Page 1 of Falling for Paris
Seventeen Years Ago
He noticed her immediately.
The girl with thick black hair that grazed her lower back snagged his attention as soon as Rafael stepped outside to eat his sandwich. He wondered how long she’d been facing the wall of the restaurant’s back alley, forehead against a crumbling surface like she needed Montmartre’s centuries-old structure to keep her standing.
“Mademoiselle, comment ça va? Puis-je vous aider?”He asked if she needed help. He inquired gently, unsure of how she would respond to a stranger’s approach. She turned and lifted her face. He could tell that it took great effort for her to focus on him.
Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, but even her pleading sadness couldn’t hide their stunning effect. He was unprepared for the swirling brown shades and streaks of silver as the remnant of tears reflected light from an overhead balcony. And when she blinked to clear moisture from thick lashes, her features softened with shyness. He had to look away because it was like witnessing something too fragile to be meant for him.
“Oui, je vais bien. Je suis désolé de ne pas être ici.” Her reassurance about being fine wasn’t very convincing.
He noticed her American accent. “I speak English, miss. My mother is Canadian. Are you lost?”
“No, I, no.” She wrung her hands before shaking them free. She seemed to will her features into a calmer front: raised chin, unclenched jaw, serene gaze. It was fascinating to watch.
“Our cat died.”
“Your what?” he asked, sounding like an idiot. Rafael reset his composure. “I’m sorry to hear it. Did your cat die right now?” And then a thought struck him. “Here?” He braced himself as he looked down the alley.
“In Seattle, where I’m from. My sister called with news that Sydney died this morning. I knew it was coming; she was fifteen. The cat, I mean.” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I don’t know why I’m rambling so much.”
“You’re not rambling at all,” he assured her.
“I should find my friends. I’m in a study abroad trip for French majors. But I just got the call and I need to be alone when I’m sad.”
He was quietly watching her, captivated by the trust that percolated under her display of vulnerability. “Why? Why do you need to be alone when you’re sad?” Rafael was surprised to realize he was more than a little interested.
“I don’t like it when people… when people see me that way,” she blurted with exasperation. She sighed before her eyes fell on the sandwich sitting on a paper plate made soft by melted butter and oozing cheese.
“Is that aCroque Monsieur? It’s really what French people eat?” she asked incredulously.
That’s when he noticed her mouth, the lower lip plump as if in a pout. But she wasn’t pouting at all. She was, suddenly, no longer sad about her dead cat.
This shift in her mood affected Rafael in ways he couldn’t articulate. Because if Rafaelhadto describe his dream girl, it might be one with long dark hair, large pleading eyes, and genuine affection for a great sandwich.
“Oui,” he said automatically, fascinated by how she stared at his food. “I’m on mytravail, um, pause?” He tilted his head to direct attention behind him, where the backdoor to the kitchen was slightly ajar and the sounds of clanging pans reminded him that his twenty-minute break was now considerably less than twenty minutes.
“Work break.” She gently amended his phrasing.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “It is a simple ham and cheese sandwich. I can grab something else for you from the kitchen if you are not in a hurry to find your friends.” He gestured towards the wooden crates by the door, inviting her to sit.
“I’m not in a hurry,” she uttered while taking a step closer.
Rafael glanced down her body involuntarily, drawn to strong thighs that strained her denim shorts and sandals that were tied by the ankles with dainty leather bows.
She was very pretty. Maybe a few years older than him if she was travelling as part of a college course. He could stare at her long hair and enormous eyes and pink lips all day. But it was those little bows at the side of her ankle that turned his body from humming with electricity into a live wire.
She sat beside him, leaning against the wall. With outstretched arms, he offered her the untouched food. “Please, take this if you’re hungry. I can get another one later.”
“I can’t eat your dinner,” she uttered with a shy smile.
“Will you have half, then?” It was already split in two, cheese melted like white lava.
“I couldn’t.” She licked a mouth so supple it was impossible to look away.
“It would be a favor to me,mademoiselle. I am, how do you say it?Expérimenter les saveurs.I made this myself.”
“Experimenting? How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”
