Page 34 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
The roar of a bus tears through the moment, a gust of wind and a blur of color that screams in front of us, inches from where my toes had just been. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a frenzied beat of terror and relief flooding through me. I'm shaking, alive by the grace of Mathieu's swift reflexes, the truth of what almost just happened now settling in my bones.
“Are you okay?”
I nod quickly.
Our breaths mingle, ragged and hot, as we lay sprawled on the pavement, the near-miss with death still crackling in the air around us. Mathieu's arms are still wrapped around me, his chest heaving against mine. Our eyes meet, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths, and in this reckless moment, gratitude spills over into action.
I reach up, threading my fingers through his hair. I don’t know who started it and I don’t care as our lips meet, and a match is struck—heat and light and desperation that I’m sure only comes when death’s door just flew by on a sixty-seater coach.
Shock and gratitude and goodness-gracious-is-it-really-you are all rolled into one.
His mouth moves against mine like it’s the last moment of the world, the urgency of it all sending sweet shivers down my spine.
Paris might be the city of love, but on this sidewalk, under this open sky, Mathieu and I are in a world of our own.
This is the breath I've been holding since the day he left me. Paris and CEOs and passing traffic can wait.
CHAPTER15
Mathieu
The chillof the pavement beneath us can't cool the warmth of her kiss.
Our lips part, but an echo of them still dances on my skin, a sensation so vivid that the rest of the world pales in comparison. The taste of her, sweet and fierce, lingers, mingling with the city's exhaust and the distant scent of spring blooms from the Tuileries Garden.
Her hair bursts around her face, and I’m closer to her than I ever dreamed I could be. I don’t want to move, lest we lose the magic of this moment.
“I can’t let you go,” I murmur, the words tumbling out unbidden and raw. Only now I realize my arms are shaking as I try to hold my weight, hovering over her but not ready to move.
“I don’t want you to.” Her breath hitches.
Something deep within me, some tether that's been too strained for too long, pulls taut. “I'm not letting you go,” I whisper, a resolve coming over me that feels like it's coming from the earth's very core. “Not this time.”
“Excusez-moi, are you two alright?”
The bubble we're in, this perfect, fragile parallel world, is burst by the voice of a stranger. It’s an elderly man, a touch of genuine concern in his Parisian-accented English.
The reality of where we are—splayed out on a sidewalk in the heart of the city—rushes back. We nod, murmuring our assurances, and find our feet, a tangle of limbs awkwardly untwining as we rise from the Parisian pavement, the coarse texture of the sidewalk imprinted on my palms.
That’s when I see we’ve drawn quite a crowd.
I catch her eye, and there’s a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks that tells me she’s just as aware of the curious glances we’re drawing from passersby. Our hands linger together, fingers entwined like vines in a secret garden, neither of us ready to let go.
She squeezes my hand. The corner of my mouth lifts as I squeeze her hand back.
“Please,” I say to her, “next time wait for the light.”
Her laughter rings out, clear and bright against the city's hum. “I'll remember that.”
We make our way across the street, this time with an abundance of caution.
“Will you wait for me?” She asks as we approach the café. “My class is right here, and I’ll even treat you to the six euro coffee.”
“I can get my own coffee.” I tuck a piece of hair that has fallen in front of her cheek. “And I’ll be waiting right here.”
I trail behind Annie, close enough to bask in her lingering warmth yet far enough to give the illusion of space. She's a force of nature as she strides into the café, so clearly foreign and yet so clearly at home. I slide into a seat at the corner table, a vantage point with an unobstructed view of her impromptu classroom.
“Pardon my tardiness,” she says to the waiting group of executives. “But I had to battle a bus and thankfully, I won. Now hold your horses—and I know you know what that means from Monday’s lesson—because today we are talking about the language of love.”
