Page 4 of Only After We Met

“It’s not a forever thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get up. This is our stop.”

I stood, and she followed me to the doors as they slid open. We cut through the people walking back and forth and went out onto the street. It was bitter cold. Ginger was hugging herself, and we were walking fast, hoping to get somewhere warm before long.

The Eiffel Tower stood there in the distance.

“Is that what I think it is?” She smiled. And it was a smile so precious, I wanted to frame it. I would have if I didn’t hate photos. Ginger was one of those girls who deserved to be immortalized, not because she was especially pretty or unusual, but because of her eyes, the way her lips curved upward without her even thinking,the little contradiction I could sense inside her, even if I didn’t know her yet.

“Yeah, that’s it. One of the iconic sights of Paris. I realize I’m not much of a tour guide, but in my defense, we’ve only got a few hours. Anyway, I wanted you to remember this.”

The Seine flowed to our left as we walked under the starless night sky and the full moon. I remember all I could think about was how it had been worth it to trade my cup noodles for the smile on her face.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No. It’s been forever since I’ve had anything to eat. I had a coffee this morning, but then the drama happened this afternoon, and it was bye-bye to my everyday routine. I couldn’t have gotten anything down, anyway. I’m doing it, I’m talking too much again, right?”

“Yeah, but I like it.”

She looked away.

Was it embarrassment? Shyness? I didn’t know.

“Shall we go eat then?”

“I know a place nearby.”

“Good, because I’m dying of cold.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to it, living in London.”

“Nobody ever told you there are people who never get used to the cold? ’Cause I’m one of them. It doesn’t matter how much I bundle up; I can have two scarves on and three pairs of socks; still, I’m like a block of ice. When we used to get in bed, Dean would…”

She stopped and shook her head.

“Let me guess: Dean’s the guy you just broke up with, and he used to warm up your feet?” I couldn’t help but crinkle my nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“What? No, it’s not, it’s super romantic.”

“Feet gross me out. I can’t even touch my own feet. And I’m not sure about your ideas about what’ssuper romantic…”

“Fine. But you know what? I don’t know you.” She giggled. I liked it: soft, sweet. “So I’m not going to worry about your opinions as far as what is and isn’t romantic. Plus, you look like the typical guy who…you know.”

I stopped, even though we were across the street from the place I was planning to take her for dinner. I stood there, looking at her sternly. I was almost two heads taller than her. She looked up defiantly. I liked that too. “Aren’t you going to finish your sentence?”

“Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.”

“Damn right. You just saw me for the first time fifteen minutes ago. But who cares? I want to know what your impression of me is. I won’t let it affect me, I promise.”

“You look like the type of guy who doesn’t give a shit about romance. The type of guy who bangs a girl one night, and then it’s adios. The kind who’s allergic to commitment.”

“You’re being redundant.”

“Sorry. I was trying to make a point.”

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