One Cruel Night

Penn snapped his gaze up from his phone and found me blatantly staring at him. I swallowed back the wave of desire that crashed over me. He arched an eyebrow. A question waiting for my answer.

Would I stay, or would I go?

I nodded and proceeded forward.

Go. Definitely go.

He held his hand out. “Ready?”

“Yeah. All set.” I placed my hand in his. A tingle ran up my arm.

“Good.”

He led the way from the room and through the rest of the incredible flat we were leaving behind for the city beyond these walls. We took the elevator to the bottom floor and exited through a set of turquoise double doors. I breathed in the fresh air. Paris smelled heavenly at night, like freshly baked bread and fine wine mixed with a unique, warm, musky smell that I would forever recognize.

Penn hadn’t dropped my hand, and he held it the entire way as we navigated the city. The distinct cream buildings lined with wrought iron balustrades that I’d come to love. Brightly colored awnings announced bakeries, cheese shops, cafés, and every manner of fine French cuisine.

“Where are we going?” I asked after we walked three silent blocks.

He just grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I can. You seem fearless.”

I almost laughed. I had never considered myself fearless. I jumped into things with everything I was. It was another part of being a military brat. Every moment counted, and they all had to be perfect. Kind of a problem honestly. Perfectionism was another curse. But fearless? No way.

“Tonight, I feel fearless,” I admitted.

“As you should since you have the run of the city.” Penn dashed across the street and stopped us in front of a restaurant with a green awning. “Wait here a minute, will you?”

“Just here?”

“I’ll be right back.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion but nodded. I’d decided to come with him, so I would see this through. I just hoped he wasn’t doing some kind of drug deal or something equally nefarious.

Please don’t make me regret this, I silently pleaded.

He appeared a few minutes later with a brown bag tucked under his arm.

“What’s that?”

“That is a surprise. Come on.”

My curiosity was piqued.

We walked another two blocks toward the Seine. The river wound lazily around the curve of the Eiffel Tower down to Notre-Dame and beyond. Dinner cruises sailed by, taking in the twilight-lit sights. The moon was full overhead, casting an eerily beautiful glow across the entire city.

Penn stopped a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower with a stellar view of the monument from across the river. He padded across the cobblestone path in front of the water, found an open space, and sank down. I watched as he set down the brown package and dangled his legs over the edge of the riverside. He expectantly looked back at me, and it was that look that jolted me into motion.

I crossed the crowded path, removed my high heels, and sat next to him. Our hips touched in the scant space. My breathing hitched at the first heated contact. I cleared my throat to cover the misstep. “Well, this is unexpected.”

The shadows accentuated his high cheekbones, drawing a line down to his lips. I couldn’t look away as he said, “What were you expecting?”

“I have no idea, but I like it.”

“I thought you might,” he said confidently. “And you haven’t even seen what’s in the bag.”

He retrieved the brown bag from his other side and began to pull out its contents. First, he passed me a baguette, baked Camembert, and then a bottle of red wine. “Hope you like red,” he said as he removed the cork.

“I do.”

Or at least, I’d learned to appreciate it this summer. My parents weren’t big drinkers. Between my dad’s family’s alcohol and addiction problems and my mom’s belief in all things New Age, my parents stayed pretty straitlaced.

“Though I will have you know, I have had this meal before since I’ve been here.”

“God, I hope so. But if you haven’t had Monsieur Laurent’s food, then you haven’t truly lived.”

He broke off a piece of the bread, dipped it into the gooey cheese that looked like Brie but would be insulted by the comparison, and popped it into his mouth. I followed suit, tasting the intricate flavors on my unrefined palate. It was incredible.

Without glasses for the wine, we just passed the bottle back and forth between us. It was sweet but not too sweet. Fragrant with a hint of cherries. I was pretty sure I’d go my entire life and never have wine that tasted as good as it did tonight.

“So, if you could live another life, what would you choose?” I asked, leaning back on my elbows and aimlessly kicking my feet. “From where I’m sitting, your life seems kind of perfect.”

“Ah, not is all how it seems, I assure you.” His eyes traveled the length of my long, lean legs from hours of swim practice. “I guess I don’t know any other way to live, but I’m open for suggestions.”