Page 54 of Sawyer
Coming back to Paris was the best damn thing they could have ever done.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Dating Phoebe was easy.
When he was younger, Sawyer had felt like a geek around girls. But in college he’d met Darren, the teaching assistant in one of his art history classes. Darren wasthe man.Girls flocked to him, and he made it seem so effortless.
On one memorable afternoon in the library, he’d come across Darren saying goodbye to his current gorgeous love interest. Darren had swung by to say hello to Sawyer, who’d shut hisIntro to Artstextbook and begged for Darren’s secret. The dude had laughed and said it was simple. Authenticity was key. Always ask girls out to events of mutual interest. For women who loved poetry, poetry readings were a slam dunk. It put them in a romantic mood. Also, galleries where you could ask a woman what she liked about a painting. Bookstores were another place of mutual interest. What was the girl reading? Ask her about the books she liked and share your own favorites.
Then do the date thing. Coffee. Movies. Dinner. Strolling.Go out and have fun.Early dating got complicated when you brought a woman back to your place. Not that sex was a badthing. But Darren had found that women appreciated not being rushed.
For Sawyer, who was still a virgin at eighteen, this advice was as valuable as the Holy Grail. He’d applied it right away and kicked off a whole new chapter of his life.
Though he hadn’t found his soulmate, he’d enjoyed dating. But it had never felt as natural before as it did with Phoebe. Cupid’s arrow had struck, and he rather liked the feel of it, anchored cozily in his heart. They had fun together, they enjoyed each other. And while they’d stuck to their original vow not to discuss work, even though her gallery would be hosting his first show, they discussed everything else.
They argued about who was the greater philosopher, St. Augustine or Thomas Aquinas, her preferring Aquinas for his Aristotelian influence. They’d discussed their favorite works of literature. Hers wasKing Lear, which she said made her want to throw it against the wall and then stomp on it for its utter tragic ending every single time, while his wasThe Little Prince,which had both shocked her and confirmed he really was a romantic at heart.
So as Sawyer scrubbed off the paint on his face and his hair, something his bath products clearly failed at, he wondered where to take her for a Friday night on the town—because he had a purpose tonight.
Since things were going great, he wanted to find out if she had plans for the holiday. If she was here, he’d love to spend time with her, of course. There were more musical concerts around Paris than you could jingle a Christmas bell at given it was almost mid-December. But beyond that, he wanted to know so he could ask Thea if she’d be open to having Phoebe attend her wedding as his Plus One.
A huge deal.
He glanced out the rain-splattered windows at the fading afternoon light. They usually met up at about five p.m. since it ensured their destination would still be open but allowedhim to paint all day. Strolling was out today since the downpour was relentless, and it was cold. He didn’t want a mere café, and the new ordinance about no heating lamps made outside seating a seriously frigid proposition.
So what to do? It was his day to choose. They liked surprising each other. They hadn’t gone to the Christmas markets yet, but ducking under white tents with a bunch of other people in the cold rain sounded like a nightmare.
He grabbed his phone and started his search with off-the-beaten track places to visit, places that would make Phoebe light up. Her brain was as curious as his, making their increasing closeness all the more fun and special.
A few items down he discovered one close by. The Minerology Museum. How had he not known about this place? Right. It was offbeat. But the pictures of the stones looked awesome. Meteorites? Sign him up. Emeralds, amethysts and pink topazes from the French Crown Jewels? Phoebe would go crazy for that. Or the British half of her would. She liked to joke about which side of her liked certain things.
When he finally met up with Phoebe outside the main entrance toJardin Luxembourgsince she was already out running errands, he savored the long, sweet kiss she gave him. God, Paris was great for being able to indulge in classy PDA wherever you went.
“Hey,” he huskily said, tracing the dampness on her cheek despite the red umbrella she was holding over them. “Kissing you gets better every time.”
“I’m like fine wine,” she murmured, green eyes sparkling like the gems they were about to see. “I get better the more you taste.”
Hot. He blew out a breath, which only made her laugh. She fitted her arm through his, their strolling pose as she liked to call it. “Where are you taking me today, Dr. Jackson?”
The way she said that in her throaty voice made him hottoo. Taking the slow path was becoming more difficult by the day. “You’ll soon see. Come along. It’s not far.”
“I’ve walked this way a million times since I loveJardin Luxembourg,but I still have no idea where we’re going.”
“Isn’t that the coolest?” The rain tapped on the umbrella in a steady drumbeat. “I didn’t know about it either. I’m glad you’re up for an adventure.”
“Always,” she responded, leaning against him, making his heart fly.
When they reached the outside of the rather official building, which he noted was a school, she gave him a puzzled look. But he followed the small, unobtrusive signs through the building like they were on a treasure hunt, passing dark meeting rooms and going down government-looking hallways. When they finally reached the grand entrance, leading upward, he stopped short and glanced up. The fresco on the ceiling grabbed him in its hold and wouldn’t let go.
“Oh, my!” Phoebe cried out. “It’s beautiful. I love an artful depiction of a bunch of famous dead guys with the requisite angel hovering over them, telling us they’re the shit. I’ll bet you could name them—and those busts on the pedestals too.”
He snorted but continued his perusal without confirming that he could. He would win Dead French Philosophers for 300 on Jeopardy. A few mountains were painted around them—the snow-covered one was Mont Blanc, he noted on the plaque underneath with the artist’s name—symbolic of mining, he realized.
At the top of the elaborate staircase was a large wooden entrance with the wordCollectionsabove it. When they reached it, Phoebe rushed over to the display cabinet to the right, her awe-soaked breath filling the silent space. He strolled over, noting the colored gems. Yeah, whoa!
“I want one,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder and pointing to a large rose-colored stone.
