Page 32 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

“Good to know,” Adam says without any emotion after a minute of awkward silence. “Have a good evening, Reed.”

Before I can answer, he’s cut the call. And it tells me everything I need to know. Mainly, that he did indeed call to get me to take on another last-minute job.

But I have better things to do.

If I only have a few more days with Abby, I’m making the best of it. Which includes a whole lot of time right here, in her room, and not another stressful fashion show or photoshoot.

I get up and make my way inside, grimacing when I see her stir.

“Did I fall asleep?” she mumbles, blinking up at me, and I sit down on the mattress, reaching out to wipe several strands of hair out of her face and tuck them behind her ear.

“Only for a few minutes,” I tell her, grinning when she nudges her face into my palm like a cat. “Room service hasn’t been in yet.

“Oh, that’s good.” She shoots me a lazy grin. “Nothing worse than cold room service food.”

Just in the moment, there’s a knock on her door.

“I got it,” I assure her, and jump up as she slowly climbs out from under the sheets. Damn. I absolutely made the right decision. There is nowhere else I’d rather spend my time than with her.

Abby

“Whyareyougettingdressed?” Reed asks curiously, watching me from the bed where he’s cuddling a pillow to his chest.

I glance at him over my shoulder with a grin before I lean down to step into my dress. The rest of my time in Paris passed in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, my last day arrived.

And it was a good last day. In the morning, we took a stroll along the Seine, then he took me to a little museum tucked right in the Montmatre neighborhood that hosted an exhibit on women in Romanticisim. For once, he didn’t know details about every painting, which was refreshing. It made him seem a little more human.

We stayed there until the afternoon, grabbing lunch on our way back to the hotel. And while we sat there, at the Seine shore, watching boats pass us by, we got the bright idea to book ourselves a little round trip as well.

Sadly, that turned out quite underwhelming and Paris looks mostly the same from the water. Who knew?

And lastly, I convinced him to ride up the Eiffel tower with me. What can I say, had he told me before we entered the elevator that he might be okay with a hotel room on the seventh floor but height to Eiffel tower degree is an issue, I wouldn’t have pushed him to come with me.

So we stood up there, Reed’s arm firmly around me, his knees trembling as we watched Paris from above. It’s amazing how far we could look, how symmetric the city looks from above. Wandering the streets it might seem chaotic, but from up there? You realize how much effort must have gone into planning out a city like this.

We’d watched the sun set on the horizon from up there, walking back to the hotel wordlessly afterwards. Him, probably still shaky from the height, but me? I kept trying to keep myself together. I can’t believe that after today, it’s over. Just like that.

“I’m not ready for this day to end yet,” I admit in a whisper, turning away from him as I pull the fabric of the dress up my body. It’s a cute one, white with purple flowers, perfect for a warmer day like today. “Mind zipping me up?”

I hear the bedsheets rustle, then the soft sound of his footsteps as he comes closer. His fingers trail down my back, raising goosebumps in their wake. He brushes my hair over one shoulder, then finds the zipper and slowly pulls it up, pausing to press a kiss into the bare nape of my neck, keeping his lips to my skin as he takes a deep breath.

“And how do you propose the day should end?” he asks in a soft murmur, snaking his hands around my middle, interlacing his fingers in front of my belly.

“Preferably in that bed over there,” I say with a grin, nodding toward it and feeling him chuckle behind me. Closing my eyes for a moment, I lean into his hug, feeling his hold around me tighten.

“But for now, I think I want to enjoy one last stroll through Paris.” I blink my eyes open again and glance up at him. “You in or what?”

“Give me two minutes,” he says, scrambling for his clothes, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s coming along. While he’s pulling on his jeans, I watch him in the mirror, trying to not look completely fucked, however true that assessment would be. My brown hair is quickly tamed with a hairbrush and I pull it together in a lazy half-updo, slipping into my purple ballerinas as he pulls on his shirt.

“Let’s go.”

“One thing,” I say with a grin and step closer, his amused eyes on me as I run my fingers through his hair, giving it a little rudimentary styling so it doesn’t scream, ‘she pulled my hair when she came.’

When I’m done, he reaches for my hand like it’s second nature—like we’ve done this a hundred times before instead of just a handful. I let him, watching as his fingers slip between mine. It feels easy. Familiar. I can’t stop staring at our hands, joined so effortlessly, as he leads me into the elevator, through the hotel lobby, and finally outside into the night.

I’m going to miss the feeling of my hand in his. Our conversations. The way he looks at me with a small smile on his lips and a happy twinkle in his eyes. The way his gaze darkens during sex when he thinks up the next wicked thing for me, that small crease between his eyebrows when he’s close to coming.

I never quite believed in the “right person, wrong place or time” idea, but I can’t help but wonder. Had I met him back home instead of on vacation in another country, what could this have become? Is this chemistry between us only enough for a week?

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