One Cruel Night

If I went back to the flat alone, then what? I was certain Amy wasn’t there. She probably had forgotten all about me in her lust for Enzo. That wasn’t how I wanted to end my last night in Paris. I wanted adventure. I wanted Penn.

Penn held his hand out. “Shall we?”

I nodded and placed my hand in his. He laced our fingers together, an intimacy in the moment that I couldn’t exactly place. It was as if those few moments of danger had shifted the momentum of the night. We were bound by what could have been. Not just what was.

The night air was crisp and fresh. We passed a garden in full blossom as we continued our nighttime stroll. Wrought iron poles lit brightly colored flowers and row after row of square-shaped trees. Matching benches had been placed intermittently throughout. It was one of these benches where I had first glimpsed Penn.

“My feet are killing me after running in these heels. I need a break.” I pulled him through the trees and onto the stone walkway, directing us toward one of the empty benches.

He took the seat next to me. “I don’t know how women walk in those things, let alone run.”

“Well, it was kind of a necessity.”

“True.”

I kicked off my shoes and stretched out the aching arches. I’d been fine up until the running. Not that I normally wore heels, but I was pretty fit from swimming. I should have been able to get through a whole night in these torture devices. If only Amy hadn’t insisted that they made my butt look so good.

Penn leaned back on the bench with his feet straight out in front of him. “The parks really make the city. They’re so different from what I’m used to. Don’t get me wrong. Central Park is home, but well, it closes at night.”

“Are we sure this park is even open?” I glanced around, wondering if perhaps we were trespassing.

“They keep most of them open twenty-four/seven during the summer,” he reassured me. “No hope of having an angry cop chase us down.”

“Again,” I added.

He laughed. “Again. Yeah, exactly.” His attention turned to focus on me. His eyes traced the line of my face and down, down, down, all the way to my flexed feet. He had this intensity about him. A way of studying me as if I were the only thing in the universe.

I cleared my throat to break the tension brewing between us. “I thought that I’d fallen in love with the city before, but at night, knowing I’m going to have to leave soon, it’s magical. I feel like it’s a piece of me.”

“Just think, if you’d never approached me at that party, we never would have gotten to this moment.”

“Well, if I’d never seen you writing in your notebook on a park bench, then I wouldn’t have approached you.”

“Ah, writing saved the day again.” He fondly patted the park bench. “It all started on a park bench in Paris.”

My stomach tightened. I loved it.

Both the night and the park bench.

It felt like a fairy tale.

Chapter 7

Penn brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “Feeling better?”

I nodded and slid back into my heels. “Much. I can survive the rest of the night now.”

“Good.” He helped me to my feet. “You up for another drink? I know a place nearby.”

“I’m in,” I said even though I could still feel the buzz from the wine. Lightweight.

We walked a few more blocks and ended up in front of another cream building. A line wrapped out the front door and around the corner. A red overhang said Candy Room in white script lettering. Penn bypassed the enormous line and walked straight for what I assumed was the bouncer at the front. I stared back at the line apologetically.

Penn spoke to the bouncer for a few seconds, and then we were whisked inside to a world I’d never even known existed. I’d been to house parties in Charleston. Amy had even snuck me into a local bar back home. It was the most lenient for underage drinking, and everyone would turn a blind eye as long as no one drove home. And sure, we’d had drinks since being in Paris but mostly artsy bars, which meant low classical music, live paintings, and deep hipster conversation.

Candy Room was nothing like these other places. It was chic, classy, sensual, and inviting. If I had to dream up a club, I couldn’t have even come close to the interior of this room. Red velvet blanketed the chairs and booths that lined the perimeter in an imitation of the Paris opera house. The bar mirrored an old-timey candy bar with drinks inspired by classic candies. The bartenders were dressed up as candy stripers. The dance floor was packed with people dancing to the DJ’s jams, and three elevated platforms had poles. A bachelorette party was swinging on one, and I was sure a professional was on the other. Everything was chaos and charm and corruption. I had never been more out of my element and more excited by the prospect.