Page 6 of Pampered in Paris

Despite her lightly tanned skin, that little dash of red only showcases her heart-shaped lips. She has a slight pout now as she sits with her hot coffee. I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable. I want this date to go well.

“Did you enjoy your tour?” Anne replies with a nod. I’ve caught her mid chew; she covers her mouth with her hand as she munches. “What was your favorite artwork?”

“That’s such a difficult question, but if I had to choose, it’d be the statue of Psyche and Cupid. Do you know it?” I love the way her eyes light up when she speaks; the tiny flecks of gold sparkle in any light.

“Yes. It’s a beautiful moment of love captured by marble. Stunning piece.”

“I couldn’t agree more. All in all, it was an amazing experience. I’m glad I did the guided tour. The museum is massive. I was there for hours and didn’t even make it to every room.” She covers her grin with her coffee. I wonder why she wavers between being brave and outgoing with these moments of bashfulness. As if afraid to be visibly happy.

“You’re not the first one to say that.” I chuckle. “What else do you have planned for today?”

“TheMusée de l'Orangerieis next.” She looks at her watch and then back to me. “Are you able to join me?”

“Of course. I am here to be your personal guide,mon chérie. Shall we head there now?”

“Yes, please.”

We both toss our trash and start to walk through the garden over to the museum. It’s a beautiful summer day, and I’m thankful to be spending it with Anne. I want to hold her hand, but I don’t want to be too forward. Though we did already kiss. And quite passionately, too.

I don’t want Anne to feel like I’m just wooing her because she’s a tourist. It’s unspoken, but we’re both aware there’s an expiration date. Although I’m starting to feel like these two weeks are going to be over just as soon as they began. It’s odd, I haven’t felt this way about anyone in years.

Before I can make up my mind about holding her hand, Anne takes my hand in hers and points to some trees nearby.

“Do you see that tiny bird? It’s adorable.” She doesn’t let go of my hand. I can feel my pulse quicken as we continue to walk and chat about the scenery.

I tell her some small bits of information about the fountain and the surrounding area. We reach the museum and pay separately. Once inside the first room, I watch Anne as she starts to soak it in. I think you can tell a lot about a person by how they approach art. What draws them in and what exactly makes them linger in front of each piece? These sorts of things.

This museum is one of my favorite places in Paris. The way they’ve set up the rooms to showcase Monet’s waterlilies on the walls takes your breath away. The rooms are curved and there’s seating in the middle. But it’s the lighting in each room that makes it my favorite. No matter the weather, it’s as if daylightstreams in and floods the room. It makes me feel as if I’m right there with Monet as I gaze at the paintings.

As we enter the second room, Anne lets out an audible gasp. I squeeze her hand and lead her to one of the benches. Her brows are raised. Her eyes seem to soften as she parts her lips and sighs. Her shoulders slump as she leans her head on my shoulder. I gently kiss her head. It’s such a natural reaction. It happens before I can second guess it. She doesn’t move. We stay seated in silence as we take in the artwork in front of us.

“It’s beautiful,” Anne whispers. “I’ve never felt more at ease than right now. Do you think Monet would like this exhibit?”

“Yes, I think he’d love it.” I want to kiss her strawberry-colored lips, to push her up against the wall and feel her chest pressed against mine. But we’re in a museum full of people, so I think about dull things instead and try to calm the desire that seems to be bubbling up.

Scrubbing dishes.

Deboning a fish.

Cleaning up vomit from a drunk chef.

I breathe deeply, letting the desire dim, and ask Anne if she’d like to continue through the other rooms and exhibits. We make small chitchat as we meander through each room. I can’t get enough of the way her face lights up when she finds a piece of art she likes. Or the way her voice quickens as she explains something she already knew. It’s sexy, seeing her so confident.

As we exit the museum, my phone rings. I excuse myself when I see that it’s François calling me. After a quick chat, I explain to Anne that I need to cut our date short.

“Unfortunately, one of the line guys is sick, and I need to go in at my regular time.” I give her cheek a quick peck. “Which means I need to leave now to get there. I’m so sorry, Anne. I wanted to take you for a walk along the Seine later.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Her lips quiver as she speaks.

“Let me show you around another day.” She starts to say something but I cut her off. “Please, Anne. I want to show you the real Paris.”

“Okay, Alexandre.” I can feel my shoulders relax as she agrees. “What messaging app do you use? You can let me know where to meet you.” We exchange numbers.

“Je pense que je tombe amoureux,” I murmur as I kiss her forehead once more.

She looks at me quizzically, with one brow raised, but she doesn’t question me on what I said. I linger before I say goodbye and promise to text her later tonight about tomorrow.

As I walk to the closest metro station, I think about how much I actually know about Anne. She’s divorced, she came to France for a pastry conference for work, and she lives in Maine. I know she likes French food, or at least everything she ate yesterday at the restaurant. She drinks her coffee black and her eyes light up when she looks at art. Plus, she looks amazing in a sundress.

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