Page 36 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter and run my fingers through my hair. “She’s gone now.”

“So… don’t you have her number?”“No,” I admit, heart sinking and feeling like the biggest idiot for not asking. “But she has mine,” I suddenly remember, my heart starting to beat faster. Fuck yes. I gave her my number, back after our Louvre visit.

“I ask this with all due respect, but are you dumb?” Zoey giggles. “How did you not get her number?”

I groan but let a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth. She’s right. This is ridiculous.

“I might be. Logic didn’t really exist whenever I was with her.”

“Ahw, how romantic,” she coos in a high-pitched voice like she’s talking to a dog. “So, what’s your plan?”

“I mean, no plan. As we just established, I don’t have her number. Now the only thing I can do is hoping that either she calls me or the universe throws us together again someday.” That spark of hope I had suddenly extinguishes. God, both of these sound pretty hopeless.

“That’s dumb,” she snaps, and I blink confused. Wow. That rage in her voice comes out of nowhere. “And lazy. Seriously? You’re just going to leave this up to the universe?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Conjure her phone number out of thin air?”

“You fuckingfightfor it,” she says, fire in her voice I didn’t know she had. Not about me finding a girlfriend, at least. “Did you seriously think it’d be that easy? ‘Oh, if the universe thinks we belong together, we’ll meet again,’” she says, mockingly imitating my voice. “You might be older than me, Reed, but goddamn are you naïve.”

“Hey. Don’t talk to me like that,” I scold.

“Fuck that. And don’t tell me not to curse,” she says, now fully spiraling. “You sound basically heartbroken over this woman you weredumb enoughto not get a number from. Why the hell are you talking tome? Why the hell aren’t youbooking itto the airport to catch her in some dramatic terminal chase scene and propose or something?”

“Because that’s not how real life works, Zoey. We’ve only known each other for a week,” I say, exhaling deeply. “A week. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s flying back or taking the train. But even if I did, if I just appeared there for a grand gesture, she’d probably get me arrested on harassment charges.”

“So?” she fires back, unimpressed by reality. “You’d really rather let her go and spend the rest of your sad little life wondering ‘what if’? Or you could grow a spine and at leasttry. Then you’d know.”

“A week, Zoey,” I repeat once again, but I don’t think she’s even listening anymore.

“You’re a coward, Reed,” she says dramatically and I have to bite back a chuckle. “Stop being such an adult. Where’s the romantic in you?”

“I’m sorry to say, but as you get older, some of the romance gets replaced with logic,” I reply, wincing at how much I sound like Adam. “Just because two people mesh well during a vacation doesn’t mean anything more would work out.” I take a deep breath. God, this whole discussion is making me more heated than it has any right to. “You’re talking about regrets? Let’s flip it. If the universe doesn’t put us together again, I’ll still have something to hold on to. I’ll still have amazing memories to look back on, I can still dream about the ‘what ifs.’”

I swallow hard as the memories shoot through my head like a dia-show on timelapse.

Memories of walking through the Louvre together, of her laughter, our night walk this morning, the way her voice echoed through the room…

“What if trying to turn it into something real only destroys the memory? There. That’s romantic.”

“Not nearly,” she scoffs, but sounds a bit calmer now. “Sounds more like a tragedy, but I’ll accept it as an excuse. And in twenty years, when you’re still talking about your mystery woman from Paris, I’m going to look you straight in the eyes and tell you I told you so.”

“It’s a deal,” I say and finally let go of the pillow, clearing my throat. “Now it should bemyturn to ask you about boys. Who are you going to prom with?”

“Actually, I need to go,” she says quickly. Way too quickly.

“Sure you do.” I chuckle when she squeezes out a fast “bye” and hangs up before I can ask her anything more about her date.

I have a few more hours here in Paris. What used to be my favorite city suddenly feels dull without her. I don’t even feel the urge to visit museums anymore, knowing I won’t run into her there, don’t want to take a walk and admire the old architecture because it would mean doing so without my hand on the small of Abby’s back.

God damn it. No, I willnotlet this overexaggerated heartbreak destroy my love for art and for Paris.

So, with another deep sigh, I get up, grab my jacket and umbrella. Only a few more hours. And I’m going to make the best of them.

Abby

"Wow,youlooklikeshit," Max greets me, a mix of worry and amusement washing over his face as I take a seat at his table.

It's been just over a week since I came back from Paris, ready to enjoy a few more days of quiet or joining my friends' weekly games night, before jumping into my new fulltime job. And who would have thought I’d catch the worst cold as a little souvenir?

---