.

She enjoyed hisirony immensely, but she couldn’t feel particularly ironic herself. She washaving too good a time. When they finished strolling alongTerrasse Dufferin,they started down the stairs that led to the Lower Town and the river.

The stairs werevery long, rather uneven, and incredibly steep. And Lori was careful as shedescended, not wanting to humiliate herself by tumbling head-over-heels to thebottom. She clapped her hands in silly delight when she made it to the bottom,and she didn’t even care that Ander chuckled at her in dry amusement.

It was one ofthose perfect days. The weather was delightful. Her surroundings wereinspiring. The wind off the St. Lawrence River was invigorating. And she hadthe rest of the day, plus most of tomorrow, to look forward to.

She would havehad a good time here by herself, but it was even better with a companion like Ander.

“Oh look,” shesaid, as they started along the walk by the river. She pointed to a vendor downthe way. “Ice cream.”

Ander lifted aneyebrow. “It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

“What’s yourpoint?” Lori demanded, frowning up at him.

He laughedagain and shook his head. But he gestured toward an empty bench. “Grab a seatwhile you can. I’ll get you one.”

With anotherrush ofjoie de vivre, Lori grinned and started to pull her wallet outof her purse. “Here. Let me—”

“Don’t,” Anderinterrupted, leaving her abruptly to walk over to the ice cream vendor.

Lori frowned asshe went to sit on the one empty bench in front of the river. He had no rightto be grumpy with her for trying to pay for the ice cream. Those had been histerms from the very beginning. It said so on his little sheet of services. Theclient pays for travel, lodging, food, and whatever else was purchased over thecourse of an engagement. He’d exchanged some currency when she did at theairport, but she assumed he’d spend his cash only on himself. His reaction madeher very uncomfortable, although she couldn’t specify exactly why.

She decided itfelt like they were friends. While their relationship had always beenprofessional, they’d gotten to know each other pretty well over the lastmonths. She genuinely liked him. And she was pretty sure he liked her.

She supposedawkwardness was inevitable whenever the commercial aspect of their relationshiparose.

Shrugging toherself, she pushed the concern from her mind. She was in too good a mood toworry about it at the moment, and Ander was on his way back with two ice creamcones.

Although shedidn’t say anything, she was ridiculously pleased that he’d gotten himself acone too—even if it was ten forty-five in the morning.

His tersenesshad dissipated on his return, so they chatted idly about Québec and some of thetourists around them. Then they faded off into companionable silence.

“I wish Ididn’t have that banquet tonight,” Lori said eventually, breaking the lull inconversation as she started crunching on her cone.

“I thought yousaid your lecture last night went well.”

“It did. I justhate banquets like this. I always have to sit at the front table with all theboring, important people. It feels like I’m just there as part of the show. Youknow? It kind of makes me feel like I’m being used. Like an object orsomething.” She sighed. She’d always wanted to be famous, but she’d beenlearning that notoriety—even very minor notoriety like a best-selling romancenovelist—wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Ander made awordless hum, but it sounded affirmative.

And it made herfeel a little better. “I guess you might know what I mean,” she saidunthinkingly.

He lifted hiseyebrows quizzically.

Lori swallowedhard, feeling a lump of anxiety at her careless turn of conversation. He’dalready shown himself to be a little sensitive today, and she really didn’twant to insult him. “I mean...I just meant that maybe you know how icky it isfor people to just see you as an object. I didn’t mean—”

“I know whatyou meant,” Ander said quietly, licking some of his melting ice cream off hiscone. “Idoknow.”

She let out arelieved exhalation and she found the courage to ask, “How do you handle it?”

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