Page 13 of Meet Me in Paris

Yet Hunter and I were both twenty-six years old now, certainly mature enough to endure each other’s presence and have cordial adult conversations. He knew as much about my childhood obsession with Paris as anyone. Perhaps he’d have insights into the city that the internet and my experience as a travel agent couldn’t touch. As for what happened between us . . .

So far, he hadn’t brought it up either. If he tried, I would shut him down for good.

“I suppose it would be better with someone we know,” I said reluctantly.

Hunter nodded, though his lips were thin and tight. “Happy to do it. You can have the next day, too, if you like.My partner has been asking for more shifts anyway. He’s saving for a trip to the UK.”

“Perfect.” Jillian didn’t even ask this time. She simply shot me a look that said,You don’t have a say in this.I shot her a glare right back, but she’d already turned back to Hunter with a sweet smile.

I couldn’t decide who to strangle first—Hunter, Alexis, or my traitor of a youngest sister.

“A blindfold? Seriously?”

“I told you it was a surprise,” Hunter said, stepping behind me to slip the blindfold on—a dish towel by the smell of it, and not an exceptionally clean one. I almost grabbed it and told him off, but Hunter’s voice held a hint of nervousness. If this excursion were important enough to break a window for, I could deal with a dish towel over my face.

“You have a fat head,” he muttered, barely managing to situate the towel over my eyes.

“Some of us actually have brains,” I said matter-of-factly as the cloth forced my eyes closed and my world descended into darkness.

“Spoken like a true geek. Now, follow me.” His hand took mine and pulled me gently across the front lawn.

Hunter had touched me at least five hundred times before. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, tonight, every cell in my hand felt on fire. I was incredibly aware of every single one of his fingers—the thumb that grasped the back of my hand, the forefinger that gently rested on the inside of my palm. Even my hearing felt more heightened. I could make out the sound of his soft breathing as we arrived in his yard—I could tell by the gravel driveway underfoot—and approached his car. He opened thedoor and placed a hand on my waist to guide me inside. Even this simple motion made my skin explode with pleasure.

What was wrong with me tonight?

He placed his other hand on my head to protect it as I ducked inside. As I fumbled to find the seat belt, the door slammed and he came around to the driver’s seat.

“Let me,” he whispered, and his hand brushed my shoulder as he leaned over to grasp my seat belt and pull it across my torso. The smell of leather and mint filled my senses, and I knew his face was close. I could sense it. In fact, if I turned my head, we’d practically be kissing.

For once, I didn’t hate the thought.

Whoa. I must have been very tired because this wasHunter.My best friend. The kid who covered me in mud when we were toddlers and invited me swimming in his backyard in third grade so we could have a splashing contest. The one who constantly made bets he knew I’d lose so I’d have to buy him chocolate ice cream at the diner across town. He was the last person I should be thinking about locking lips with.

But he smelled so blastedgood.

We drove five minutes, then ten. By his increasing speed and the lack of stoplights, I guessed we had to be outside our small Arizona town’s limits. Another ten minutes passed.

“If you’re trying to make me carsick, it’s working,” I grumbled, seriously considering ripping the cloth off my eyes.

“Almost there, I swear it. Maybe two minutes more.”

True to his word, Hunter soon slowed and parked the car. Then he came around to my side and opened the door. His hand took mine a second time.

“It isn’t far,” he said.

I followed my best friend with full confidence, noting the soft dirt underfoot and the hot breeze surrounding us. The Arizona desert.

“You can sit now.” Hunter released my hand.

I found a seat, as it turned out, on a soft blanket. I recognized the feel of it—the quilt from his bed. It even smelled like him. I would have wrapped myself in it and taken in the scent if it weren’t still eighty degrees outside. Hopefully he’d chosen a spot free of red ants, lizards, and snakes. I wasn’t a fan of creepy-crawlies or anything that slithered.

Hunter plopped down next to me. I’d put on shorts along with my frumpy old band T-shirt, and I could feel his hairy legs next to my shaved ones. My body tingled where our skin met, though I refused to acknowledge this weirdly new sensation.

Finally, the night sky unfolded as his fingers loosened and removed the blindfold. At our feet sat a cardboard box containing sodas, a giant round mass that looked like a homemade cheesecake, and a stack of plates and forks.

“A midnight picnic?” I guessed, looking at him questioningly. My grin melted as our gazes met and I found him watching me with the most serious of expressions, his dark eyes reflecting the stars I only now noticed in the night sky.

It drew my gaze upward, and I gasped. Far in the distance, a giant mass of light with a long tail streaked across the sky. It felt frozen in time and space, a brilliant white against the deep purple and orange of night.

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