Page 14 of Meet Me in Paris

“P/94, or Bryant’s comet,” Hunter said. “It comes around every 150 years or so. Only every other generation gets to see it, and only in certain parts of the world.”

“Wow,” I whispered, doing the math. “So the last people to see this lived in the 1800s?”

Hunter nodded. “France in 1870, to be precise. There’s a record by Napoleon III himself referencing this very comet. He saw it as an omen that his country would be safe. Which it wasn’t because that was rather a rough year for Paris.”

I gave Hunter a good, hard look. “Who’s the geek now?”

He chuckled. “You’re obsessed with Paris. I was bound to come up with a nugget of history or two.”

I sighed, happier than I’d been in a long time. “And in just over a day, I’ll be there.”

“You deserve it. I wish my mom gave me a graduation trip.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “She gave you a car.”

“If that’s what you call that tin can.”

I grinned. Hunter could pretend all he wanted, but I knew he loved the freedom that dented little Pontiac afforded him. “My mom is nervous about leaving Jillian behind, but my grandparents will spoil her like always.”

“That’s what grandparents are for. According to mine, anyway.”

We sat back in easy silence, enjoying the cooler night air and the bright light in the distance. I’d always thought a comet would streak through the night sky in a flash of light, here one second and gone the next, like an asteroid. Yet this comet lingered, hovering in the sky as if to say, “I’m here and I want everyone to know it.”

I’d arrive in Paris like that. I’d been packed for two months already. Simply put, I couldn’t be more ready for this trip.

“I’ll miss you,” Hunter said softly. “How do you say that in French?”

“Tu me manques,I think.”

He tried to repeat the words, stumbling over the accent—a small-town Arizona boy who simply endured his best friend’s obsession with Paris and learned words because they pleased her. It didn’t get more adorable than that. Maybe I’d buy him a gift in Paris, a T-shirt or something.

“I’ll miss you too,” I said honestly. This would be the first time we were separated in as long as I could remember. If only he could come along. It would have made my time in Paris even more perfect. But if he couldn’t, my mom was the next best thing. Just me and her, and no annoying little sisters, celebrating my freedom from high school and childhood in general.

Bring it on.

“Now, about the cheesecake,” he began. “It’s my mom’s recipe, so it’s edible. It just doesn’t look like it.”

My heart warmed even more at his efforts. He knew how much I loved real, authentic, homemade cheesecake. “I noticed. Thanks for the effort.” I gave his hand a squeeze.

He gave a slight intake of breath, or I could have imagined it.

Then we were as frozen as the night sky itself, my hand intertwined with his, and him seeming to hold his breath.

We stared at each other, and something that felt new and a little scary stirred inside. My skin against his felt like a blazing fire now, and I didn’t release his hand. I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move from this spot, and I couldn’t have torn my eyes from his if I tried.

I felt lost in the universe that was Hunter, surrounded by him. Somewhere inside, I knew we closed the distance between us like a comet streaking slowly through the sky. But I could no more defy what pulled me to him than I could defy gravity.

I finally yanked my gaze free and landed on his lips, so often curved into a smirk or spouting playful insults. Tonight, though, his lower lip fell slightly open, as if Hunter were stunned into silence. I suddenly felt overcome with a desire to taste those lips. Paris fled to the back of my mind. All I could remember was that I would leave in a few hours, and I couldn’t leave without knowing what Hunter’s lips felt like on mine.

And then my lips were falling,fallingtoward his, and the moment of truth approached. Would he lean in or pull back?

Disbelief flashed in his eyes for the briefest of seconds, nearly derailing my trajectory. But just as I thought he would turn his head, his lips quirked upward and he leaned forward.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A second, and it buzzed again. Who could possibly be calling us right now?

He jerked back as if burned, releasing my hand. “One sec,” he said, his voice hoarse.

With a sigh, I watched him slide the phone from his pocket and unlock the screen. “What’s up, Jillie?” Could there be a frustrated tone to his voice, or did I imagine it?

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