Page 24 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

“I had fun in the Louvre earlier. Would you like to come to Giverny with me?”

“What does Giverny have to do with the Louvre?” I ask, puzzled, hiding another yawn behind my hand, my head and eyelids growing heavy.

“It’s where Monet’s home was. I’ve been told that the gardens look stunning in spring, so now that I’m here I’d like to check it out. With you, if you want.”

“Because I’m just that lovely and entertaining.” The grin I try to shoot him is interrupted by another yawn. “It sounds fun, let’s do it. Isn’t it kind of far, though?”

“I’ll rent a car,” he promises and I raise my eyebrow, looking at him surprised.

“Seriously? You’re brave, wanting to drive in Paris. I walked past Place de la Concorde yesterday and that thing looked like a thirty-car pile-up waiting to happen.”

“We will be alright,” Reed vows and presses a kiss to the side of my head.

“Okay. I trust you.” I yawn again and rub my eyes. “Damn. You’ve really worn me out.”

“And I’ll gladly do it again.” He grins and stands, stepping right in front of me so there’s no room to escape. I let out a surprised squeal when he suddenly leans down and lifts me into his arms like it’s nothing. With a laugh, he carries me to the bed.

“I can walk by myself, you know?” I pout but secretly enjoy being in his arms again.

“Oh, I know.” He lowers me onto the bed a lot more gently than before and then crawls onto the mattress beside me. I shuffle until he’s big-spooning me and pull his arm over my hip as my head rests just below his, his breath feathering over my hair and his chest rising and falling against my back.

The day catches up to me and it doesn’t take me longer than a few seconds to succumb to sleep.

Reed

“OhGod,ohGod,we’re going to die,” she groans beside me as we enter what might be the most chaotic roundabout in Europe, clinging to the handle above the door like it’s a lifeline. There are no markings on the cobblestone road, no signs, just vibes, free-for-all of honking, and swerving French drivers who appear to rely on telepathy and blind luck.

“Shut up,” I laugh, not even trying to hide how much I’m enjoying her panic. She’s acting like I’m about to drive the two of us off a cliff instead of maneuvering an, albeit chaotic, roundabout. “I’m an excellent driver. Just look at the Arc de Triomphe over there.”

“You might be, but that doesn’t mean none ofthemis going to hit us.” She gestures wildly with her one free hand, her voice an octave higher than usual. “That one looks like he’s run people off the road. I’ve never seen a car with so many dents before!”

I don’t look—I can’t, really, since I’m busy not getting us killed—but panic makes her voice almost as loud as the traffic, so I’m inclined to believe her.

“If I die, tell my brother I love him,” she mutters under her breath like she’s already bidding her life goodbye, squeezing her eyes shut and even hiding them with her free hand like that’s going to help. I chuckle softly. She’s ridiculous.

Even if someone hits us, it’s a roundabout. Nobody here is going faster than thirty kilometers per hour. If any of them dinged us, there’d be a dent in the car and I’d be annoyed to pay a fee, but I dare say our lives are not in danger.

“You can open your eyes,” I finally tell her with a chuckle and give her thigh a squeeze. “We made it. No more roundabouts in sight.”

She peeks through a gap in her fingers before she lowers her hand and blinks her eyes open cautiously, and from the corner of my eyes, I watch her relax, though her death grip on the handle lasts a few more blocks.

The rest of the drive out of Paris is calmer, at least outside the car. Inside, she’s got her forehead pressed to the window, moderating the scenery we’re driving past. Currently, she’s babbling about the Grande Arche, looming in the distance, its modern architecture a stark contrast to the century old buildings that make up the most part of downtown Paris.

“You must’ve been here a lot,” she says in awe after I rattle off some facts about it that I picked up in a travel guide my sister gave me for my birthday years ago.

“Quite a few times,” I reply, a grin tugging on the corner of my lips. “And I told you, I read a lot and have a great memory. The basics stick with me.”

“That’s a bitmorethan ‘basics,’” she insists with an eye roll. “Show off.”

“I prefer ‘smart,’” I tease her back, pinching her thigh when I see her sticking her tongue out at me from the corner of my eyes. “And admit it, you have more fun listening to me than looking it up yourself.”

“I admit nothing,” she says with a pout but I catch that amused undertone in her voice easily.

The rest of the drive goes by quicker than I expect. We fill it with easy conversation, trading jokes and teasing each other like we’ve been doing it for years.

Even when we’re not talking, the silence isn’t awkward, it just feels natural, like we’re both content to be in each other’s space, like there’s no need for words. At one point, I rest my hand on her thigh, not thinking much of it, just feeling the warmth of her skin under my palm, thanks to the short pink summer dress she’s wearing. It looks cute on her slightly tanned skin, complementing her long brown hair and blue eyes.

My thumb moves in slow circles on her skin, almost without me realizing. She stiffens for half a second, just a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move my hand. I count that as a win.

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