Page 18 of City of Love

I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious. I’m excited to meet Noel too, but I’m also ready to crash, and I know I’m not putting my best foot forward here or anything.

When the elevator dings not two minutes later, Mrs. Marchand—MadameMarchand, as I should probably start thinking of her, what with this being France—turns to me, her eyes brightening as a smile stretches across her face.

“Here he is,” she says, beaming at me.

Herewhois? Who ishe? What’s going on?

Maybe I’m hearing things due to the whole jet lag thing. That could happen. Right?

Except as my eyes fall on the person getting out of the elevator, I know I’m wrong. Because my brain would never make this up.

There, looking water-logged but undeniably familiar, isMr. Grump. Mr. Grump from earlier. Mr. Empty-Your-Bag, Mr. Don’t-Let-My-Pretty-Exterior-Fool-You-Into-Thinking-I’m-Nice.

He’shere. In front of me, looking at meverystrangely.

And now…now he’s accepting a hug from Mme Marchand. He’s saying something to her under his breath, and I catch the word “Maman”—Mother.

And now she’s responding, smiling fondly at him, and now Mme Marchand is going inside the apartment, leaving me out here with Mr. Grump, who’s still looking at me like I’m liable to explode, and now Mr. Grump is approaching me slowly andwhat in the ever-loving world is happening right now?

“Lydia?” he says, his voice low. He takes one hesitant step toward me, and I take one not-at-all hesitant step backward.

“What is this?” I say. The most logical conclusion is one that my brain won’t quite reach; I refuse to make that jump. There’s some other explanation for what’s going on here.

“Her brother,” I breathe as it hits me. A wave of relief crashes over me. “You’re her brother.” Noel has never mentioned a brother—not in a full three years—but it’s possible. I swallow, my throat tightening at the look on Mr. Grump’s face.

Sympathy.

“So…will she be here soon, or should I just wait inside…?” I say. My voice is strained, my brain staunchly refusing to accept the evidence it’s picking up on.

Because this isn’t Noel. My pen pal is female. I know her. She knows me. Thismanis not my pen pal.

“Lydia,” Mr. Grump says again, taking another step toward me. He holds his hands up conciliatorily, like he knows full well I’mthis closeto punching him in the face and making a run for it. “Let’s talk.”

Nope. Not happening. This is a terrible dream. I’m still asleep, and I will wake up soon, and none of this is happening. It’s not real.

“Lydia,” Dream Mr. Grump says, edging closer to me still, “it’s all right. Everything is all right, okay? You’re not dreaming, but I can—”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” I say, startled out of my racing thoughts.

Mr. Grump takes another step closer; he smells like rain. “Let’s talk, okay?” he says again. “Let’s calm down and—”

“How. Did. You. Know?” I repeat. I have to grit the words out; my heart is sinking rapidly in my chest.

Or maybe plummeting. Nose diving, really. That’s what my heart is doing. A nose dive into a slab of concrete.

I watch as Mr. Grump swallows—I refuse to give him a name until I know for sure—and steps forward again. He reaches his arms out, moving slowly, hesitantly, and places his hands on my shoulders.

“You always assume you’re dreaming or imagining things when something seemingly inexplicable happens,” he says. “This isn’t a dream, but I can explain.”

Silence. That’s all that’s going on in my brain at this exact moment in time. Just…silent, unthinking shock as I stare at the green-eyed man in front of me. In this surreal stillness, I note a droplet of water clinging to his eyelashes, the several strands of wet hair plastered to the side of his face, the sheen of his damp skin in the harsh overhead light. Even soaked to the skin, he’s attractive, his presence all-consuming. It’s just him in my silent consciousness.

And then my mind bursts to life again.

I jerk backward, swatting his hands from my shoulders and then shoving him away from me with one hand in the middle of his chest.

He holds his hands up again, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. “Look, Lydia, I knew you’d be mad, okay? I don’t expect you not to be angry. But let’s talk about this.” He runs one hand through his hair. “Zut. I never thought I would beg someone to talk to me,” he says under his breath. “Let’s go inside, okay?”

But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not sure I’m capable of moving from this spot.

---