Page 78 of The Light Within

A memory was resurfacing from the depths of Cinn’s childhood. He pressed his fingers against the impeccably clean glass.

“When I was about twelve, all the kids on my street had these trainers. Not these exact ones, but close. They were bloody expensive, some new brand everyone was mad about. I kept asking my mum for them, and she’d always say no.” A pang of guilt hit him; as a kid, he hadn’t understood that if you couldn’t afford brand-name cereal, you definitely couldn’t afford brand-name trainers. “She got really pissed off whenever I brought it up. Then, one day, I came home, and there they were, just sitting on the kitchen counter.”

“New shoes on the table?” Julien pretended to shiver. “Well… that was nice of her.”

“Six months later, she told me she’d sold my grandmother’s amethyst bracelet to pay for them.” It had been brutal—she’d thrown it in his face during a heated argument, but he didn’t want Julien to know that part. “I couldn’t even look at the trainers after that, let alone wear them.”

Julien took a moment, his gaze drifting thoughtfully as he carefully chose his words. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Well. She evidently cared deeply about you, and that meant making difficult choices.” He caught both of Cinn’s hands, warming them between his. “But now you can start to make new memories with her, when we go visit again.”

“We?” Cinn teased.

“She loved me, couldn’t you tell?”

“You only said about five words to her. It was some sort of Christmas miracle.”

Julien lightly shoved him before walking on.

Cinn’s stomach growled loudly—it had been hours since the cookies. “Not to complain, but any chance there’s food on this date at some point?”

Julien sent him a bemused sidelong glance. Five seconds later, they turned a corner, and the air turned thick with tantalising aromas of sizzling meats, fresh spices, and sweet pastries. The lively chatter and clamour of the crowd meant they could barely hear each other. Stalls lined the street, each one bursting with things so delicious Cinn would happily try them all.

He settled for three items. By the time they escaped the market, he was almost done with the second one.

“Ice cream?” Julien said, even though Cinn was still chewing his spicy chorizo taco. It had just the right amount of smokiness to it.

“No way,” Cinn replied through a mouthful. “Jog on. It’s already fucking freezing.”

“S’il te plaît?”

Cinn shook his head. “I’m genuinely immune to your French now.”

Julien pouted. “But I know this hidden gem of a place. Béatrice and I would go there every time.”

Dead-sister card played, they weaved through several back alleys, and joined the long queue for the wooden hatch, where it almost appeared like someone was selling ice cream from their own kitchen.

“We used to eat so much, we’d almost throw up,” Julien remarked.

Cinn studied Julien. This was the first time he’d brought up Béatrice’s name casually since he took off her locket. Sometimes he’d see Julien reach for it, only for his fingers to meet empty air.

Whenever Cinn thought of Béatrice, he would meticulously examine the shadows for her looming presence. But she hadn’t decided to join them in this dingy alley, even for ice cream.

“Oh, really?” Cinn nudged Julien with his hip. “I’m having a hard time imagining you going that wild.” Then, with a sudden burst of courage, he added, “So, how are you feeling about all the Béatrice stuff now, anyway?”

A visible stiffness crept into Julien’s posture, his smile faltering slightly. “Fine,” he said curtly. “There’s nothing to say on it, really.”

Cinn rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any point pushing Julien, so he turned the conversation to ice-cream flavours. It was exceedingly tricky, but Cinn managed the feat of paying for their two tubs before Julien could, and they walked away with two lavender-flavoured ice creams sculpted into rose shapes. Almost too pretty to eat. Perching in a shop alcove, they watched the world go by as they inflicted brain freeze upon themselves on a glacial January night.

Cinn was definitely in charge of planning the next date.

“Right,” said Julien, getting to his feet before dragging Cinn up. “I hope that sugar has given you suitable energy, because next up, we’re about to do a lot of climbing. Over five hundred steps, in fact.”

Cinn blinked at him, then his gaze drifted past Julien to the looming silhouette of the Eiffel Tower against the night sky. Surely Julien didn’t mean…?

“I thought you said you’d never go near that so-called ‘metal-beam monstrosity?’”

“Oui, I did, so you better be very impressed that I’m putting myself through this just for you.”

“Totally.” Cinn’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it, warmth spread through his chest.

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