Page 17 of Meet Me in Paris

I tried to shove my anger down again. It didn’t quite work. In four days, we’d pack our bags for the Italy cruise and I’d likely never see Hunter again. “Look, this trip is supposed to bring us together as sisters, and it isn’t exactly going well. Please don’t make it worse.”

His chest rose and fell as he took it in. “You’re right,” he finally said. “You only want them to have a memorable trip, just like I want for you. We should have discussed the plan first.”

The old Hunter rarely gave in so easily. His admission disarmed me, and I felt the tension in my shoulders release. “I wasn’t very eager to talk to you about anything, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you’d stab me with your dinner knife last night.”

Chuckling to myself, I imagined it and thoughtfully pursed my lips. “It isn’t too late. We’ll have to eat again at some point.”

“Remind me to put a couple sisters between us at the table.”

We laughed, and the rest of the tension between us drained away. It felt like some small version of what we once had, only in a strangely dark and twisted setting instead of the glaring, expansive Arizona desert.

“Clearly we need to talk about the texts,” he began. “Kennedy, I’m really sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You made your position clear.” As in, I’d broken down the night my mom passed and finally texted Hunter, begging him to come home—only for him to respond with,I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t come home right now.

A few days later, I received a photography book about Paris in the mail. That was it.

Then I’d listened to town gossip, found out about his fiancée, and felt more foolish than ever. I’d essentially yanked my bleeding heart from my chest and placed on the table in front of him—and he’d chosen to walk away.

A girl didn’t simply recover from that.

As we reached a series of arches with dramatic lighting, he headed me off. “Look, Kennedy. Things may have changed between us, and I know you’re angry about what happened, but I still want this trip to be everything you’ve dreamed of. I really do.” He paused. “If this trip can’t be all those things with me in the picture, though, then so be it. I’ll step aside.”

I stood there in a damp corridor lit by weak electric lights and smelling of dead people and tourist sweat, and examined the person who once understood me best in the whole world. His eyes still felt like home, even now, after everything. I knew that if he touched me, I would feel the same electricsensation I’d felt eight years ago and then again four years ago.

He took in my expression and the frustration in his face fled. “Kennedy, why are you really here? What’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer that. Not only because of the inheritance, but because it required baring my heart to him, and I knew better than to take that risk again.

No, the distance between us came down to one simple fact, the result of his betrayal.

I’m afraid.

I didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t the darkness surrounding us, or the millions of skeletons-turned-ghosts, or even the responsibility on my shoulders to keep my sisters safe that gripped my heart now. The low ceilings could rip free and threaten to squash me flat, but I’d still be more scared of my last memory with him.

The day I felt completely helpless in his arms, weak against his strong embrace. The day I found out what a real kiss felt like. The day decades of friendship turned into something more, something deeper, something inevitable and powerful and life-changing. The day I knew I would never love anyone else like I loved Hunter Morrison, not in a thousand lifetimes.

The day I found out none of that mattered because it was too late.

Clearing my throat, I banished the memory and the emotions it brought. “My mom and I made a list before she went. Alexis and Jillian don’t know about it.” I pulled the list from my pocket and began to unfold it. Written in mechanical pencil on notebook paper, it looked a little smudged, the edges worn.

“A list of places to see?” Hunter watched me open thepage and scan its contents. To his credit, he looked curious but didn’t crane his head to read the words. “Kennedy, I intend to fulfill every single of them. Just say the word.”

I couldn’t help but skim the text. The handwritten title read, “Romantic Moments I Want to Experience in Paris.” Mom had crossed out the wordwantand replaced it withdeservein her firm hand.

Romantic Moments IWantDeserve to Experience:

• A selfie at the Eiffel Tower

• A walk along a cobblestone street in the rain

• Critiquing a Monet painting together

• Admiring the stained-glass windows at Notre Dame

• Being admired while descending an elegant staircase

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