Page 6 of Christmas in Paris
It was ridiculous. He was probably acting as stupid and lovesick as his students, at this point. But for the first time in years, he was really, truly having fun. It turned out that he couldn't resist.
Chapter Five
Ray
Paris had a reputation as one of the most beautiful cities in the world, to the point where Ray had even wondered if it could be accurate. And as it turned out, Paris was not as gorgeous as Ray had always heard it would be.
It was more. Far, far more.
Not the airport, of course. It wasn’t that different from the one in Seattle. And the town where the airport was located wasn’t all that impressive, either. The biggest difference seemed to be that the graffiti was in French instead of English.
Just when he thought that maybe he’d made a mistake, that was the moment that the bus drove into Paris itself. The truth was, Ray had been ready to fall in love with the City of Light, but even if he hadn’t been, it would have happened from the very first fountain that he saw.
So many cities were ugly. Utilitarian. Not Paris. Sure, it was clear that it was a living city, but it was also a place that clearly valued art.
“What do you think?” Simon asked, and he seemed genuinely interested. When Ray pulled his gaze away from the awe-inspiring sights outside, Simon was looking at him, a sort of intensity in his eyes that made Ray’s breathing speed up for some reason. He had lots of friends, lots of people in his life, but he wasn’t sure he could point to even one other person who seemed to care about what he thought as much as Simon did. It was intoxicating, especially because Simon was a sophisticated man older than Ray by at least a decade, he figured. And he had a real job, too, one he was good at.
It was incredible that a man like that could care at all about what boring, unemployed Ray had to say, but he clearly did.
“I never realized how young the cities in North America are,” Ray admitted. “It’s like I can feel all of the years that Paris has been a city. Seattle’s been around over two hundred years, and that sounds like a lot, but you can tell, just looking out the window of this bus, that there’s so much more history in these streets.”
It was the sort of speech that he tended not to let himself make, although he thought that way all the time. But people had found him odd, even if they generally liked him. Many didn’t understand him, but he had the idea that there was at least a chance that Simon would.
“Yes,” Simon murmured, a slight smile on his lips and a light in his hazel eyes that could drive Ray crazy. The way that he kept telling himself that he was straight was wearing a little bit thin. It was never anything that he had had to repeat to himself before, just something he knew. So why did he need to keep saying it now? Even he had to admit that it was starting to seem contrived. “It’s like all those centuries have some sort of weight to them. Seattle is over two hundred years old, but Paris is ten times that.”
“Whoa, really?” Ray asked, impressed. He had known that Paris was an older city, but hearing it put into those terms brought the point home. He craned his neck to try to see out the window since he was in an aisle seat and was pretty much restricted to seeing out the front window.
“Yes, really. Do you want the window seat? I’ve seen it before,” Simon offered. Ray only had to hesitate for a second before nodding his agreement. He should probably be selfless and let Simon have it, but Simon had offered. And in the end, Ray couldn’t give up the chance to get to see more of Paris.
He started to stand up so that he could shuffle past Simon, who squeezed back into the seat so Ray could get by. Just then, the bus pulled over at a stop to let passengers on, and the slight swerve when Ray was already off-balance, was enough to take him off of his feet.
What happened next, Ray couldn’t be entirely sure. Not the exact sequence of events. He figured that either he lost his balance and fell, or Simon, seeing his predicament, actually grabbed him and guided him back down.
Whatever the case was, he certainly knew where he ended up, and that was right on Simon’s lap. He hadn’t been on another man’s lap since he was a child, and that had been a very different thing. Simon’s hands were warm and sweet as he rested them on Ray’s hips, and somehow, it felt right to be there. It was nothing but a foolish mistake, a turn of bad luck, that had gotten him here, but it was hard to be angry about it when Simon was so warm under him and felt so good.
It was ridiculous, and, of course, he would never do it, but for just a second or two, the urge to turn around and bury his face in Simon’s shoulder was almost overwhelming. And in fact, if not for the fact that some of the girls from Simon’s class were laughing at him for losing his balance, if they hadn’t brought his attention back to where he was, and with whom, who knew what would have happened?
“Nice, Ashley’s dad,” one of the young women commented, with no particular malice in her voice or face. It was just something that she found funny because it was.
“Yeah, super graceful,” her friend said, and Ray, feeling flushed and strangely exhilarated, shot them a grin as he moved off of Simon’s lap so that he was sitting beside him, instead.
“So glad to amuse you,” he replied, but the huge grin on his face belied his dry tone, and the girls didn’t seem traumatized. They just went right on giggling to themselves. “You can call me Ray, by the way.”
“Okay, Ashley’s dad, Ray,” the second girl said, and Ray amused them even further by exaggeratedly rolling his eyes at them and then turned away to look out the window again.
The conversation with the girls had gone pretty well, he figured. That was good since he was going to be helping to look after these kids. More than that, though, he was grateful for the girls for bringing him out of the little moment that he had been sharing with Simon.
What was going on with him? For thirty-five years, he had been content with who he was. He had never had any cause to doubt his sexuality. So why was Simon getting to him like this?
He felt like he was being pulled, inch by inch, to the edge of a cliff. And as terrifying as it was, he’d always had a bit of the thrill-seeker in him, and that part of himself couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next? Or what might have happened if the girls hadn’t brought him back to himself?
One thing was for sure. He was getting the idea that his interest in Simon, no matter how strange it was to him, was not unrequited. For the whole rest of the bus trip to the hotel, Ray was glowing as much from the memory of those strong, gentle hands resting on his hips as he was from the fact that he was finally in a foreign country.
One he had expected, the other, not so much. But in both cases, he had the sense he would remember today for the rest of his life.
* * *
The hotel was probably not objectively speaking the fanciest one in the world. But it was in a great location, Simon had informed them enthusiastically, right by a metro station in a quaint, somewhat run-down, building on a street that—and this was the most French thing Ray had ever heard—seemed to be entirely made up of crepe shops.
